The priest had taken to escorting the king on his secret escapades to the city; absent said monarch’s knowledge. Only recently had Seto come to learn of his cousin’s interest for mingling with the commonfolk as though one of their own. Atem had avoided informing anyone but one person of his visits outside the palace walls. But Mana was hardly one to confide in to keep a secret. The girl was as dreadful a liar as she was a magician. All it took was a stuttering, nervous reply from her after he inquired about the king’s whereabouts one morning, for him to realize that she was hiding something. A moment later, an icy stare and a demanding tone had her blurting out everything she knew.
The proper course of action was to inform the vizier of the king’s penchant for danger. Shimon was second in power, after all; and perhaps the only man who could advise the Pharaoh against certain actions without his words being taken for an offense. And Seto knew the old man would have done just that, though in a way that would surely elicit his cousin’s anger and frustration. But truth be told, even Seto had to agree that this particular choice of his king wasn’t the best. Anything could happen out there, and if someone were to realize who Atem truly was... it simply would not go well.
And yet, no word of it reached Shimon. It wasn’t that Seto had chosen to disregard the dangers that Atem’s actions could entail to his own well-being. On the contrary, he believed that he was more than capable of protecting the king on his own without anyone else’s interference, thus sharing the information with the vizier was not only unnecessary, but a tedious endeavour on itself. It was a known fact that he hadn’t the closest of relationships with Shimon; their altercations having become a commonplace occurrence at court.
Which all led to today’s happenings.
He had been accused, quite a few times now, of being too coldblooded for a High Priest. A fact which he had never denied. He was, after all, more prone to violence than any of the others members of the court, and had never lost sleep after ending a criminal’s life. A punishment was a deserved consequence to a crime; such was the law. And likewise, death was a deserved consequence to a crime committed against the Pharaoh. The more gruesome and painful, the better. It served to deliver the message to others who might consider following in such foolish footsteps.
Admittedly, there was also something personal involved, whenever someone so much as thought of harming the king. One could say he was strangely protective of Atem, more so than other members of the court. And they would not be lying. He wasn’t particularly prone to caring about those around him, but Atem had always been the exception. Partly because caring for the king’s well-being was part of his duties. But mostly, because his cousin was the one person Seto genuinely cared for, beyond mere duty.
Such would explain the blinding rage he had felt at that moment. To witness the king forced to endure such humiliation was akin to enduring it himself, if not worse. It brought about a beast which had long remained confined within the cage of his chest. A urge to have those who dared lay a hand on the Pharaoh, meet an end by his hand.
Had Atem been watching, perhaps he would not have unleashed as he did. There was only so much he could allow himself to display to the king before trespassing the limits of what was expected of a High Priest’s behaviour, even when it came to circumstances such as this one. But with the Pharaoh’s sight momentarily taken from him, the priest did not hesitate to give free way to his anger; soon to come in the form of a khopesh slicing the throats of the men foolish enough to believe they would succeed in their sickening endeavour. Each one of them fell to the ground, tossing around like snakes as they regurgitated blood in an attempt to breathe. It was not an instant death by any means, though not the slow one he would have preferred to deliver. For just a moment, he found himself compelled to watch as they all drowned in their own blood, before he turned his attention to the king.
Thus here they were now, arriving at the palace. His cousin had not left his arms and the priest wasn’t about to let him go until they arrived at the king’s chambers. He hadn’t had much time to ensure that Atem was not harmed, therefore he had chosen to carry him. The king had not opposed and so it was this how they arrived; the sight earning a curious glance from the guards placed at the entrance, but of course, not a word came from them. There jobs were akin to those of statues.
Sometime before they reached the king’s chambers, Mana had found them. But a gelid stare from Seto had made her pause in both her steps and whatever words she was about to say. If she were to make a scene in the middle of the hallway, someone was bound to notice and it would be only a matter of time before word of it reached the vizier. Perhaps this obvious fact finally reached that thick head of hers, as she refraining from asking or following them.
When he finally reached the king’s room, he quietly sat his cousin upon the bed. With his hands now free, the priest proceeded to rid himself of the cloak he had worn until now, only then noticing that blood had reached his robes underneath, below the knee. Not enough for it to be an ugly sight, but certainly enough to be noticed by the Pharaoh.
❛ Apologies for presenting myself before you in such unseemly state, my lord. ❜ The words fell almost automatically. Despite the fact that killing was nothing new to him and certainly not something he regretted now, sullying his robes with the blood of lowlifes wasn’t exactly his favorite outcome. And particularly not when Atem could see it.
However, he ignored the fact in favor of assuring that his cousin wasn’t wounded in any way. His hands reached for him, patting him around in search for any visible wounds until they stopped at the king’s arms. Blue eyes focused on the angry red around the king’s wrists, where the rope had been. His fingers moved until they reached both wrists, tracing the unnaturally red color upon otherwise unblemished skin, his touch feathery as to not cause the Pharaoh any pain or discomfort.
@suresha King’s Birthday (Thranduil and Celebrimbor)
With it being the king’s birthday it was quite the occasion to celebrate, though it seemed everyone was more excited than the king himself. There was a ceremony with music, dancing and drinking. Some gift offerings and conversations with Thranduil had with a few who interested him, mostly a handful from his counsel and Legolas.
Celebrimbor had taken the time to get himself all cleaned up, hair washed and pressed, face mostly clean shaven and he had put on the formal robes Thranduil had made for him. Dinner time had come along and the smith made his way up the king’s throne to offer his hand to Thranduil. “Lets slip away, I think everyone is too busy drinking to notice the guest of honor is gone.” He said with a charming smile.
Hand in hand he lead Thranduil off his throne and they made their way out of the palace and to the garden. Beside their favorite pond to sit at Celebrimbor had laid out a picnic for them to enjoy away from all the chaos of partying and at the center of it a small jewelry box with a bow waiting to be opened.
ELROND OFT LOST HIMSELF WITH THE SWORD . So much so that most if not all of his spars would draw High King Gil-galad’s ire, resulting in long and loud lectures in the office. Elrond was a deadly silent fighter with the occasional grunt and heavy breath. The young Crown Prince had Maedhros’ stern, wartorn face, along with the heaviness of his strikes. His decisions never tarried, for a split second distraction meant death in sunken Beleriand. The swiftness of his steps came from Maglor, who taught him how to bend and be agile, and be adaptable as water on the battlefield as much as a fire blazing through the grounds. To utilise deceit whenever necessary.
It would seem the war has never left Elrond. All fifty years of him resulted in Thranduil’s utter defeat. Elrond held his glare so intensely that those hands of surrender took him a few seconds to register. Cheeks would move to release the tension in his jaw, having trouble coming out of the woods of Beleriand that clouded his senses. His shoulders would lax eventually, his fingers elegantly twists sword down towards the ground ere he sheaths it into the soil between them. Then, he walks to pick up Thranduil’s weapon as well, returning to push it into the Sinda’s breastplate. ❝ Keep the swords. Come on. ❞ Elrond tilted his head in a gesture, bidding Thranduil to follow after him. He turned to the crowd, picking two out randomly. ❝ You ! You ! You’re up ! ❞ and they scrambled from their seats with their weapons, entering the training ground.
Gil-galad had come to watch when he was informed that his ward would fight the son of Oropher. He stood on the bridge overlooking the grounds, a hard frown on his face when he saw Elrond force the Sinda to back up without any compromise. He sent a royal guard to call for Elrond’s presence before him immediately.
Under the Crown Prince’s tent, Elrond snapped at the guard in rebellion. ❝ Can’t he see that I’m busy ? ❞ Gil-galad’s domineering presence never failed to raise his temper, but Elrond had to relent before the High King would come down here himself. Before Elrond went out, he took two bottles of mead from the cupboard and placed it on the table for Thranduil and he. ❝ Please excuse me. ❞ Elrond said with a downturned frown.
The argument was quite loud when King and Prince met each other. ❝ Why are you like this ?! One slip and you would have cut him in a friendly spar ! ❞
❝ W E L L , I didn’t cut him, did I ?! ❞ Elrond shouted back even louder.
They would have this verbal match back and forth before Elrond stormed back to the tent, his mood entirely soured.
Lestat was well aware of how detached he was to the world, but with Louis around it was slowly dragging him back. He’d never find his humanity again or care about the humans he fed off of and killed. Louis on the other hand, how his creation and partner felt mattered to him.
“You mistake pity for concern. This is not normal, nightmares and dreams aren’t for creatures like us.”
He stayed with Louis as he detoured to the kitchen to make some tea, it provided no nourishment for the vampires but the taste of it was soothing. From the moment Louis had turned, he was unlike anything else and definitely not like any vampire.
“We have memories when we sleep, our mind will wander with our emotions we have about our thoughts. We feel things too intensely, negative emotions will eat away at us. Anger. Guilt. It turns into pain of the mind.”
Lestat breathed a sigh. Louis’ human soul made him so beautiful, so unique. But his empathy for humans was torturing him. The older vampire hated to see Louis suffer and this was something that couldn’t be fixed.
“I’m sorry Louis...”
He wished he could do more for his creation, but there was nothing he could do to ease Louis’ troubled mind. Lestat stepped closer to pet those soft brown locks and leaned in to place a soft kiss to his temple.
“I’ll leave you be, mon cherie, but if you change your mind you can come get me.”
Lestat’s tone was soft as he whispered to his creation before giving Louis his space and returning to his own coffin. Sleep would most likely evade him, now with worry clouding his mind he would be concerned about Louis until nightfall.
𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐎𝐅 𝐄𝐆𝐘𝐏𝐓 𝐈𝐒 a grand realm ruled by their god-like King, who they call the PHARAOH. In all correspondence with the Freehold, that's the only way that the ruler would be addressed as. The Dragonlord thought that once he arrived in this almost MYTHICAL land ( a journey that took him an entire week's time on dragon back ), he would learn the King's name. Such was not the case, however—But as intrigued as he is, Vaedar knows better than to insist when it might not be his place. Were he to somehow OFFEND the ruler and his people, it might risk this rather beneficial alliance with a kingdom that could rival the POTENTIAL of Old Ghis itself. Truth be told, the valyrian was astonished to find pyramid structures in the same fashion as that of the once great empire. It makes him wonder which was raised first.
Yet, CURIOSITY has often compelled him to do reckless and maybe somewhat unwise things, such as forsaking all precautions and asking the Pharaoh just what his name is. No, he's not afraid—Just as it would be DETRIMENTAL for any future affiliation to offend this King; it would be foolish to strike against him and in turn, against the Valyrian Freehold. Surely, it wouldn't be a great transgression to merely ask on behalf of one who is not fully aware of the customs and laws that govern this foreign land. The Valarys wasn't expecting a direct answer but the one he received instead was no less CONFUSING than the practice of calling the ruler as just Pharaoh. Undoubtedly, his interest is only piqued.
❝ What kind of power is a name to have, your Majesty? ❞ Even the moniker of 'Your Grace' used in the Sunset Kingdoms is not the same as here. He was wearing fabrics befitting the egyptian climate, lighter linen kilt with with his chest bare, and a sash that matched the collar piece. Valyria would sometimes use similar wears but not as UNRESTRICTIVE as these clothes, and he must say that it's easy to like. It leaves little to the IMAGINATION when one can see so much of another's skin.
❝ I do hope you understand that my interest is a matter of trying to better comprehend why I am so fascinated by your land. ❞ The Dragonlord admits with smooth eloquence, an easy smile DANCING on his features. He makes no attempt to hide the way his violet eyes glance over the other man's body. ❝ Although it is Your Majesty that inspires awe above it all. ❞
Vlad said no more as Thranduil made commentary. His expression, longing and almost hopeful with how it faintly pinched the fine sweep of lines at his eyes, now fell from his pale mouth into an enervated line, the immortal and unholy light of his radiant blue eyes dimming just slightly. It was perhaps somewhat true, it had been identified before that he carried on dramatically. A flourishing and treacherous peacock at heart, and he had an inclination to steep himself in the ornate and ostentatious way of living and being. Even when a melancholy cloud passed over him, he still managed to speak and express himself as such, though under the weight of what was usually self-imposed.
And that was what weighed upon him, now.
“I do speak plainly, only those with acute insight can understand my type of parlance.” He allowed a little venom to slip out and he smoothed a piece of ebony hair back into place with a mirthless, dim smile. Thranduil took it in the literal sense it appeared, how timely a vase of roses would be placed there, with their many thorns. “I suppose I shall decipher it for you, Thranduil.”
Vlad turned his face to one side, the sharpness of it reminiscent of a bird of prey, an emperor of old, even. “I have found the perfect thorn to throw myself upon, the agony has begun. But, I cannot pull it free, now; I returned to a path that is marked in my blood. A path I do not desire. I do not wish to speak of what it is, but one that has seen and survived much...” The fallen prince left it at that, assuming Thranduil would understand that he had come to him to hear what he had to say, if it was to not be judgement on his way of articulating himself.
👊🏿 - for your muse to reach into my muses chest and threaten to extract their heart. ( or ) ⚰️ - for your muse to open a coffin, discovering my muse inside. - from atem to whoever you're feeling
A VAMPIRE SYMBOL MEME
Even in death, it seemed as though he was fated to simply never have that chance at a final rest. Perhaps it was simply the God’s way of punishment - for all the lives he had taken in his act of revenge, for all the chaos that he’d help to start, resting was simply never to be a reality for the old thief king. Be that as a spirit stuck in one of the artifacts to have been made via the massacre of your own friends and family - to this thing that forced him to drink blood, whenever the thirst got too much for even him to handle.
If he knew what would happen if he allowed for this body to fade away into dust too, perhaps he’d have died a long time ago. Really died. Not trapped as a spirit or the undead - just free from all that plagued his mind from day to night. A break, that was all that he wished for. Perhaps there would be many that would argue that he deserved nothing of the sort, but he’d long since given up on caring how those around him may feel.
He wanted his own pain to go away, but no matter what he tried it was always there, always pulsing in pain against a heart that had not made one beat in thousands of years.
He should have known that even this attempt at rest - would be disturbed by him.
“...do you often go around opening coffins?”, he growled out, slowly sitting up and rubbing at his eyes. How long had he actually managed to stay hidden away for? Couldn’t have been that long...knowing him just a few weeks, as the hunger was already bubbling away inside of him, even as he told himself that he could never drink the blood of royalty - another part was already trying to convince him that he should.
Fuck the Gods and fuck the Pharaoh! He just wanted to rest already!
