justprompts Picture prompt: Shower
Shower
After this
It was late in the day that she returned home, way later than she had intended. Maybe later than was necessary. But there had been seven - seven - apprentices being trained in that foul magic. Seven teenagers who woke up, or got up in the case of a pair, she suspected, to their master's cooling body. Not that they got to see it, not like that, but that was the fact. Seven teenagers who, if left to their own devices, would eventually seek vengeance. And, if what they had been taught had caught, they would have various means of finding it. They'd find those who'd teach them and... no. The work of that night wasn't completed by a death. It was completed by writing letters of explanation to six wizards - separating the pair had seemed like another invitation to bad blood - and sending off the apprentices to probable new masters. If any of the requests were unanswerable, the youths might end up her responsibility temporarily, but she could deal with that later.
Still, it took a longer time than swift justice, and that they hadn't - couldn't have - truly rushed through either.
Neither of them could afford a Warden's justice, not for many breathing, living, loving reasons, so the final act had been by a sharp, honest blade, untouched by magic. They'd used spells and other work to get through the wards, to isolate the culprit from his power, but even if wardens investigated, there would be nothing to condemn on. The same technicalities that had protected him would protect them.
So it was that Solace De La Marck walked into her home alive, the day after. The maid who took her coat away responded that the master of the house had not returned yet (Sol felt again a twinge of guilt for leaving him like that, knowing his day was going to be long); so the mistress just climbed the stairs and found her way to their son, taking him carefully from the woman who was responsible for him at the moment and holding him close to her. He fussed, possibly sensing with an instinct as old as the world that his mother was upset, but she kept on holding him, talking to him until he calmed down, drowsed. She held on to him after that too, just needing the reassurance that... he was well. In a world that still seemed wrong for what had been being done, and by what she'd had to do.
Eventually, she lay him back into the crib, shed her clothes - almost threw them in the fire right then, but decided the smell would wake Aidan up - and walked into the shower, letting hot water wash over her, on and on and on, till the blistering wind outside was forgotten--
She was still hot from the running, summer air not cooling her skin fast enough, but she'd caught her breath, and the spell was going to hold, with Cas and Pol it was going to hold, and all of them knew it was going to work when they moved to break the circles together, seeing the creature fully almost for the first time, but ready for it. Blood-curdling, unforgettable, the mere look of it seemed to imprint on her the way things Seen did, but that was all right, they'd be sending it 'home' so very soon, the heat of the summer and the heat of its proximity as they broke through the circle splashed with the heat of her brother's blood...
-- she turned the warm water fully off, and icy spikes flooded over her reddened skin, cold on her body as cold as her blood had been running through her veins mere hours ago--
Pol and her had slipped through, disabled, or plain blasted past the wards, quietly as they could, went past the rooms of his apprentices, and found him finally in his study. There was a familiar stench in the air. Old, weak, but for her unmistakably pointing out that he'd done more than study the spells. Once, at least.
He had been alerted by his wards, of course, but he'd not expected two of them. And he had not expected the dark-clothed, shadow-cloaked woman to storm through the room as his defenses and and attacks were taken down systematically, in a synchrony that came by now of decades of practice together, nor the blade piercing his neck, angling up to go through his tongue silencing his words forever. And yet he had time to gather his will one time, drawing deeply. "The younges--"
And then he spoke no more.
-- and she turned on the hot water again, hot water worked better to wash things off, didn't it? To wash the unsettling new sensation that the unfinished last words of - the hopefully unfinished death curse of - the wizard had given her. Maybe he'd not managed to fully transfer that curse, but there had been something. It clung to her, sinking in, soaking through her.
The youngest. Philip? Her child? Pollux's child? Had any of that come to Pol - she'd have to ask him at a later time; neither of them had felt like talking much, or at all, to each other - at all? She shuddered, despite the warmth around her, and made the water run even hotter. Everything had its consequences. All of them seemed to hurt.
Very shortly, she could almost no longer breathe in the heat of the bathroom. She reached for a bathrobe - and her tired mind sought the comfort of picking out Stephen's, in which she wrapped herself and walked out.
Then she lifted Aidan up again, settling down in an armchair before the fireplace. And when she didn't have to focus on the child, she'd stare in the direction of the flames.
She did not want her family to live in a world where Outsiders roamed. They could not truly be controlled, and the rules they answered to... too little was known about those.
Solace De La Marck, born DuMorne, had no fucking idea whether what she'd done had been right or wrong. Just that it had needed to be done, and nobody else would have done it.
Nothing changed anything, in the raw circles her thoughts could not escape. At least she was home now.
After this
It was late in the day that she returned home, way later than she had intended. Maybe later than was necessary. But there had been seven - seven - apprentices being trained in that foul magic. Seven teenagers who woke up, or got up in the case of a pair, she suspected, to their master's cooling body. Not that they got to see it, not like that, but that was the fact. Seven teenagers who, if left to their own devices, would eventually seek vengeance. And, if what they had been taught had caught, they would have various means of finding it. They'd find those who'd teach them and... no. The work of that night wasn't completed by a death. It was completed by writing letters of explanation to six wizards - separating the pair had seemed like another invitation to bad blood - and sending off the apprentices to probable new masters. If any of the requests were unanswerable, the youths might end up her responsibility temporarily, but she could deal with that later.
Still, it took a longer time than swift justice, and that they hadn't - couldn't have - truly rushed through either.
Neither of them could afford a Warden's justice, not for many breathing, living, loving reasons, so the final act had been by a sharp, honest blade, untouched by magic. They'd used spells and other work to get through the wards, to isolate the culprit from his power, but even if wardens investigated, there would be nothing to condemn on. The same technicalities that had protected him would protect them.
So it was that Solace De La Marck walked into her home alive, the day after. The maid who took her coat away responded that the master of the house had not returned yet (Sol felt again a twinge of guilt for leaving him like that, knowing his day was going to be long); so the mistress just climbed the stairs and found her way to their son, taking him carefully from the woman who was responsible for him at the moment and holding him close to her. He fussed, possibly sensing with an instinct as old as the world that his mother was upset, but she kept on holding him, talking to him until he calmed down, drowsed. She held on to him after that too, just needing the reassurance that... he was well. In a world that still seemed wrong for what had been being done, and by what she'd had to do.
Eventually, she lay him back into the crib, shed her clothes - almost threw them in the fire right then, but decided the smell would wake Aidan up - and walked into the shower, letting hot water wash over her, on and on and on, till the blistering wind outside was forgotten--
She was still hot from the running, summer air not cooling her skin fast enough, but she'd caught her breath, and the spell was going to hold, with Cas and Pol it was going to hold, and all of them knew it was going to work when they moved to break the circles together, seeing the creature fully almost for the first time, but ready for it. Blood-curdling, unforgettable, the mere look of it seemed to imprint on her the way things Seen did, but that was all right, they'd be sending it 'home' so very soon, the heat of the summer and the heat of its proximity as they broke through the circle splashed with the heat of her brother's blood...
-- she turned the warm water fully off, and icy spikes flooded over her reddened skin, cold on her body as cold as her blood had been running through her veins mere hours ago--
Pol and her had slipped through, disabled, or plain blasted past the wards, quietly as they could, went past the rooms of his apprentices, and found him finally in his study. There was a familiar stench in the air. Old, weak, but for her unmistakably pointing out that he'd done more than study the spells. Once, at least.
He had been alerted by his wards, of course, but he'd not expected two of them. And he had not expected the dark-clothed, shadow-cloaked woman to storm through the room as his defenses and and attacks were taken down systematically, in a synchrony that came by now of decades of practice together, nor the blade piercing his neck, angling up to go through his tongue silencing his words forever. And yet he had time to gather his will one time, drawing deeply. "The younges--"
And then he spoke no more.
-- and she turned on the hot water again, hot water worked better to wash things off, didn't it? To wash the unsettling new sensation that the unfinished last words of - the hopefully unfinished death curse of - the wizard had given her. Maybe he'd not managed to fully transfer that curse, but there had been something. It clung to her, sinking in, soaking through her.
The youngest. Philip? Her child? Pollux's child? Had any of that come to Pol - she'd have to ask him at a later time; neither of them had felt like talking much, or at all, to each other - at all? She shuddered, despite the warmth around her, and made the water run even hotter. Everything had its consequences. All of them seemed to hurt.
Very shortly, she could almost no longer breathe in the heat of the bathroom. She reached for a bathrobe - and her tired mind sought the comfort of picking out Stephen's, in which she wrapped herself and walked out.
Then she lifted Aidan up again, settling down in an armchair before the fireplace. And when she didn't have to focus on the child, she'd stare in the direction of the flames.
She did not want her family to live in a world where Outsiders roamed. They could not truly be controlled, and the rules they answered to... too little was known about those.
Solace De La Marck, born DuMorne, had no fucking idea whether what she'd done had been right or wrong. Just that it had needed to be done, and nobody else would have done it.
Nothing changed anything, in the raw circles her thoughts could not escape. At least she was home now.