Imprisoned for Nobility

[alexoconnor]

The air was stale, and it stank of sweat, and other foul smelling odors that were obviously emitted from the prisoners of the dungeons. The stone walls were smooth cut, with no chance of finding a loose brick, or wiggling a hole wider. There were no barred windows, since he was quite obviously beneath ground, and thankfully, in his own cell. Alexander O'Connor sat silently upon the small pallet of old straw that served as the cells only sort of comfort and luxury. He sat, with his back propped against the cold stone wall. With his knees propped up, and his elbows resting upon the tops of them, that left his wrists and hands dangling in front of him. Not that they were of much use ... what with the manacles that bound his wrists together.

Things had been going fine, until he'd decided to stick his nose where it hadn't belonged. Then again, had he not ... the woman would be dead now. True, but he wouldn't be sitting in the bottom of a dungeon, in perhaps the worst accommodations he could imagine. Well, that wasn't entirely true in either statement. The prison was infinitely nicer then some of the war camps he'd been stationed at, with warm gruel, and stale water every meal. Secondly, it wasn't entirely her fault ... after all, he had fled, and he had fought the guards who'd tried to detain him. So, perhaps that bit was his fault. But why had they thrown him down here, in the bottom of this tremendously horrible bastion of death and despair ?! Well, that'd been because he'd broken two guards ribs, and a thirds arms when they'd tried to question him.

That had gotten him a rather nice beating, which had left him laying bruised, but far from broken upon the stone floor of his new accommodations. So it was, that he'd let those dark locks hang loosely around his roughly hewn features, deep set gray eyes closing as he wandered over the unfortunate series of events that had managed to get him locked in this damnable place. His head fell forwards, shadowing his face with those dark locks as he slipped deeper into thought, hands shifting to shake those chains ever so slightly, reminding himself of the chains that bound him, not the chains that held him.

It'd been so hard for him to leave the King of Scotland as he had, but it had been better for Eirian, since her husband had turned up alive. So, doing the thing that any truly honorable man would do ... he left. His heart breaking with every inch he put between himself, and the only woman he'd ever known the love of. Traveling for days, and living off little more than bread and the stiff whiskey that the Scots were so famous for. He traveled for as long as he could, away from the highlands, and southwards towards the front lines of the war. Once he got there, he was picked up by a regiment of English soldiers.

It was upon learning, that the drunkard they had picked up was the son of the then Duke of York, that he had been immediately shipped southwards, a small detachment making sure that he reached his fathers estates unharmed. Once there, his anger and desire turned bitter by the time, the distance, and the sweet alcohol, he turned that anger into hatred. A strong, dishonorable hatred towards the Scots. The thought had crossed his mind, that if he took Scotland for the King, then he could kill Eirian's husband, and have her for himself once more. That thought, and that thought alone fueled the ravenous fires of war that burned bright in those haunted eyes.

He'd become the prodigal son of the Duke of York, leading the King of Englands armies into battle against Robert the Bruce again and again, and pulling victories from what would have surely been defeats for any other man. It was the blind determination to destroy the Scots that lead him quickly into the inner circles of the King of England. Earning his favor, and becoming one of the most feared men in Scotland. That however, would be his very undoing ... having earned the favor of the English king, he was assigned a group of elite soldiers. Ten men who's skills were in brutal sabotage.

Sent into Scotland, with only three of his own men, and these brutes that were on loan from the king. He was sent to a small town in the midst of Scotland, where upon, his mission was to destroy the inhabitants, and dwellings. He had thought it a military garrison, or a rallying point. No, the small hamlet was a refuge, for women and children sent north by warring husbands. The sight of what those men began to do turned Alex's blood from the ice that had flown through his veins, to the ravenous fires of hell itself. Alexander, along with his three soldiers turned on their comrades the moment the mayhem began. Slicing into them with sudden ferocity, and surprise that the odds were more or less evened out. The entire event ended, with Alexander being the only man left standing.

The children cried, and the women thanked him. All of them begging to know their saviors name ... how could he tell them that he was the one who had slaughtered their fathers ? How could he tell them, that if he had not led the armies of the English, that they would be home now, asleep and happy with their fathers and brothers protecting them. So, he told them the truth ... or at least, half of it. He told them that he was the Duke of Galway, a small Irish duchie on the west coast of Eire, and that he'd been sent to save the Scots and the Celts from the evils of the English King.

That was the turning point for Alexander. Now, his victories in battle were fueled by the righteous fury of an avenging angel, swinging into battle with the hand and a half sword that marked him as the Duke of York. When a man would ask, he would always claim that it was because he had slain the man in single combat. Besting him in the most honorable of ways. So it was that the Duke of Galway became an urban legend amongst the Scottish foot soldiers, a man who went from company to company, leading them for one or two missions, before departing from them, and moving on to where he was truly needed.

Then, the war was won ... and the duke of Galway vanished, as if he had never existed at all. Of course, there were soldiers who had seen and met with him. Always spreading tales of his heroic deeds. Then there were nae sayers, who said that the man was a rumor of propaganda and that only the King of Scotland was to be credited for the victory over the Englsih. He didn't care about the name sake, he didn't care about the fame. Now that the war was over, he had nothing to return to, being an outlaw by both people's standards. So it was that Alexander wandered the countryside with the money he had stored, stolen, and such from the English, and his two entitled duchies.

The Gryffin City ... that was where he had been when things had turned completely wrong. That was where he had seen one man, following a woman. The man, in turn, was being followed by another man. Well, that was a strange enough sort of events to get his attention, so he'd intervened ... and it had cost him his freedom.

Gray eyes snapped open as the bolt on the outside of the door was lifted, and the harsh light of the lantern that sat on the wall outside his cell was cast within the shadowy confines of the small chamber, showing how small it truly was. Alex would let those deep set hues peer into the light, as the voice of one of the guard captains came through, clear as a bell in the silence of the dark night. "Time for you to answer some questions ... now we can do this the easy way .." The guard stepped into the room, his bulk filling more than half the space that was allotted to the prisoner. He seized Alexander by the black leather vest, hauling him to his feet, and shoving him hard against the wall. "... or we can do this the hard way...."

When he was shoved back against the wall, Alex started to laugh softly. Those grays peering up through those dark locks, as he kept his face pointed downwards, as if cowed and broken by the brutes speah. "Well, I suppose this is the hard way ?" He'd step forwards, and with a flip of those wrists brought the chain up, and over the back of the mans head. Snapping his arms wide open, and forcing the mans face downwards, as he leapt upwards off the ground, a heavy knee plated to the center of the guards face. The sound of something crunching, and sudden spurge of blood was the only noise for a half moment, but then three more brutes were muscling their way into the cell, none of them stopping to check their downed comrade.

"You boys have failed to realize something very important ... I'm not locked in here with you,... you're locked in here with me ..." Those would be the last words, before he was dragged to the ground, in yet another vicious brawl over whether or not Alexander O'Connor, the Duke of York ... would answer the questions of theses lowly peons, so that they could impress their masters with their proficiency.

[Lady Eirian Gwenyth Apollius]

"....make your peace with god....."

Alexander: There had been some subtle changes in the accomodations since his last attempt to fend off his would be interrogators. No, they no longer allowed him the luxury of a stretch of straw upon the cold stone floor. Now, he stood with his shoulders and back bare of the clothing he had been wearing. Chest heaving with every breath as he stood in the center of the circular room, his arms stretched out to either side of him. It wasn't torture, but it was damn near close. With both wrists wrapped in those heavy steel manicles, the hard steel biting into the rough skin of his wrists mercilessly, keeping him standing there in the center of the room. His face had a few old bruises, and his lip was splitit from the brutal brawl that had resulted in his current circumstances. This however, hadn't stopped him from kicking the most recent guard right between his uprights, and when he'd collapsed ... well there'd been a nice knee and a nother broken nose. So it was, that they'd sent for permission to begin using physical implements to bring him about. In the mean time, he'd been hobbled. A piece of wood strapped around those bare ankles, his black cotton trouse dirty from the week of fighting and trying to escape. The hobbles were even chained into a ring in the floor, so if they wished all they had to do was pull the chains that held his arms, and he'd look very much the martyr, hanging crosslike, with his head bowed and that dark hair cascading over roughly hewn and chiselled musculature. Every inch of his flesh bronzed and toned from years of sword work in the hot sun. That rippled flesh pockmarked with scars frombolts, arrows, and blades of all sorts and shapes. This, he'd come to realize ... was where he was going to die. [x]

Eirian Ye must see iffn he tells the truth, young Eirian. Employ thy means, though m'thinks at first glance you will know. How is it ye have known more than most... The Mo'r Oukselo's words throbbed like a headache that would not relent against her brain. She swore, by God, that the words would spill out in a bloody soiled mess on her feet but still she would be moving quickly. Beathag had taken to walking several leages behind the heels of the bird in flight. Silvered skirts billowed outward like the wings of a bird, her eyes deviated from nothing but the pinprick of lantern light as the sun had long since been swallowed behind him. "I am fated to know more than most, Mo'r Oukselo...God has done two things. He has chosen me as he has tried to kill me. Since it seems I am not broken....it seems he has left mind and faith to trouble with." No pious path had ever been so strewn with broken glass as the one the tiny footed woman walked. Behind sealed doors were gruff cries, harsh laughter, or moans of pain. This level of the blue castle prison was not the horrors of the darker, deviant dungeons but it still lacked the one thing that brought hope: natural light. When they came to a certain portion of their journey, the guard passed her hands a lantern, for the Mo'r Oukselo was still behind her, as was her light.

Beathag: "If he tries tae hurt 'er, m'orders are concrete.." she whispered to Brom, whom absorbed her words as the ground takes in water. "Words, writ, or otherwise..Ah dun nay like it." Once, the man in the cell had been a knight for a Highland Kingdom built on honor and frail dreams. Once, she had been but a woman who commented on the run of his lance or the significance of his presence beside another. It was never comfortable to craddle literal life in one's fingers, but time diminished fears. She was benevolent, aye. But the Lady Aberdeen was no fool. Once Alexander's name had been connected to that possibility of York, no command need be given to seal him in a sunless room. Now, to confirm truths and mayhaps even herald mercy would be the pale woman infront of her. One could almost diminish a lantern here - just follow the glow on Eirian's skin.

Eirian: She arrived at the door seperating them from the prisoner. The present to the past. Of the many ways those of olden times had met, this seemed almost the most horrific, if not self-fufilling of prophecy. The wolf-mantle in the woods had all but decreed that much. She almost thought she heard the snarl of a lone animal behind the door. "Open it..please. Open it!" Beathag bid her be still, and come behind her. A rise of anxiety in Eirian's voice decreed her do that..(d)

Alexander: He stood, silent and still in the darkness. The only noise coming from his own breathing, until suddenly there seemed life on the other side of the heavy english oak door. Those deep set grays would cast upwards in the darkness, seeming to glow with the fierce fire that burned within his soul. He was determined now, that he would not die here in these dungeons. Not without fighting for his freedom with every breath in his lungs, and every bit of his muscles. He'd straighten as the door started to open, his face framed by the dirty dark locks that frame his roughly hewn features. Silently he'd watch as the door began to swing open, and when that light spilled into the room, it blinded him to whom was behind it. So, he knew only that they were here for him again. So, as much as to intimidate the guards as to strengthen his heart, he would twist those arms, and grab hold of the chains that bound him. His pectorals, and arm muscles would bulge, the skin tightening as he heaved with every bit of strength he had at those chains. There was no way to break them from the wall, not even for a man of Alexander's strength ... but the muscle was enough to lift him up from the floor, as far as the chained hobbles would let him, arms straight out as he hauled the chain tight from the wall, something akin to a gymnasts iron cross. His eyes burning with the dark hatred for the men on the other side of the door for what they had done to him. "You'd better have come to kill me ... because I've got nothing to say to any of you ..." [x]

Beathag: The guards took a stance based in abrasive behavior; be it to inflict or prevent it, the men in the room were all on raised hackles. Their sweat seeped ego, resolves won and lost, victory over circumstance, self preservation. The air was rife with a battle who's precursor had been the man imprisoned. Brom took the place before herself and Eirian, two men on each side of him, and two on the side of the prisoner. "Ah've nay come to kill you," the thick highland brogue announced, "Nor dae Ah seek reason tae dae sae." Still, she studied the tools of his imprisonment. He had shown force, resistance. So the guard returned the favor. Cross-martryed on a wood plate and manicles on the Isle of Skye would seem a sad way to die, but there were other ways than torchure to kill a man. Bruises. Blood. Split lip? Apparently, the 'Duke' and the Griffin soldiers had poor time at conversing. She did not give them disdain for doing their duty however, and within the leagues given them. "All of ye gae, but one guard fer 'im, n' Brom.." That would only leave two men to this one, and obviously he put up enough fight for more than that. "Take him off o' tha' n' bring food fer 'im, if ye have nay already. Bring chair, unless sir ye intend tae stay up by sheer force alone." Chairs enough for the other two women would come, too. "Ah want tae come to the root o' this, here n' now."

Eirian The root of what? Beathag was not a cruel woman but it was known that she was no fool. One could not state that enough, and while common sustinance and simple kindness would be shown, for she may have sensed the cause of it, there was still a nation to see put right. Skye and Scotland had endured quite enough. What of all of them, Eirian wondered briefly? The guard seemed intent to keep the small of her form behind them, which was not hard to do. Indeed behind the Highlander of Norse ancestry and her Norse guards, she was swallowed. Still, on but one end, she peered round as the men went to do as the Mo'r Oukselo said (d)

Alexander: The voice and it's brogue had suddenly stricken him. A woman's voice, and those muscles seemed to lose all the fight that they'd had in them. He dropped back to the floor, his knees buckling as the chains were released from his rough cut wrists. Gray eyes cast to the stone floor as he dropped to his knees before them, all the fight had apparently been extinguished with but the gentlest tone of a womans words. He couldn't fight a woman ! That was one of the reasons he'd been caught in the first place, not wanting to kill a guard of the Gryffin City, and intending on fleeing rather than fighting his way from them. So, as he knelt there, no longer hobled and strung up. He'd slowly cast those eyes upwards, letting them adjust to the sudden light that seemed to flood the room. Those gray eyes shone in the still dim light, and he would let them sift from one vaguely familiar face, to the guards ... but as they all departed the room, it left him knelt before Beathag and Brom, one guard standing off to the side ... and her. Those eyes filled immediately with tears as he knelt there, eyes no long roaming, and muscles no long straining. "... I must be passing." He'd whisper in the rough Gaelic of his birthland. "...for I beheld an angel, to lead me from my damnation ..." He'd smile, a sad smile that wilted at the corners, and the tears began to stream down over his cheeks as he twsited, and attempted to rise from the position of subservience that his lack of strength had left him in. [x]

Beathag "One minute ye are hell n' vigor fer the guards n' then ye drop tae knee n' start recitin prose. " She could have all but snorted, but held the sound inside to translate instead to the undercurrent of a slight chortle. Irony. The theme of the reign! The chairs were brought in, and a small table. A thicker stew given she'd learned he hadn't had much of substance for many days, and ale. No good would come of him toppling over and dying, now would it? What was he going on about - Brom whispered, to which her head tilted to the 'vision' of lumiscent skin and spellbinding blue eyes that set the minstrels tongues wagging. "Come, sit."

Eirian: He was seeing angels and Eirian was stuck somewhere between wondering if Devils were nipping at her heels, or if the pain twisting at her gentle heart would end. Is this what Zahak's return had rendered, only for his disappearence to come again? For the man whom she hadn't seen, she felt a sudden serge of resentment and a hotbed of hatred for him that had given her the babe-child Hope. Eirian strove to hate nothing, neither great enemey or deed, but along with those that caused ruination, it made it quite hard. "No, my lord, you are not dead. Delerius, mayhap, but not dead." She stepped forward, and offered him hand as the guard came to support his sagging shoulder. "Come.Sit, Eat. I do not know what it is you have done in entirity nor all of your travels..but please sit down..." She knew that beathag would return him to better accomdations. She knew that she wouldn't kill him, but she didn't know the entirity of his fate, not yet. It all seemed to hang in such a precarious balance. (d)


Alexander Alexander would slowly climb upwards towards his feet, stumbling into the guard as he came up, before Eirian had a chance to get her hands to him. He would force himself upright, those deep set gray eyes peering between the three ofthem as he seemed to realize exactly what the situation here was. "So then you've come to lay judgement upon me?" He'd arch that brow skywards, slowly turning and stepping towards the chair, his movements were slow and mildly lethargic. As he turned, and lowered down into the chair that had been offerred him, he would keep his back straight, and chin held high. He seemed ever defiant, even in the face of the only woman to have ever won his heart. He would try his very best to keep his eyes from trailing to her, and the tears would stop now that he'd realized he wasn't dieing, and that he would not be with her at long last. He'd sit in silence for a few moments, fingers reaching out to grip the rough black bread that had come with the stew, ripping a small piece of and dunking it into the stew. "So ... pass your judgement that I might no my fate ..." [x]

Beathag: "Ah dun pass judement without all the facts, n' there is nay a many facts here since ye are sae mum untae the guard. Ah was made aware o' yer presence nay long ago. N' n' seein at a distance whom ye were, it fell tha' this should gae swift n' just. There's enough heresay tae hang ye in five countries..but we done live nor judge, nor try on heresay." She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms across her mid section. --

Erian: "I have come to do my duty, in having told what I know..and to acess your truth." Duty. It tasted vile with the spit going down her throat to lubricate her speech. Her eyes looked to her lap, open hands.

Beathag "Ah dun need heresay, wot Ah need is yer side o' the story, man." The woman said, blunt and exact. An even-keeled Scott? Well. That was right up there with the Half-English ruler and sitting next to the Duke of York, which she was.She bid the door be sealed shut period, as well as the grate window closed on it. "Wot Ah need is the Duke o' York tae tell me wot end be up nor down. N' whomever else or what e'er else you are." (d)

Duke of Galway: "Seven ... " He'd speak around a mouthful of the rich dark bread, grinning as he looked up from his sudden interest in that delicious stew, swallowing quickly. He'd shake his head. "Seven Countries I'd be hanged in, and three I'd be drawn and quartered." He'd give them that toothy grin as he sat back from the small table, and it's hot stew. His eyes would travel from Beathag, towards Eirian as she spoke of duty. His face would go blank of that grin, a slightly haunted look slipping past those shadowed grays as he nodded slowly, sitting upright once more. "Well... you always were dutiful ..." He'd turn his glance back towards the woman he knew less, shrugging those broad and completely bare shoulders. "I'm the Duke of York ... leader of the Seventh Company under the King of England. I lead raids, and battles that have cost the Scots thousands, maybe even tens of thousands of men ..." He'd shake his head slowly, turning his glance from Beathag towards Eirian with that small smile growing over his lips once more, those haunted grays locked on her. "... Also, I'm the Duke of Galway ... " Of course, the guard would laugh at that one, and perhaps the two women as well. The Duke of Galway was to be considered superstition, seeing as none had ever proved he'd existed in the war. A ghost leader who showed up with men from nowhere to save the day, then vanished just as quickly. He never stayed for the spoils of war, and never remained more then a heart beat in the same place. Alex would quietly turn his eyes back to the stew, using the remainder of the bread to scoop it out and devour it slowly, letting what he'd told them sink into their heads, before setting the bowl down and groaning at the taste of the sweet ale he was swallowing. "Mmm, delicious ... I'm also a man inprisoned for saving an innocent woman from assassination ... your guards came upon the scene after I'd slaughtered two men trying to kill her, and I fled ... because of who I am. They persued, and instead of killing the two men who'd gotten to me, I tried to escape still .., a mistake I've not mad e again ... as your guards can tell you." [x]

Beathag: "Yer a canty son o' a bytch." She watched him sup as his nonchalant assortment of information came over unfeeling lips. Her own face was impassive, considering the details he seemed to exhale without a care in the world despite the fact the woman was a Highlander by nature, and could have had him strung up with his bootstrings in that very minute. "Yer war crimes would leave nothin' fer the o'er countries tae contend with. But the Duke o' Galaway is myth if made real may preserve yer hide. The woman Ah will question, n' as fer the men, well, tha' is a qualm twixt yerself n' them." The Griffin had a long reaching arm, and heavy hand no doubt. "Ye lead a double standard then. Well.: Ye haven't a holdin' tae return tae in England. York was burned quite thoroughly." To ashes. "Galway, mm. The Mo'r Triath can tell ye the story 'imself Ah hear he will be home soon n' fer a time at tha. "

Eirian: She winced. A barb - always dutiful - and it stung. Duty had cost her a life with him but fate had given her succor with another. No better for him though. Eirian merely listened as he talk-swaggered and Beathag gave way to theprofane. If anything, the Grand Dame's training produced eyes that could level down on one point for hours at a time. They didn't deviate from her hands, until she was told to have them look up. Despite the undercurrents in this meeting, Beathag wouldn't allow her to stoop so low as to appear sorry. "He tells truth thus far?" She nodded, adding. "He is boastful, and prideful, but he is telling you no falsehood." It seemed an odd posistion. Was it the timbre in voice she listened to? A movement of face? Was it the past alone? No, alas nothing so obvious nor so simplistic. "Can ye see it." Eirian wanted to laugh. In a rueful sense, she sighed, and chuckled almost wearily, "From the moment his name was mentioned it has passed before my eyes.Alexander will tell your men nothing. No matter how honorable or good or calm, no matter whom you should pass before him it will only be a parade of defiance, my lady. Yet what he does tell them if he says anything at all is in utter earnest." She looked at Alexander and for the barb he gave her, she gave him a bit to consider, "Though you should stop it. Be it whatever life, double or such as you have led. Any admit themselves in the end, taking regret only where regret is due in pride in the height of things. You are behaving as an outright fool and would have men beat you. No, I'd say even a child. Robert theBruce would have shamed you, and even the olden kings before him. Despite what ever..place...my friend and liege seeks me to have here...it is in obvious preservation of yourself and fair justice. I am here to acess your truth, and with that knowledge or other rumor you are as rife as any other to seek to have me burned I am sure? But the liklihood of detail from him Beathag, you are likely to have the sun rise in the other direction. Give me leave to go."

Beathag:-- Beathag arched abrow at Eirian's calm but blunt discourse. She told him he was acting no better than a foolish child, and she wanted no part of it. "If you would seek it, iffn ye think he shan't speak with ye."

Eirian: "I am not him. I am not in his head. Still, I wish to go." Be it pity him or slap him, neither seemed of any good. So she awaited at the door for it to open unless fate or man did something otherwise (d)

Alexander: There was harsh laughter at the last of Eirians words. He'd shake his head as he stood suddenly, the chair crashing backwards to the floor as he stood and began to close the distance between them. "Not in my head ?! You've never lef t my head ! Not since the moment I left the castle of the King ! I strove southwards, and there was consumed by my anger and hatred for that which is my own contempted beating heart. There, was I given chance to use that anger, and die a valiant death in the service of a man, bettering the lives of the people who took me in when I didn't want the help of the world ! So I fought, I lead men against the cities of Scotland, destroyed armies ... but it wasn't the war that caught up with me ! No .. it was memories of you ! I came across a village, and was ordered to burn it to the ground, and kill the women and children ... there in that village I saw you. I saw you standing before me, your eyes filled with tears for the burning lands that you loved so dearly, and in that moment I knew the fool I was ! The fool I had been to have left, rather then to have fought for you ! No, you've been in my head, and my heart with every breath of my life since we first met ! Yet you cannot see such !? Did you not see the fires I burnt when I helped to sack London itself ?! Did you not hear the screams of the King's generals as I fought my way through the streets, slaughtering all in the service of that which I knew would make you safe, make you happy ?! No .. I have never let you from my head, for I know not how ... but you have no longer a thought of me, nor of what we once had. So I have no desire to show you my head, nor my heart, for it shall gain me nothing but the wrath of my own anger, my own blade seeking the blood that it can't have ... my own honor forcing me to keep living in a world that has no taste, has no sunlight ! I LIVE IN DARKNESS, AND YOU ARE THE SUN !" His voice had risen until he was screaming at her, and then he turned, grabbing up that chair, and hurling it in wild anger against the wall, sending splinters of wood in every direction. That would be when the door flew open, and the guards rushed back in, afraid he'd killed all of them in their absence. He stood with his back to them, forehead pressed against the cold wall. His eyes closed and head bowed as he heaved with the righteous anger of a man abandoned by his own intentions, his own will ... his own heart. "... Leave me to die ... it would be the most merciful of things ... " [x]

esterdays Fancy: "Blame me not for your sins, Alexander O'Conner. Blame nothing but your indignant anger, your stubbornness, and even your cowardice for lives that paid price when you should have knelt in PENANCE! " She scowered behind the sword barring her way as he rose in anger, showered splinters. Turning her face, one of the broken shards of wood caught her cheek exposed fore arm, and drew a thin line of blood. Ha! It was not the first time she bled! "Would I have e'er taken such precious things and turned them bitter when world turned so? Never. Nor would I turn them to some foul poetry you use for your epics, either. It was life caused you pain,not your honor. There is little you have done since then, I wager, that would have honor to it. Your honor is in the truth. That is the vow a knight takes. It is the truth that is the heart of him, or her, that is Sir or Dame. No, I am nothing of your world of vices." She turned from it and walked on. Aye she did duty, and it cost her dearly for a time. It was the lesson of this time that did not see her bow down when Zahak had gone again or when Apollo had come to her life. She had a greater duty than social order. She had a duty to show her daughter that fate was not at the whim of others but of self, and that was the most righteous of prizes.

Beathag: When he turned his back to them would be when the men, including Brom took hold of him. Beathag was backed by two other guards, and her judgement went as follows. "No, I will nay sentence ye tae death nor leave ye tae death. Until the Mo'r Triath presents the whole o' the tale n' sae long as ye live in nay further crime here in this land ye shall be granted a temporary clemency. Ye are gaein tae be kept above ground 'ere in Blue Castle, n' allowed privelegestae walk about it, the gardens, n' the city under guard until they are certain ye prove nay threat, and then under companionship o' one man all the same. Should ye attempt tae leave the island without due n' permission than ye shall either be routed tae England tae stand trial as a war criminal or put tae death if harsh resistance is met." She was allowing time to manifest, for provisions and more concrete evidences. For Adam to look on him, for others. She did not need to draw, hang, or torchure him when it seemed he was skilled at such torment already.

Eirian:"You are gracious, m'lady." Eirian gave curtsy beyond the door, having stayed to listen at the very least. At that much..Beathag kept her word and did not have him killed outright. Allowed him air, movement, and hospitality to a reasonable extent. If he fleed, he would be proving his own case against him.

Beathag: "M'charge for you, Eirian, is tae find priest willin' tae give him spiritual guidance, given he is a Christian is he nay? He seems a man need wot make peace with his God."

Eirian: "My lady...."

Beathag: "Ye piety n' devotions are quite renowned. Tis sae deemed. Find the man a priest, Eirian. N' then make writ of yer words n' be prepared tae give testament if called later."With that, Beathag would leave the cell. Eirian remained beside the door as he remaining guard prepared to lead him not. Not in chains, Not in ropes. (d)

Alexander: He'd stand in silence, his back still to them as Beathag passed her own sort of judgement. She was confining him to guards, and the city. If he ran they'd hunt him down and kill him. Well, then why not just leave him in the cell ? Why not just leave him to rot beneath the earth, forgotten by the world. No, those were her orders, and so the guards would come for him, binding his hands at the wrist with that coarse rope, and wrapping them good and tight. He could've used the double handed fighting style, but he chose not to. There was no reason for him to keep fighting, now that they knew the truth of who he was. So, he'd stand tall and proud. Those shoulders drawn back as he strode bare footed, and bare chested from within the cell, his deep set gray eyes adjusting to the brighter light of the hallway. He'd stop in the doorway, those gray eyes turning towards her with a slow turn of the head. It was then he saw the narrow red line across her cheek, and he couldn't help those heavy hands that moved so swiftly, so delicately to brush scarred nuckles across the soft flesh of her cheek, brushing whatever blood had pooled there from her fair visage. His voice was soft, and his words were truer then any he had ever spoken. "... I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, in any way ..." He'd turn, and started moving, with that ring of guards striding around him, and towards the way up and out of the barren depths of the dungeon. He strode confidently, eyes glowing with the dark intellect. He was an enemy of the Scots no more than he was an enemy of himself. His honor however, been reminded to him ... and the g uards would get a murmured apology as he went, since half of them were sporting bruised ribs, or busted noses because of him. [x]

Eirian: "You are forgiven.." She muttered what perhaps would be needed for the man to hear. Forgiveness, for what, and how much was not spoken allowed. She nodded her head, turning it down from his fingers as she curtsied, paying him accord none else would. So the men lead him away in ropes after all, perhaps for the sake of the women, or for a last show of force. Who knew? Beathag stood on the furthest end of the passage when he was escorted out. Further yet the lanterns gave way to slits of dying sunlight, and upward... upward to where windows would blind his eyes with the last of the sun's rays. Bit by bit the prison faded behind them as the stairs gave rise to a hallway in Blue Castle. Beathag would go elsewhere, but Eirian lingered to give thought. Whom was this other woman he spared? Would she give testimony too, become a visitor perhaps? Be it the flick of food's sting from forearm or cheek, what hurt more was being here at all. "God spare me," she whispered, making sure there was sufficient distance between them as she thought on a spiritual advisor to bestow on him. (d)

Alexander: Alexander didn't put up a fight. Quite the opposite, he went with them as if he were leading them, only stopping when they stopped, and always keeping track of the turns, and steps. He'd memorize the layout of his prison within minutes. So it was that when he was finally brought to a halt, before a door of much lighter wood than the english oak he'd been barred behind earlier. He would arch a brow skywards. The guards parting, leaving two of them standing at the doors entrance, another stepping forwards to unbind his hands, and then depart as well. He was free to do as he needed, so long as he was guarded, and didn't try to flee ? Well, apparently that meant he could sleep in a bed, and eat decent food. That wouldn't lighten the sting of being a prisoner here in the Gryffin City. It wouldn't lessen the burden of being so close to the very beating of his heart. So, before he opened the door, to step into his new accomodations, he'd cast those shadowy grays towards his one true love. A small, sad smile spreading over rough hewn features as he bowed his head to her, kissing his praising hands, before uprighting and stepping through the doorway, and into his gilded cage. [x]

Eirian: "Rise, Sir." She bid him, and allowed him entry into what was a rightly gilded cage. He was given a small suite, with a sitting room holding no less than one small sofa and two high backed chairs, a table, and a hearth. The furniture was atop a rug, for though the floors were made of polished marble, even this could grow cold. Off to the left would be a bedchamber and area for his wardrobe and such, while off to the right would be a small study."I have been charged with finding you a priest, of all things. Have you preference to which order or nation, for that matter. Shall I make sure he is Irish?" Small conversation. Humerous, perhaps, but as the servants of the castle came forth and made introduction, she remained near the door. There would be a chamber-maid naturally, and a male valet. His guards would not reside in the room but out of it, and with him when he moved about for walks and the like. She put her hands behind her back, long hair coming in a strand to shield the offence on her face. It wasn't deep enough to scar, no angry enough to make infection. It merely was. Neither the first of such scratches or the last. (d)

Alexander: He'd striden across the room when he had first entered it, stopping at one of the sofa's and running one of those dirty rough hands over the back of it very slowly. He'd shake his head slowly when she tried to make small talk with him. Slowly he would turn, casting those deep set grays towards her and letting them linger softly upon her angelic visage. She was just as beautiful as the day he had declared his endless and undieing love for her. So, he would nod slowly. "Irish would be a plus ... just do it quick, so that I am no more an inconvenience to you ..." He'd turn to the servants, waving them off as they came in to introduce themselves. He needed no servants, all he needed was peace in his mind and in his heart. So, slowly he'd shake his head. "... end this quickly, that I might put mountains between us ... lest my love for you, turns to bitter anger with myself..." He'd cast that quiet glance back towards her, open and wounded as he was. "... please ?" [x]

Eirian: "I can not end this. It is not in my power, that is in yours, and then in the hands of the Mo'r Triath, Beatha....Bess' husband." Dispense with the formal, she thought to herself, and sighed softly. As he further spoke she gave nod"I fear you shan't be rid of me so easily, but should it please you I shan't make myself seen in what e'er duty the Mo'r Oukselo bid me do in behalf of all this. I seek to give you no further pain than it seems I already have." She stepped backward, looking up at him only a moment before down. No matter what had passed, it seemed almost cruel it should come to this. "I wish no pain 'pon myself, either. I will give no one any further sorrow." The servants were going out of the door, and the valet held the door open. "Irish it will be then. Have good repast, my lord" (d)

Alexander: He'd stand in silence, staring into the billowing flames that had been lit for him. He'd quietly watch the flames twisting and incinerating the logs within. When she reached the door, he would call out quietly, with that deep voice. "... Do you still love me ?" The words were soft, and he wished immediately that he hadn't asked the question, but it was one that he could not keep from asking. The thought that weighed so heavily upon his mind day and night. The thought that made him eat, and made him drink. The thoughts that kept him alive in the darkness of the dungeons he had just been delivered from. There was a second question ... but he'd wait for the answer of the first, to ask the second. [x]

Eirian: She had sought to leave and put that distance between them when he asked a question that made her head turn over her shoulder. "My love is not fleeting, my lord. You will always remain such in love, and dearness, to me." She never said such words without understanding their weight. The translation of them and expression may change, but one did not forget where it began. Her back was broken and body severed for such loves as that. It was painful to see him this way, and were that they could have met as beter terms, as even friends. But God did not favor the simple for there was no salvation in that, was there? When she'd spoken that, she had looked at him. Not to the side of him nor below him, but at him with a gentle clarity, truth, and infinite wisdom in her eyes. (d)

Alexander: He'd close those deep set eyes when her words washed over him like the forgiveness and peace he needed, filling his heart with a moment of wonderful euphoria. However, after that moment had past, he'd be left a shell of the man he had once been still. His eyes casting about those burning embers, not looking towards her, for fear of the tears he would have shed at such moments of dearest tenderness. "... I left something for you, something that was very dear to me ... did you ever find it ?" The words were spoken, and he would slowly turn, a half step. His face lifting to cast a glance over one of those bare shoulders, and across the room to lock with her own. The fire was there, locked and caged behind the swirling gray of the ferocious thunderstorm that were those deep set eyes of his. The love that burned deep in his chest for her, that had never waned, never been fueled by another woman. No, Alexander stood now, waiting to hear if she'd ever found his single testiment of love ... the only thing he could possibly have left for her, when her husband had demanded her back. [x]

Eirian: "Yes. I still have it." She said gently, giving another dip of her head twice to signify the affirmative. "In the woods, and it came down from the tree on the road...and was kept safe amidst my things, from that land to this. There is no comfort I can give you, other that neither my love, nor confidence, nor fealty are short or fickle. My memory is long, my lord, very long. It would be a sin to do no good for the man whom did such for me. I would decry such terrible things, even before Christ did. Wish you know anything else, my lord?" She stood to answer his questions to things he no doubt would ever see answered. This was not out of duty or order, but out of compassion and empathy. No, not sympathy. Empathy. (d)

Alexander: "I've no more questions that need answering in my life M'lady Eirian ... lest you know how I can turn back the clock, and become a more honorable man than ever I was, that I might have won you before your husband had ... then I've no more answers to seek ... send me for an Irish Catholic Priest ... tell him there's a man seeking a crusade ... for I fear that only in the kingdom of heavan can I find salvation for my damned soul, and only in my death can I find salvation for my damned heart ..." He'd give her a wan smile, before turning back to the fire, and letting those tears come silent and slow over dirt stained cheeks, leaving their tracks in the hard flesh, as he rested one of those large hands upon the mantle, resting it there and letting himself go to the silence of the chamber as she'd doubtless make her departure. [x]

Eirian: "You can not make time turn back," instead of leaving, she turned to step into the room with a soft sigh that would interrupt only the quiet air so that it sang just so. "No, none of us can conquer time as to make it go back. Our goodness, our sin. We remember some things and make penance for more. Our soul deepens because that it was it means to be human. We are imperfect creatures. Even one you love so much is perfect only by that." She smiled softly, oh even she was imperfect. "You are a knight, and so shall reclaim your honor by recalling God is the heart of thy power and vow, not any throne of man. Aye, you pay fealty to man on behalf of God but it is God that makes you or tearsyou asunder. Talk not of ending your life for that is a terrible, terrible thing to think!" She exclaimed, only to say behind it, "Besides, perhaps it is that you are here to face your demons so they conquer you no further. You are not so lost. Bess did not kill you. Nor doe she wish to. Adam will not seek to either so you must combat your demons and rise above what sets against you. Oh, so pale it is an offer but in finding your honor you shall find the beginnig of hope. This comes in peace with God. I will find you an Irish priest, and perhaps one with a bit of humor to him. you are as pale as death and as humerless as an old man." The tease was on the end, a bit of humor but it was a gift. Tilting her head she also said, "You do not have to fight so hard as to retain my friendship, either, my lord. Nor have you lost so much confidence that I find you unredeemable. " (d)

Alexander: He would close his eyes, head tilting back slightly as she began to speak. One large hand would rise upwards, to brush gently over his eyes to remove the tracks of those tears as he turned, stepping around the back of one of those chairs, and quietly lowering himself into it. He sat, and watched her in silence for a few moments, before allowing himself to trust his voice. "M'lady ... were that your friendship were enough to redeem my heart from it's lamentatious desires ... but as you said, I am but a man in the service of God ... and man can not hope to accomplish anything without the benefit of the good Lord. So I'll see your priest, and may his humor be enough to cast shadows of my doubt from the very core of my heart, and may the love of god fill me that it lets me live a half life, a life without the joys of a man, and only with the joys known a Knight in service ... for love is something that I shall never doagain. A man of honor, and of godliness can love but one woman in his lifetime ... and I have found mine. So, I appologize if my words discomfort you, but know that my love for you will never vanquish ... but that I will redeem myself in your eyes, serving the good lord, and perhaps even this king enough to have redeemed myself in the eyes of the only person alive that matters to me ... and may that be enough for god to keep me from the eternal damnations ... for when I have died in service to my fellow man, will I at last be allowed to have the love I feel for you, for only that shall be my heaven ... and only then shall I rest easy ... but go now, before I say more and make you less inclined to seek my service in your need ... think not that I shall attempt to mar your reputation, or to harm your family in any way ... for you have reutned to me that which I lost many years ago, when I lost you ... my honor, my life, my love ... my very heart ... and I thank you, for seeing you again has reminded me why I refused to slaughter women and children for the mad king ..." He'd smile softly, a hand gesturing towards the door. He knew that the two of them being alone, especially with their intended betrothal at one time, would perhaps spark rumors amongst the notables of society ... and the last thing he wanted, was to be more problems for her. [x]

Eirian: "No they do not discomfort me, if anything they are quite of yourself. You have always been true in emotion's hold, I forgive you. Even if you do sound as a dirge. A poetric one, but a dirge. If mine image has kept you from such horror than praise God. I will go and find you a fine man, there are Franscians in the valley, and on second thought I shall find you two. One Irish Franscian, and my cousin, a Ceisterian, the Abbot of Neath, a welshman. Both will be good for you." She stepped back and curtised, a smile at last on her expression. "Go in peace and better tidings, my friend, it will all come to pass better than you expect God does tell me that, if anything. If one isplagued with this sight some good must be born of it." She went away, then at the door thought to tell him, " he is king no more, Alexander, and you are not bound to his service." (d)

Alexander: He'd listen as she spoke, and watched as she headed for teh door. He'd sit in silence, and when she spoke before departing, he'd give a slow nod of his head, and a soft grunt to acknowledge that he'd heard her. But he didn't know how he could ever swear loyalty to another king, when every King he had served had betrayed him in every sense of the word. The First king had torn his love from him, in returning her allegedly dead husband to their lives, days before they were to be wed. Then, the second king he had served had demanded he kill innocent women and children. Men were not of a serviceable nature, and God was not likely to part the clouds and bestow a buffet upon him ... No, Alexander was a Knight only in his heart, and in his mind ... but in all honesty, those were the only places that truly matterred anymore. [x]