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Post by Deleted on Jun 14, 2016 9:29:32 GMT
TAG - @kirby OOC NOTES - The first two paragraphs are recycled from my other starter, SORRY. XD I'm lazy and sleepy haha. But...this one also got long so..thanks, muse. Hope it's alright.
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Tyene glanced down at the large tomb that was opened before her. The Seven-Pointed Star, it was called. The Holy Text. She had read much of it already. Her own mother was a Septa. For true, unlike Tyene. During her visits with her, she had often read to Tyene, much the same things as what was written in this book. She wondered, then, what her mother would think of her current position. Tyene knew that she would have been pleased if her daughter had chosen to become a Septa herself, but it was not the path meant for her, and that had long since been accepted. Even if her mother didn't understand, it wouldn't change things. She cared for her, but it was Oberyn that she had held most dear. Her father had wrapped her around his little finger from an early age. Eager was she to learn from him, and to someday be someone that was noted alongside him. The Sand Snakes. Daughters of the Red Viper. But what did it matter now? He was gone. What had been most precious to her had been ripped away. Now it was time for Tyene and her sisters to pay the debt that was owed.
Once Tyene had met with the leader of this group, this 'High Sparrow', it hadn't been all that difficult to make him see what she wanted him to see. A pious young Septa, whose life was devoted to doing the work of the gods. She had come to King's Landing in hopes of having a more direct affect. For she may not be able to take up arms, like the brave Warrior's Sons, but she could help those most in need to seek penance. One didn't have to wield a blade to save a soul. In this, a woman could be just as effective as a man. After passing off that particular story, great waves of information had been offered to her. Cersei Lannister had completed her Walk of Atonement; something which Tyene was severely sore about having missed. The great lioness now licked her wounds in the Red Keep and from what she had learned these past couple of weeks, Cersei hadn't even left it. And was rarely seen without her great hulking shadow, whatever that beast may be. Tyene hadn't seen the newest member of the King's Guard, yet. But even here, there was talk of his enormity. Alas, frightened people did have a tendency to stretch truths, so there was no telling just how much of it could be held accountable until she spoke with her sisters.
A sudden commotion drew her attention. Picking up her long, heavy skirts, Tyene quickly made her way outside of the room just in time to see what was clearly a wounded man being ushered in. Uninterested in the events, she turned to walk away, only to stop in her tracks whenever someone called out to her, using the fake name she had taken to upon her arrival. "Septa Elia! Come," it was a crisp command given by a boy that she would never dare to call a man. A fool who had fallen into a cult and now thought he held power just because he had his Faith and a pathetic scribbling etched onto his forehead. She clenched her jaw in annoyance for but a moment before turning, a look of compassion and worry overtaking her. She nodded and began to follow. Tyene stood back as the lowered the man onto a cot, blocking her view.
It wasn't until they moved away that she finally got a good look at the man's face. Her eyes widened in recognition and it took her a few moments to school her expression once more. "If I may, I've dealt with wounds such as this before. Allow me to tend to him," She stated, all the while moving forward to get a better look at the damage that had been done. Her tone was soft, and she spoke in such a way that nobody could take her words as having meant to be an order. It was a statement of fact, and judging by the slightly lost looks upon the faces of these boys, they wouldn't know what to do anyways, and would likely have sent for her or another to treat him.
"As you will. This needs to be reported to the High Sparrow anyways, and then he will decide what's to be done with him," one of the men said, before they collectively left just as quickly as they had entered. It was strange that these people held so much power, but in reality they were so very weak. Weak minded, easily manipulated and utterly boring. No sense of character in this lot. They believed she was one of them, and so they trusted her explicitly. All because the High Sparrow had accepted her. She had begun to think that her task her would be tedious, until now.
The dying man that lay before her wasn't just another poor soul injured in war. She knew this one. Years had passed, but she couldn't have forgotten such a handsome face. She and Arianne had spoken of him for days even after he left. The night he and Tyene spent together was the only one they had, but it was enough for her to remember him with a touch of fondness. For he provided the opportunity of a pleasant distraction.
Reaching forward, she smoothed back from of the auburn curls that clung to his forehead. Blood had soaked through his tunic, some was even splattered upon his face. Gingerly, she peeled back the tunic to inspect the wound. Or wounds, apparently. Several deep lacerations stood out; crimson against his pale skin. "Hm. Someone hoped to see you dead, Ser Carring," she muttered quietly, although aware that he was still unconscious. "Fortunately for you, I do not."
With that, she began her work. They weren't alone in the room. It was a large hall, filled with the wounded and ill. Occasionally, Septons or Septas would make their rounds and see to them. For now, only the occasional cough and wheezing breaths could be heard as she set about to cleaning the wounds and sewing him up. She recognized them as having been from spears. The weapons were common enough in Dorne, and being who she was, she often saw the result of what happened whenever someone was skewered by one. Not that she preferred spears. If poison wasn't a viable option, she normally settled for her daggers.
Whenever she was done, she stepped back and let out a breath. She had done what she could, now it was his turn. Either he would have the strength to overcome this, or he would die. Only time would tell. She hoped for the former. How disappointing would it be for her to be reunited with a one time lover, only for him to die before they even spoke again? Then again, she may have to kill him herself if he attempted to reveal her. There were two truths presented to her at that moment. One was that she didn't know him. They had only spent one night together, and although it had been enjoyable, that didn't mean it earned her undying trust, especially all these years later. The second was that even covered it sweat, blood and dirt, Paxtan Carring was still undeniably attractive.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 15, 2016 0:58:22 GMT
The world of dreams took Paxtan eagerly, whisking away the young knight to lands brighter than any he had seen before, meeting people of such unbelievable grace and beauty. The grass beneath his feet so vibrantly green; its soft surface taking him forward step by step. His clothes were only a pair of loose trousers but the temperature and breeze caressed him as if he lay in a bed of Lyseni velvet, giving him a comfort and peace he had never had before. The beautiful, utterly faceless people called out to him, laughing and dancing, trying to bring him closer, to join them in their reverie. And he didn't know why, but he wanted to. These strangers held a grip on his attention, a fascination swelling within his breast, a need to sing and be merry, a need to go with them, wherever they led him.
Suddenly rain drenched the once soft ground beneath, turning it into a muddy lagoon in seconds. Where once he was glad in a simple pair of trousers, now it was full battle dress, splattered with dirt, rain and gore. And it was oh so heavy. His arm shook violently, pain shooting through the bone as he remembered the arrow that had pierced his shoulder that day. And the strangers who had once been merry now lay scattered and broken, also in their battle dresses but utterly indistinguishable from one another. Lannister, Baratheon, Stark, Tully, Frey... all were the same dark brown in the rain, bolts of thunder cutting apart the sky above. And with this he sank to his knees, tears dripping down his face as the twisted body and pale face of his father stared back at him, mouth moving as if to speak but the rest of his form utterly still. And the last words he had heard him say echoed through the howling winds, twisting and warping the meaning until Paxtan had to cover his ears lest he go insane. Protect Rosby... protect Rosby... protect Rosby...
His father was utterly still again and Paxtan cried out into the storm, but no sound came out, drowned by the sound of the battle going on around him, new bodies being added to the pile. Over and over and over again. Who was left? Where were they? Why wouldn't anyone help him? Why did it have to be him...?
And then his eyes opened.
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With a scream Paxtan woke from his unconsciousness, trying to sit up but the pain caused him to into convulsions, hands gripping the edge of the cot. After a moment his breathing calmed, staring at the ceiling above in amazement. That dream had been so real, so vivid. It was hard to imagine this was reality, but it had to be. This was not as bright and happy as he had remembered his dream to be. And it did not smell like Rosby. Where was he? He racked his brain for answers, finding only ceaseless pain in his side and leg. His grasp was weak, weaker than it had been since the war and above all he felt a sense of nausea. But recollections eventually came to him; the white-hot feeling of the spear stabbing into his hip, the regret of leaving behind his friends as he tried to escape and the fear that permeated every fiber of his being. The fear of death.
But clearly he was not dead, but had been found and restored to life, if by some miracle. And it was then that, as he looked down, he saw his supposed angel. Tyene Sand, a face he had not expected to see again since their tryst and her subsequent departure from Rosby. In that moment he felt a mixing of the longing he had buried so long ago and the gratitude of his rescue and restoration. A tear of happiness fell down his cheek then, as his vision flickered and he slipped back into unconsciousness.
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He awoke once again a few hours later, judging from the orange light that burst through the open window next to him, his pain less sharp than before. Wincing, he used his bruised arms to pull himself into a sitting position, panting and sweating from the effort and strain, resisting the urge to wretch. Paxtan's head swam with thoughts, realizing that he had to find some way to get to King's Landing, regardless as to where he was now. Even if he was in Essos he would find a way to get back, to stake his claim for Rosby. For his mentor and his father. And yet he couldn't help but shake the idea that he had seen the face of his former lover... had that been real? Surely not. Why would she be here?
Groaning in pain he swung his legs round, pushing himself onto his one good one and using his sheathed sword as a walking stick, hoping someone would appear and tell him where he was and how he could get to King's Landing, so that he didn't have to investigate himself. But the effort made him feel queasy yet again, causing Paxtan to fall back into a sitting position of the bed, letting out another loud groan of pain. He spoke out, realizing all the other patients were unconscious or sleeping.
"H-... hello? Is... is anyone there?"
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Post by Deleted on Jun 17, 2016 18:29:01 GMT
I will keep quiet, you won't even know I'm here | Starring
@kirby | |
you won't suspect a thing, you won't see me in the mirror To pass the hours, Tyene aided the other septas with looking after the patients. Her words were quiet and soothing as she calmed them, offering them milk of the poppy to ease their pain; and more importantly, send them off to sleep so that she could move onto the next and get through this whole ordeal as quickly as possible. She didn't particularly enjoy it, but it did help her in the end as she noticed the High Sparrow watching her and the others tend the ill and wounded. How she wished Cersei had still been in chains under the Sept. That would have been more interesting than this. It would have been so easy, as if the Lioness had been gift wrapped and handed over to her to do as she pleased. It was not to be, it seemed. That didn't ruin their plans, though, merely made them a bit more challenging. The Sand Snakes weren't ones to back down from a challenge.
As morning turned to afternoon, some of the pained moans became erratic snores. Only, not everyone was sleeping fitfully. Paxtan Carring bolted upright in the little cot, yelling out as he went. Soon enough, convulsions wracked his body and Tyene rushed over to stop him from thrashing about and ripping open the stitches. She had sewn him up, but in her mind she acknowledged that the left side of his body might be irreparably damaged. There was a good chance that he would sport a limp now and possibly for the rest of his life, given how deep the wound in his thigh had been. Only time would tell. "Hush now, don't ruin all my pretty work," she admonished quietly, still with a palm on his leg, below where he had been stabbed, and the other hand on his chest. Eventually he calmed, though she could still feel his heart pounding. For a brief moment, their eyes met. His were bright with fever and hers were curious. It didn't last. Within moments he had slipped back into oblivion. She didn't miss the single tear that rolled down his cheek.
It was only whenever the sky began to darken that she let to return to her meager sleeping quarters. She couldn't risk any of the others spending too much time alone with him now. Not after he had seen her. All it would take was one word and all her progress here could go down the drain. It wasn't something she was willing to risk. The moment he awoke again, and was coherent, they would speak. And then she would decide.
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The next morning, her first instinct was to return to the hall of the wounded but she forced herself to stay put for the next couple of hours. At least until she knew it would be an acceptable time to be seen in there. Whenever she did, the first thing she noted was that none of the other septas were there. That was good. Then, she heard a voice call out. His voice. With silent strides she made a beeline for his cot, coming to a halt whenever she stood in front of him. He looked better. Some of the color had returned to his cheeks, he was sitting upright without help. Lifting a hand, she pressed it to his forehead. "The fever's passed," she noted with a slight nod to herself.
Stepping back, she observed him quietly for a few moments before shaking her head. "Paxtan Carring," she sighed. "I do hope you realize that your presence here has made my life complicated," Tyene said, her eyes narrowing for an instant before she smiled, spreading her hands. "I'm Septa Elia," she greeted, hoping he would have enough wits about him to understand her message. Here, she was not Tyene Sand. Either he would accept that, or he would be too much of a liability to keep around. "Do you understand?" she asked lowly, staring into his eyes. She hadn't explained anything, and yet she had said it all. That was all he needed to know. Releasing a sigh, she left, only to return a few moments later with a rather revolting looking bowl of soup and some water. "Here, you need to drink. And eat," she stated, offering him the nourishment. "If you don't regain your strength now, you may never. And I should quite like to hear your story. How you came to be dragged into the Sept of Baelor yesterday - half dead."
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Post by Deleted on Jun 22, 2016 0:41:14 GMT
Paxtan wished he could have smiled as he saw who entered the room to greet his query but the mood did not take him and he had a sneaking suspicion it never would again, at least not for the foreseeable future. To think that he naively believed he had left the horrors of death and war behind. In many respects he was still a child it seemed, unable to grasp the true despair the world could force upon him at any moment. And his only joy now came in the form of a woman who had loved and left him; a fling that he had once mistaken for true love. Was there any end to his foolishness? He suspected Lord Rosby was laughing, wherever he was now.
He flinched slightly as she applied her hand to his forehead, fighting the urge to bat it away for fear of her hurting him also. If the Stokeworths had taken orders from the Lannisters to remove him from power... who knew who else was in their pocket. But he had no choice but to trust her, he wasn't exactly in a position to refuse, though he deigned to finish whatever business he had left here and get to King's Landing at the earliest possible opportunity, even if it meant leaving today. "Do not worry then, 'Elia'... I will be out of your hair in the beat of a raven's wing... I have no more wish to be here than-..." He held his tongue then, lest anyone overhear him, simply reaching over to take a sip of the cold tea next to his bed. Despite her relatively friendly greeting, Paxtan refused to respond in kind, maintaining his icy, sorrow-filled disposition for many reasons, reasons that he hoped 'Elia' understood. And then he questioned the name in his mind. Elia... a rather damning clue...
His gaze took to her as she left him then, watching her form beneath the rather heavy septa robe and remembering their nights together under the stars. The thought gave him a rather bitter taste in his mouth now, though that could simply be the milk of the poppy he presumed 'Elia' had given him earlier. As she returned, the smell of the soup reminded him of the food at the camp during those initial days of battle, which only enhanced his discomfort at the entire situation but considering he hadn't eaten in what seemed like an eternity and had lost a great deal of blood, he consumed it without much of a thought as to what it contained, nor where the water had been collected. Paxtan paused for a moment before answering, his voice low in a subtle attempt to indicate that his tale need not be heard by others, lest there be more Lannister or Stokeworth agents in the Sept. "Lord Rosby is dead. Having no true heir he left the estate and land of Rosby to me, though the nearby Stokeworths, claiming it by right of marriage, saw fit to butcher my guards on the road and attempt to do the same to me." It was then he noticed the flags of House Baratheon and Lannister out of the window of the Sept and cocked his head slightly to indicate where he was looking, silently trying to communicate who he suspected had encouraged the Stokeworths. "It seems I got further than I thought I had if I'm in the Sept of Baelor... which means I must gain audience with the King and assert my right to Rosby as soon as possible."
As if waiting for a cue, a pair of septas entered the room now, clearly just passing through towards one of the other rooms but Paxtan took it as an opportunity to confirm something he had heard rumors of but no actual confirmation. "They say the city has been retaken by the Seven... which I suspect means I will not get out of here as easily as I would have hoped?" His eyebrows raised inquisitively, somewhat surprised himself that he was maintaining such coherency despite the pain in his leg and torso and the milk of the poppy he suspected still flowed through his veins.
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Post by Deleted on Jun 25, 2016 22:44:27 GMT
I will keep quiet, you won't even know I'm here | Starring
@kirby | |
you won't suspect a thing, you won't see me in the mirror Tyene had studied him while he slept and now she looked once more. Whenever Paxtan had been unconscious, his expression had softened to the point that he held an almost boyish innocence about him. He did not have harsh features and even if he wanted to she somehow doubted that he could come off as a dangerous brute. Not with those curls and that clean, gentle face of his. Even still, she hadn't been prepared for what she saw whenever he awoke. The fact that he still felt at least a bit of pain was obvious by the lines etched into his expression, but the truly appalling thing was the look he had in his eyes. This wasn't the same naive boy that she had met all those years ago. This was a man who had seen horrors. His bitter words were a harsh contrast to her last interaction with Paxtan Carring.
One brow rose whenever he swore he would be out of her hair soon. "I seem to remember a time whenever parting ways was a difficult task for us," she hummed, trailing a finger down his stubbled cheek. "Do you remember it differently?" she asked, fixing him with guileless eyes. "I said that your presence complicates things, not that I wanted you to leave..." she continued, pausing as she clasped her hands in front of her, glancing down at her own portrayed image. "And as the Septa that has treated your wounds....it seems to me that you aren't going anywhere anytime soon. Not if you want to live. You've lost too much blood and if you strain that leg before it's had time to begin healing...well, I trust you've heard of Doran Martell? You can ask him about the quality of life whenever the ability to walk is taken away," Tyene stated with a nod. She doubted that he would lose his leg entirely, but if it became infected, it was a possibility.
She straightened, transfixing a neutral look upon her face as Septa's walked past. She had taken a risk in speaking to him as Tyene rather than Elia, but for some reason she felt compelled to. She told herself that it was merely because he was the first familiar, welcome face she'd seen here other than her sisters. For the most part she was surrounded by strangers. It wasn't as if she hated her acting role. Contrarily, it was quite fun to see how eagerly the fools of this city consumed every lie that she fed them. Pretending to be someone that she wasn't had been a game long beloved to her. She especially enjoyed it whenever met with arrogant lords and ladies who thought they owned the world. More than a few times she had watched them fall twitching to the ground, proven to not be as untouchable as they had hoped whenever poison coursed through them.
Once Paxtan had quenched his thirst and eaten something, he began telling her his story. She wasn't surprised by what she heard. So many of these nobles would never consider picking up a sword, but they were quite talented at ordering their soldiers to slaughter others or them. Power and greed. Two things that controlled humanity. It wasn't hard to believe that Paxtan had been involved in an example of that. She followed his gaze whenever he nodded towards the Baratheon and Lannister sigils on the windows. "The lions like to think of themselves as above the rest of the world," she murmured in acknowledgement. She wasn't sure if the Lannister were involved in his attack. And if she were honest, lands and an estate meant nothing to her, but she did know that Paxtan was in the right place if he came seeking justice. Though from the sounds of it, he may be intending to go about it the wrong way. "The King is a puppet. The High Sparrow, two Lannisters and the Tyrells are all fighting to see who controls his strings next. It wouldn't be him you would have an audience with, it would be all o them. Take care with how you go about this, or you may lose more than Rosby," she warned. Why she even bothered with warning him was a mystery.
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