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Post by Titus Blackbriar on Dec 5, 2018 22:34:40 GMT 1
The sheer extent of the slaughter was mind-numbing.
The barracks of Highgarden had to be repurposed to those who, in the aftermath still clung to life. The sound was horrible as the dying passed through to the Father's judgement and the injured called out for the Stranger’s release. Many a man cried out for the mercy of the Mother to ease their suffering, or perhaps they called out to their own mothers, their mind reverting to that most ancient of security. Every maester in attendance (and there where many) triaged the wounded, trying to separate those who could be saved from those who where already dead but did not yet know it.
The dying seemed in their hundreds. Now and then a scream pierced through the noise, stood out as a man lost a limb in an attempt to save him - but what is a soldier without a sword arm? What is a knight that can not take to horse?
You’d see no smallfolk here. Bastards had themselves to blame, some said.
Titus was laid out on a bed, alive and unwise. Unwise to the suffering around him. Unwise to that he was out of danger. Unwise to that Simon and Lady Marianne had lived. Unwise to that his father had not.
The milk of the poppy should have put him at ease, and whilst he did not wake, it was not peacefulness written across his face. Jaw clenched to the grinding of teeth and face twitching as if he was still fighting his foe. As of he was still failing his charge. As if he was still dying.
The maesters did what they could to save him, but nothing was certain, the had just shortly before lost Lord Karl, the Stranger greeting him as a friend in the night. If the boy was to live it was a miracle but he would not be left the same. A body broken by a thousand blows.
Yet Titus laid there, alive but unwise.
Perhaps for the better.
Due to the damage received in cheating death, Titus is now Maimed, his limbs are all intact but don’t work so good no more, with Narrator approval this was the drawback most fitting mechanically.
He might have moments of lucidity during D11-12 but will not partake in the Melee and will be mostly bed-ridden.
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Post by Roland Cordwayner on Dec 6, 2018 11:11:33 GMT 1
Roland had given his cloak to Hugh to wash and mend, but was still in his plate having rushed here once Malyk helped him recover from the shocking riot.
He stopped to remove his gauntlets and wash his face before entering the makeshift hospice, remembering friends that had died of infection warring in the Dornish Marches.
It was scarcely plausible that Titus still clung to life, such were his injuries.
Fool. Brave, gallant, noble fool. Would that you had let me shield Marianne and Simon, the mob's attention was already elsewhere thanks to your heroism. Would that I had prevailed in the joust's final rather than adopting risky tactics to conserve my strength for my duel, such that victory would have led you to believe in me.
With a mount's weight behind him, Titus could still be an excellent jouster, but a shattered body may limit his growth as a swordsman. Such worries were not for today, or even tomorrow but for a moon's turn and more. For now, it was best to be thankful that Titus yet breathed. For once, the devout knight could not bring himself to thank the Seven - if this was their work, it was too strange for him to credit. Too stranger, and too much of the Stranger's work.
"Does he know about his father?"
A maester shook his head.
"I do not envy the man who must inform him. Deliver him the bad news in the same breath that you let him know his father saved Simon Merryweather, and that he himself saved Lady Marianne. Some honey to ease bitter news to swallow."
Roland stood vigil over Titus for sometime, but his friend's grim visage did not change. Better this than the peaceful embrace of the Stranger. Better Ser Donnel saves not just Simon Merryweather but his own flesh with his dying act.
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Post by Ashara Starkwood on Dec 7, 2018 13:17:13 GMT 1
Out of the crowd Ashara appears next to Titus's wrecked and shattered form.
You fool. You idiot. you bloody simpleton.
A tear rolls down her cheek. Odd, other than on the rare occasion of being used as the notorious 'woman's weapon', Ashara rarely got so much as misty eyed. She places her hand on the side of his face - one of the few uninjured places.
You just had to be the hero, didn't you? The woman and child didn't deserve to die, but if the few goodhearted get themselves killed, the ill-minded triumph by default.
A second tear joins the first, mirroring it on the opposite side of her face.
If you die I won't ever forgive you.
She wipes her face and disappears back into the crowd.
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Post by Mikel of Harroway on Dec 8, 2018 9:11:15 GMT 1
When Mikel learned the fate of Titus and his Father he felt it terribly tragic that such good men had paid in blood for such a horrible one. The thought of Eldon surviving would infuriate Mikel later but for now he remained without emotion. He came into the barracks - now the Maesters workshop - and browsed the butchered men. Mikel saw Ser Rennifer and imagined how easy it would be to kill him when nobody was looking, and how nobody would think that it could have been anything but the wounds he sustained. The same thought occurred to him each time he passed a Merryweather casualty. Soon he stood before Titus and stared silenty. Mikel believed that Titus was a good man, but perhaps confused as he looked for his path in life. Today he did what everyone hoped a Knight would do - regardless of the circumstances he protected the helpless. Hopefully he would survive but just by looking at him it might be wiser not to expect it. Though if anyone had paid attention they would have noticed that Titus had proven in this tournament that he was made of tougher stuff then most.
After a quiet couple minutes of reflection Mikel continued his walk among the casualties until he departed.
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Post by Father on Dec 8, 2018 18:02:51 GMT 1
There are many visitors throughout the evening, Lord Tyrell makes the rounds, stopping at Lord Karl and Ser Titus in particular and demanding the maester to keep him updated on their condition. Lord Peake brings his own maester and instructs him to help those who need it, but to make sure to do everything that can be done for Titus first. Lady Daena also comes to visit, accompanied by her brother, Lord Marq keeps himself in the background as she whispers words of encouragement in his ears, or maybe highly indecent suggestions, who can ever know with Great Bastards? She kisses him on the forehead before leaving. The Blackbriars arrive all in black garbs, which might have tipped off Titus just as much as telling him that his father is dead. Lord Jon visits briefly with his wife before making his way to stand vigil for his brother and pray that Donnel will lack for company in the seven heavens for some time more. Shiera sits next to her son for a long, long time, holding his hand and her face that she too is a mother with the capacity for love, she just so rarely shows it. Delia leans in close and forbids him to die and commands him to fight his way back to the living, and she even manages to throw in a tease or two about his duty to his brothers to help shield them from her mean streak, well mostly Vortimer, since Balon needs to be knocked down a peg, or twelve. |
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Post by Daeron Wildfyre on Dec 8, 2018 19:19:12 GMT 1
Looking upon the broken body of his new friend, Daeron couldn't help but feel grief. The Great Bastard had always had a difficult time making friends and he enjoyed the natural and easy rapport that they had developed. Here was a man who would probably ride and fight again, but never make it so far in a tourney. So much potential snuffed out so young.
This won't be the last broken friend that I look upon. The realm is descending into chaos and war is coming, the best we can hope for is a quick resolution and that King Daemon will restore order.
-2 disposition to Septon Abelar, -1 disposition to the Faith
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Post by Balon Blackbriar on Dec 9, 2018 22:34:48 GMT 1
The barracks of Highgarden had to be repurposed to those who, in the aftermath still clung to life. The sound was horrible as the dying passed through to the Father's judgement and the injured called out for the Stranger’s release. Many a man cried out for the mercy of the Mother to ease their suffering, or perhaps they called out to their own mothers, their mind reverting to that most ancient of security. Every maester in attendance (and there where many) triaged the wounded, trying to separate those who could be saved from those who where already dead but did not yet know it. The dying seemed in their hundreds. Now and then a scream pierced through the noise, stood out as a man lost a limb in an attempt to save him - but what is a soldier without a sword arm? What is a knight that can not take to horse? Titus was laid out on a bed, alive and unwise. Unwise to the suffering around him. Unwise to that he was out of danger. Unwise to that Simon and Lady Marianne had lived. Unwise to that his father had not. The milk of the poppy should have put him at ease, and whilst he did not wake, it was not peacefulness written across his face. Jaw clenched to the grinding of teeth and face twitching as if he was still fighting his foe. As of he was still failing his charge. As if he was still dying. The maesters did what they could to save him, but nothing was certain, the had just shortly before lost Lord Karl, the Stranger greeting him as a friend in the night. If the boy was to live it was a miracle but he would not be left the same. A body broken by a thousand blows. Yet Titus laid there, alive but unwise. Perhaps for the better. After learning of the fates of Titus and Donnel, Balon raced from the bathhouse to find his brother. The longer he ran the more rage swelled up within him. Angry tears ran down his face as his mind played out cruel scenarios of his family's fate. The damn fools. Where has your honor gotten you now? When he arrived at the barracks he stopped in his tracks and stared at the scale of the aftermath. So many wounded, and all because of a commoner being raped. That wasn't the whole story but Balon wasn't interested in accuracy at the moment. As he walked through the infirmary men reached up to him asking for help. He paid them little heed and tore his hand away from any that successfully grabbed him. Their suffering wasn't his concern, only Titus. When he did find Titus, Balon assumed he was looking at a corpse. His body looked like the work of a torturer given free reign. How he clung to life was nothing short of a miracle. He'll never be the same. He found a stool and sat next to his brother silently watching him as his chest barely rose and fell. The maesters assured him Titus was in no pain but Balon found that impossible to believe. If anything Balon wanted his brother to feel pain. Your mind will know you're alive. Gently, ever so gently, Balon put Titus' hand in his and stroked it. Leaning in he whispered to his brother, "I'm so sorry I wasn't with you." His voice was full of regret, "I didn't have a horse and couldn't see where you were." There was no chastising, Titus had done the right thing in attempting to save Marianne and Simon. "It should be me lying here, not you." Balon admitted something to his unconscious brother, "The world needs more of you and less of me." Balon wiped away a tear and sniffled, "You are not allowed to die. I forbid it. You will wake and heal in time." Balon leaned in even closer, his voice threatening, "I will punish whoever started this mess. I make an oath to you here and now. They will suffer like no one has ever suffered. When I'm done with them Maegor the Cruel will look like Baelor the Blessed in comparison. Mark my words." Balon leaned up and wiped snot from his nose. He wanted to stay with his brother throughout the night but Balon needed to find out who incited the riot. And then he'd make them pay. Balon stood but before he left he leaned in and kissed his brother on the forehead, "Love you." |
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Post by Titus Blackbriar on Dec 10, 2018 13:27:13 GMT 1
A twitch, nothing more. A small twitch of the fingers on his left hand. Not much but enough to catch Balon's attention. If enquired the maester would tell him that was a good sign, a sign of improvement. A sign of life. Maybe Titus heard him?
It's brief, almost unnoticeable, his lips moving. There's no voice to be heard nor are any words formed but Balon is sure of it, Titus, wherever he was, past the veil of oblivion cast by the milk of the poppy, being courted by the stranger, he had heard his brother and tried to say something.
What it was, no one could tell.
Perhaps, simply "I love you." back.
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Post by Eoric Applehouse on Dec 13, 2018 0:24:30 GMT 1
Whilst the family took to the full wearing of black, Eoric and his men each wore a sable cloth tied around their right arm. Ser Donnel laid dead and young Titus laid dying, their household was one of sorrow... and anger.
He had much to say but held his tongue and distance while the family sat and prayed for the young knight. When Lord Jon and Lady Erena departed he sent the other men to accompanying them whilst he himself remained with with the Ladies Shiera and Delia as they grieved.
A damned shame.
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