Historye
Who: Uther and Chase
What: blemishes
When: backdated to after Chase meets Clarice
Where: out for a walk in the wood
Rating: A for good clean angst
Status: private, complete
Uther had been having dreams. Dreams that exhausted, dreams that were a struggle, dreams that made a mockery of sleep, from the depths of which he wrested himself with an almighty effort, ever slipping back into the abyss as did a man on a scree slope, fighting gravel underfoot on its plunge into the pit. He would emerge sweating, his muscles aching, hands clenched.
The taste of smoke, greasy and acrid would linger in his mouth, following him from the dream world into the waking world, and he would feel, strangely, old and despondent, as though the future were only a stretch of days which he had condemned himself to endure.
The fatigue he could bear, and without a complaint. He had spent enough time on arduous campaign, poor in sleep and rich in miles traveled. But it was the disturbance that would linger through the morning, the images that would come without warning across his mind in the bright sunlight of the afternoon, the fear of further dreams at night that would keep him from his bed. Those were the things that wearied him, and that made of these dreams more than mere annoyance.
As the days (and nights) had passed, he had come to realise that there was a common theme to what he remembered of the dreams, a horrific one repeated in disparate scenes: fire, water, earth, blood, all the humours playing their part to force him to one harrowing revelation.
But he could not think it, could not entertain the words that recounted this knowledge, even to himself, could not admit to what this dream--though only a dream--accused him. He could only suffocate under the feeling of guilt it laid on him, as though he needed a dream to show him guilt, and pretend that all was well.
By day he could not confront it, but at night he would dream this dream, where he could not escape it, and in the hour before dawn, when the sky was no longer black, he would awaken, his entire body damp, and at night he would sleep, and in sleep he would dream...
What: blemishes
When: backdated to after Chase meets Clarice
Where: out for a walk in the wood
Rating: A for good clean angst
Status: private, complete
Uther had been having dreams. Dreams that exhausted, dreams that were a struggle, dreams that made a mockery of sleep, from the depths of which he wrested himself with an almighty effort, ever slipping back into the abyss as did a man on a scree slope, fighting gravel underfoot on its plunge into the pit. He would emerge sweating, his muscles aching, hands clenched.
The taste of smoke, greasy and acrid would linger in his mouth, following him from the dream world into the waking world, and he would feel, strangely, old and despondent, as though the future were only a stretch of days which he had condemned himself to endure.
The fatigue he could bear, and without a complaint. He had spent enough time on arduous campaign, poor in sleep and rich in miles traveled. But it was the disturbance that would linger through the morning, the images that would come without warning across his mind in the bright sunlight of the afternoon, the fear of further dreams at night that would keep him from his bed. Those were the things that wearied him, and that made of these dreams more than mere annoyance.
As the days (and nights) had passed, he had come to realise that there was a common theme to what he remembered of the dreams, a horrific one repeated in disparate scenes: fire, water, earth, blood, all the humours playing their part to force him to one harrowing revelation.
But he could not think it, could not entertain the words that recounted this knowledge, even to himself, could not admit to what this dream--though only a dream--accused him. He could only suffocate under the feeling of guilt it laid on him, as though he needed a dream to show him guilt, and pretend that all was well.
By day he could not confront it, but at night he would dream this dream, where he could not escape it, and in the hour before dawn, when the sky was no longer black, he would awaken, his entire body damp, and at night he would sleep, and in sleep he would dream...