RP:My Everything
Summary: Irenic finds a way to a see his wife.
The Dungeon
The iron, anti-magic enchanted dungeon door opens to a long wall lined with cells. Each cell would comfortably hold 10 prisoners, and shackles on the wall threaten to restrain the most unruly among them. The floor is smooth brown stone, and cold. The stench of sick and bodily fluids fouls this place, which legend has it once stood witness to a massacre.
Irenic fell in line with some of the other royal guard within the fort and really kept it low key. Any inquiry he got as to where he’d been he gave the, “personal reasons,” excuse and everyone dropped it because what an awkward touchy subject. After getting ‘buddy-buddy’ with the dungeon guard he lied to the dude and said he was covering his lunch and that there was a nice spread up in the queen’s tea room or whatever. That would give him enough time to speak with his wife or at least say goodbye because this wasn’t like last time - he couldn’t just break her out of here no matter how much he wanted to with every fiber of his being. As soon as he saw Valrae it felt like someone was wringing all the water out of a towel - except the towel was his heart and the water would be blood or something. He knelt down close before the bars of the cell, “Valrae…” it wasn’t a question, he knew his wife and it was more like he was trying to gently wake her up for work or something. He unhooks the strap that holds the helmet on and let it gently clank on the floor before slipping off his gloves.
Valrae was curled in the corner of her cell. There was a mess of thin, dirty straw that did next to nothing to protect her from the chill of the stone floor. Her tunic was dirty, blood stained, frayed and threadbare. What little light slanted into her prison picked out the few dull strands of jagged hair that wasn't matted with blood or dirt. Her breathing was quick and shallow. Her eyes were swollen, the dark green of them glassy and vacant, as they watched unblinkingly as the dust motes danced lazily in the golden beam of sun. It took a moment for the witch to react to the sound of her husband's voice. It happened slowly. She blinked. Has she imagined his voice again? Like so many other times, when the ghost of him would wake her from the black of restless sleep and cradle her head in his lap. He would sing to her, shyly. Whisper to her all the places they would visit when he got her out of trouble again. Again. His bicolored eyes would narrow at her when the word rolled like a curse from his tongue. Again. But none of that had ever really happened, had it? Because the blissful nothingness would take her from him and she would always wake cold and alone. But now there he was, her husband. All long and lean muscled, crouched behind the bars of her hell and looking at her with worry creasing lines in the place between his brows. Why was he behind the bars now? With great effort Valrae pulls her body to the bars that stood between her and her heart. It took herculean effort. Moans and cries slipped between clenched teeth and pursed lips. Finally, she manages to reach her cold hand to his. A smile curves her broken lips. "Irenic,"
Irenic pressed himself to the bars and gently pulled her into him, but making sure to be mindful of her wounded spots for he could feel them. There they were on their knees with the barrier of dungeon bars between them and he places a kiss on her forehead as hot tears slipped from his mismatched eyes, “I don’t have long. I miss you terribly. I swear I am going to try everything in my power to get you out of here.” His voice was a whisper in his gruffness and watery eyes look down at her while his hands reach beyond the bars and softly stroke her matted up hair. “Here this was all I could get in,” it was a small healing potion that would at least make her a little more comfortable in the magic dampening cell. As soon as she would drink it he would stow the empty vial away and kiss her passionately as if he’s been hungry to do that for ages, “my beautiful wife…. I love you so much. I am not ready to lose you,” his eyesight became blurry with tears once more and mismatched eyes look a little bloodshot, he hasn’t been sleeping and probably crying, but like a man or something. He would kiss her cheeks softly and her forehead again before his armored arms slip around her the best he cold through the bars and hold her for a while. He chuckles softly, “you’re going to be so mad at me. You know those mugs we painted on our honeymoon in Aedrebyrg. I broke the one that says ‘Witch better have my muggy’, I’m just the worst.” He was smirking down at her and gently pushing some blood dried lock of hair out of her face until his scarred up face became stern, “what have they done to my wife.” The anger burning furious in his eyes and it was probably a look she has never seen before… A look that someone wouldn’t wish on their enemies.
Valrae closes her eyes as Irenic presses a kiss to her forehead, the bars cold unwelcome reminders that she couldn't really hold him, and feels her own tears welling in her tired eyes. "I dream of you," She whispers back, her voice raw and thick with emotion and pain. "I dream of you and you comfort me. I'm not alone." She opens her eyes to him again and feels her heart breaking, a pain so aching in the center of her chest that it eclipses her dying body. She takes the potion and lifts it to her lips with trembling hands, drinks it greedily. A sigh hisses through her teeth as she passes the empty vial back. "Please, Ire," Her tears fall down her cheeks, streak through the blood and dirt there. "Please don't. You have to take Maude and you have to leave." She struggles to hold him, the bars a maddening and sick form of torture between them. Irenic pushes at her ruined hair and tells her about one of the mugs he broke. The sweetness of this threatens to break her heart completely. "I'm so sorry," She blurts. "I'm so sorry, I'm sorry. I wish... I'm selfish and stupid and I'm so sorry." Her words fall out around sobs and ragged breaths and painful hiccups. "None of this mattered, I couldn't save anyone. I don't want this anymore, only you. I only want you. I'm so sorry, please. I love you, I love you." She is sobbing too hard to hear his question, too hard to answer it. Death yawns before her and the life she could have had with her husband is bitter pain. "I only want you. I made a mistake. I love you."
Irenic didn’t last long in his anger when she blamed herself and speaks of regrets, but he whispers to her, “oh, no, no… Shh-sh.” He pulls her to him the best he can and rests his chin against her forehead in gentle manner. “I love you Valrae Baines-Older. You are everything I’ve ever needed and more than I ever hoped to even want. I fell in love with your drive, with that fire that burns within you. You have stood up for your beliefs and as my wife I stand with you through thick and thin - I don’t care if you’ve killed a hundred kings.” He didn’t know why he felt compelled to say it, but, “one day we are going to be laughing about this and I’ll be bragging to our children about just how much of a badass their mother is and that they better finish their peas.” He chuckles softly and in their sniffles, crying, whispering he was too wrapped up to have heard the footsteps coming down the corridor. “Hey!” The guard halts their reunion and sprints over, “merde…” Irenic grumbles before getting to his feet and getting into a tussle with the guard, but he makes sure not to strike him because the both of them would be no use locked up. The commotion caused another guard or two to come running to the rescue and when that’s not enough another three come in to try and kick him out. He’s dodging guys left and right, letting them run head first into some cell doors or into each other until all six have him and his legs give out so they are forced to carry this six foot eleven armor clad black knight out of the dungeons, “that’s MY wife in there!!” The guards chalk it up to some mental brake, he did just say he was going through some personal stuff and manage to just kick him out on his ass. He’s got a black eye a broken nose and swollen lip.
Valrae tries to let her husband comfort her, hangs on to every word from his scarred lips. They would have children and love and be happy and grow old together. The witch would have plenty of winters to snuggle into him and obnoxiously put her cold feet on him. Take too long to get ready to go anywhere. Pick stupid fights over nothing and nag about socks in the floor. Kiss and makeup. She never wanted children, not once in her life, not even when she'd lost one, but now she wanted it so much it was near unbearable. She wanted to laze around in the sun, pregnant and spoiled. She wanted to argue with Irenic after too many late night feedings and diaper changes. She wanted to kiss scraped knees and tell bedtime stories and burn dinners she had no business cooking. She wanted a life with her husband and she'd realized it too late. She'd thrown it all away and she couldn't see the reason for it now, here and alone in her filthy cell. She watched helplessly as the guards caught her husband, screamed uselessly as the fought with him and drug him away... Until she was alone again. Valrae was there, pressed against the bars and weeping until there were no more tears to fall from her eyes. When she was too exhausted to even cry, she crawled back to the filthy corner of straw and waited for sleep to take her.