Death to Death [closed]

[oshutup.livejournal.com]

When; Saturday | December 6 | Late afternoon, going into sundown.
Rating; PG-13? IDK the movies are like lol no bloooood...but there be blood here, so. Yes.
Characters; Caspian (treadingdawn), Lucy (lionesscouchant). Jadis (queenoftraitors), Peter (oshutup) Susan (lionessjant) & SPECTATORS (see below cut for details)
Summary; A challenge made in public name of previous personal trespasses, for the otherwise undisclosed purpose of cutting off winter's stone-tipped chill.
Log;

♚detaiiiiils.♕
Location: stadium, looking vaguely like the ring with broken columns and whatnot you see here....but larger as to be in keeping with stadium size, etc, etc. That's a basic idea though.

Annnnd threads will be made for the following 83

I. Pre-duel
a) [locked: Pevensies + Caspian]
b) [locked: Jadis + Allies]
II. Duel [locked: Jadis VS. Peter]
III. Duel [the public, anyone present and watching in the stadium, and while this obviously includes Caspian, Lucy, and Susan, we are opening it for anyone else who would be there and wants to actually do a semi-real-time reaction log. It doesn't have to be fancy, it's just an opportunity that we thought might be interesting to offer, and fun, perhaps. Reply to the main [blank] thread labeled as such with whatever your character is doing, or similarly, to another character's action if you want to interact, reacting.]
IV. Post-duel [locked: Pevensies + Caspian]

Comments

[treadingdawn.livejournal.com]

Peter reassures to Lucy what Caspian would, so he says nothing and puts his energy into helping the High King walk back to the waiting room, which does feel like it takes an eternity. Things like this always do. Once there he motions for the man to sit, to sit but not lie down. He has lost enough blood to make lying down a risk. Should he do so, he doesn't think Peter will want to get back up without suffering from a loss of blood pressure, that could be just as messy and lead only to loss of consciousness and body fluid. Blood and bile on his nice clothes? Must he?

So he sets Rhindon and the shield down and the wand to go wherever it's safest, be it Lucy's hands, Susan's, or a warded box under lock and key. He works his hands under the armor plates, unbuckling pieces and lifting the weight from Peter's person. The nasty part will be picking any broken links from his wounds, if there are any and Caspian hopes there aren't, but he leaves this task alone for now. The Cordial can take care of any immediate and potentially lethal damage first. Caspian doesn't think of who ought to be where, but he's most sure that if Peter falls ill from infection the Just will have them over a roast. For such a violent image, it's also somewhat comforting.

[lionesscouchant.livejournal.com]

Lucy hovers over him, the wand goes past her hand. Lucy won't touch it anyway, not if the Lion himself asked her to, and she slowly tips one drop of cordial into Peter's mouth while Caspian is undoing the complex snaps and buckles of his armor, daring him with her pursed lips to spit it out. Once Edmund had tried, in Narnia, to spit out the drop, claiming he didn't need it. Lucy hadn't spoken to him while she nursed him back from the wound, and for weeks afterward. She hopes that Peter remembers that event. Boys! she thinks angrily. Boys and their foolish pride.

Finally she sits back, away from the mess, out of Peter's line of sight. She wasn't going to cry, or yell now; she was going to sit and allow herself to be angry instead of ridiculously worried.

Angry at Caspian and Peter, angry at Susan, and angry at Edmund. Angry at Jadis. It is not a feeling she enjoys or feels very often, but she knows her cordial will work, and she doesn't believe in stifling her emotions to keep peace.

[lionesssejant.livejournal.com]

This was what victory was like sometimes. No banners or parades. "S-should we get a doctor?"

Susan puts the helmet down and holds the wand. At first because it was passed her way, there was no one left to give it to. But then it was because this is what Peter was fighting and suffering for. Their titles and this thing in her hands.

If she thought that the helmet was heavy, the wand felt like the weight of a whole world. This is what had hurt, no, killed countless Narnians. How much blood? That made her think of how much of it was spilled today. Susan's eyes itched and prickled, she wanted so much to cry. There was so much to be thankful for. She shouldn't. Peter was only hurt. He'd be well. This situation would be worse being overly upset. Yes, she best buck up. The Magnificent was the one that endured combat. Not her. He has more of a right to tears if any were to be shed.

[oshutup.livejournal.com]

Removal of the armor is both helpful and painful, but he doesn't fuss about it for a number of reasons that needn't be detailed. He isn't going to cry of course because well, why would he? That is one of the furthest things from his mind and then suddenly Lucy is there--she is always there isn't she? dependable Lu--and tipping cordial past his lips. As for spitting, he wouldn't dare with the Valiant looking so upset, but on top of that, they are all well aware of its properties and he would have to be mental to refuse that kind of help. The change, as usual, is all but immediate and he's never sure how it works exactly but the point is simply that it works at all.

He has no words for any of them right now, but he is glad that they are safe, that they have the wand, that he is not dead, that Edmund may yet come and complete them, as they are meant to be. His breath is steadier already even as he feels like he still is trying to catch it, sitting still, swallowing thoughts. Still not tired yet, but he's not sure what he is beyond vaguely guilty feeling, which isn't the best atmosphere to be adding.

Sorry Lu...sorry Su...sorry Ed...sorry Caspian...for what? For making you worry? Maybe. Something like that.

But not sorry for what was done. He can't lie about that.

Shifting where he sits, he winces in spite of himself, even with the cordial. It is maybe just the memory, still fresh, of a blade digging into his middle.

[treadingdawn.livejournal.com]

"Let's see," he says to Susan, giving her a nod and waiting for Lucy's drop before his hands, stained in Peter and Jadis's blood, work back in. "Soak a towel in water, please," he asks of the girls, because Peter deserves to have a clean face, whether this whole ordeal could have been handled better or not.

Hauberk removal is executed with caution for the broken areas. If the juice of the fire flower has repaired what's under the skin he hopes that it has also repaired his flesh on the surface level to some effect, because peeling the gambeson from any open wounds may hurt. Just a little bit. But he is sure that Peter won't cry, not enough to protest anyway. And under that must be his tunic or shirt, whatever he has chosen to wear as his first layer. The Telmarine inspects because he is tasked with a job that is his voluntarily and that of Edmund who cannot be here to fulfill it. He doesn't want to get an earful over not compensating the Just. Honestly.

"Perhaps you should tell me what I am looking for," Caspian asks of Peter, half-serious but all well-meaning. He is the one who has considered a career in medicine, right?

[lionesscouchant.livejournal.com]

Lucy scowls again and resists moving forward, leaving for a moment to return with warm water, washcloths and bandages for the small wounds that the cordial didn't heal. "Here," she says, pouring it into a washcloth and handing it to Susan. "Wash his face, I'll help Caspian."

She was always the one to do the nursing, possibly because she's never the one who does any fighting. She takes Caspian's hands in hers. "He always flinches before you reach the wound, he knows what's coming, even if he won't scream." She helps pull away the gambison. "And then soak where there is or was a wound, because the blood may have already scabbed, it will hurt him to pull it away fast."

Even though hurting Peter isn't her chief concern, she's still not inclined on doing it.

[lionesssejant.livejournal.com]

One unsettling thing after another. Susan is glad to forsake the wand. It's placed very carefully aside, out of the way of hasty feet. That doesn't mean that she welcomes lending a hand to the nursing of Peter's wounds. She loves him very, very much. No question. Her hands shake dabbing at the blood.

Don't look down, she tells herself. Don't look down at the wound. Peter best not cry out after all.

[oshutup.livejournal.com]

To Caspian he begins to answer but stops when Lucy answers for him. That much is true enough, and sufficient he thinks, because his throat is terribly dry, feels hoarse though he's barely spoken a word in the last...however long. Being tended to is not something that has never happened but it does feel a bit odd, or maybe that's just the slight discomfort that comes from the tending.

No, he doesn't cry out, not even a little. The clenching of a jaw, however, is easily noticeable, perhaps the occasional and sharp intake of breath.

But he's fine, really. He thinks to tell them as much, but somehow his mind is already wandering towards: let's just go home.

Home?

Back to the house.

That's more accurate, at the moment.

[treadingdawn.livejournal.com]

He looks from Peter to Lucy and nods, careful not to get his fingernails involved with the peeling. The gambeson smells something awful by the way, as does Peter himself. It's a small price to pay for success isn't it? And with it removed he steps aside for Susan now, seeing that the blond isn't still leaking anything vital. Only now does he notice the shades of red that appear more like a dull brown on his sleeves. Stains, but at least they aren't vibrant and bright like scarlet on white. That would be almost too symbolic, especially for the White Witch whose blood he shed on the snow, once upon a time.

"I don't think he will need a doctor, not unless he feels pain tomorrow," Caspian suggests to the girls, brown eyes looking over Peter again. Note he said pain, not sore, there is a difference. "Perhaps we should take you home," he addresses the blond, thinking he'll not seem to have much of a say in the matter.

[lionesscouchant.livejournal.com]

Lucy nods at the suggestion. "You'll be better in your own bed, after a bath." She spots where there is blood sticking to his shirt and she soaks the spots, then removes it, cleaning the blood off. "There's a shirt over in his pack," she says, knowing because she placed it there herself. "Susan?" she asks quietly, knowing her sister doesn't like the sight of blood, or injured Peter, "Can you fetch it?"

Once the shirt was on they could get Peter home. He would likely still be dizzy but at the least able to walk - at least more upright than before.

She normally would slip one hand into Peter's and squeeze. But today she doesn't feel like it, and she doesn't feel generous either. I'm very cross, she wants to tell him, but instead she says "He'll feel better after he's slept. I'm sure he will."

[lionesssejant.livejournal.com]

A new shirt for Peter and a chance to step away? Done and done as far as Susan is concerned. She sets down the shirt even and steps away. Surely someone brought bandages.

"Will he be alright riding on horseback home?" That is something to think about. Maybe there could be another way.

[oshutup.livejournal.com]

"I can walk," he answers to all of them in a general way, not annoyed but short all the same. On one hand, he is grateful for the help, but on the other, there is something slightly overwhelming about stepping from one ring of attention to the other and his head isn't quite right, unable to focus at all. Maybe he's just feeling distracted though, after such intensive focus on the duel now past. Either way, the cordial has, as far as he's noticed, already taken care of anything that could prove truly troublesome, and as he slips the extra shirt on--there will be blood on this too likely, because only a shower will fully cleanse the High King of the residue of the fight--he bites the inside of his cheek. It all feels a bit odd, him a bit removed and they, entirely present.

To prove his words, however, he stands, however gradually. Well, standing is not the same as walking, but he's sure he can do that too. Casting a look around, hand on the back of the chair he was sitting in, he sighs. Rhindon. His shield and armor. The wand. He knows he can expect and trust Caspian with those things but to carry them all is surely cumbersome. Then it occurs to him that he has not cleaned his blade and old words lurch at him like a hand holding his shoulder back. His step falters for a moment, thinking, remembering, and in remembering, having that very young feeling creep into his face and posture, as if He is there, even though Peter is quite sure he isn't.