"Go away, Brynjolf." My voice was hoarse from all the crying and sounded weak. "I'm not leaving until you talk to me, lass." He sounded angry. "Sapphire sent me. She said-" His choice of words sent a welcome flash of anger through me, and clutching the towel around me I stomped into the room, out of my mind with rage.
Brynjolf was stood waiting for me, clad in his familiar dark leathers. His gaze dropped to my bruise covered body and his face paled as I glared at him. "What did she say, Brynjolf?" Brynjolf was silent, still staring at me. Then I glanced at the workbench behind him, a small leather journal out in plain sight. The mage's journal. The one that detailed his experiments. The one whose last, blood-stained entry detailed my ordeal. Every act they'd put me through, every orgasm I'd had, how long I’d lasted and how many times I'd blacked out was written in terse, clinical writing. I'd only skimmed it after I'd killed the mage and the realisation that my torture hadn't ended during the times I had passed out had had me slamming the wretched thing in horror. I'd meant to burn it along with the other items I'd taken after my bath. My eyes widened in horror, "Did you read it?" He dropped his gaze and I had my answer. "So, I guess you know." He was silent, though his eyes met mine. "What? No smooth words to make it better?" I was trembling and I felt like I might cry again. Better to stay angry. "Or have you come to tell me off? That I should have listened to you? That you were fucking right as always?!" Still no response. "Or do I repulse you now? Hmm? Do you despise me now you know the truth?" Nothing. "Say something, you bastard!" I shrieked, snatching the closet thing to hand and hurling it at him. The potion bottle missed him easily to explode on the wall behind him and a sob burst out from me, hot tears of shame and embarrassment prickling my eyes so I closed them, desperate to stop them from falling. I opened my eyes as a rustle of movement brought Brynjolf to stand at arms length. Glacially slowly his hand came up to brush my hair, I froze, muscles tensing, jaw clenched as I barely suppressed the urge to Shout him into Oblivion. Brynjolf noticed my tension and I caught a flicker of sadness pass through his eyes. As his hand touched my face I whimpered, shutting my eyes tight. "Oh, my lass, I could never hate you." His other hand gently touched my arm, guiding me gently into his chest.
He just held me, for a long while, until I gradually relaxed, stroking my hair and whispering soothing meaningless words. Face pressed into his leathers, I closed my eyes, listening to his heartbeat. For the first time since Irkngthand I felt safe. "Brynjolf?" He tilted his head down to me, pressing his lips to the top of my head, "Yes?" My fingers tightened on his leathers, "Stay. Please? Don't leave me."
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timeasmymeasure
Re: The Die is Cast 20/?
Date: 2013-05-15 11:50 pm (UTC)"Go away, Brynjolf." My voice was hoarse from all the crying and sounded weak.
"I'm not leaving until you talk to me, lass." He sounded angry. "Sapphire sent me. She said-"
His choice of words sent a welcome flash of anger through me, and clutching the towel around me I stomped into the room, out of my mind with rage.
Brynjolf was stood waiting for me, clad in his familiar dark leathers. His gaze dropped to my bruise covered body and his face paled as I glared at him.
"What did she say, Brynjolf?"
Brynjolf was silent, still staring at me. Then I glanced at the workbench behind him, a small leather journal out in plain sight. The mage's journal. The one that detailed his experiments. The one whose last, blood-stained entry detailed my ordeal. Every act they'd put me through, every orgasm I'd had, how long I’d lasted and how many times I'd blacked out was written in terse, clinical writing. I'd only skimmed it after I'd killed the mage and the realisation that my torture hadn't ended during the times I had passed out had had me slamming the wretched thing in horror. I'd meant to burn it along with the other items I'd taken after my bath.
My eyes widened in horror, "Did you read it?"
He dropped his gaze and I had my answer.
"So, I guess you know."
He was silent, though his eyes met mine.
"What? No smooth words to make it better?" I was trembling and I felt like I might cry again. Better to stay angry. "Or have you come to tell me off? That I should have listened to you? That you were fucking right as always?!"
Still no response.
"Or do I repulse you now? Hmm? Do you despise me now you know the truth?"
Nothing.
"Say something, you bastard!" I shrieked, snatching the closet thing to hand and hurling it at him. The potion bottle missed him easily to explode on the wall behind him and a sob burst out from me, hot tears of shame and embarrassment prickling my eyes so I closed them, desperate to stop them from falling. I opened my eyes as a rustle of movement brought Brynjolf to stand at arms length. Glacially slowly his hand came up to brush my hair, I froze, muscles tensing, jaw clenched as I barely suppressed the urge to Shout him into Oblivion. Brynjolf noticed my tension and I caught a flicker of sadness pass through his eyes. As his hand touched my face I whimpered, shutting my eyes tight. "Oh, my lass, I could never hate you." His other hand gently touched my arm, guiding me gently into his chest.
He just held me, for a long while, until I gradually relaxed, stroking my hair and whispering soothing meaningless words. Face pressed into his leathers, I closed my eyes, listening to his heartbeat. For the first time since Irkngthand I felt safe.
"Brynjolf?"
He tilted his head down to me, pressing his lips to the top of my head, "Yes?"
My fingers tightened on his leathers, "Stay. Please? Don't leave me."