#lorence x clarice

[ladyregentclarice]

Challenge:

Write a scene (at least as long as the post requirement so 200+ words but it can be as long as you like) between your character(s) and any other character within the RP that is NOT currently written or playable! This can be between your character and someone else who is writable but hasn't been taken yet, between your character and an NPC because they're too young, or even a flashback between your character and someone not playable because they've died before where we currently are in the story's timeline!!

She visits him, with a bouquet of baby’s breath, sunflowers, and lavender before the sun even began to stretch its rays across the eastern sky. She comes alone, the only time she was these days, and silently she is thankful for the silent agreement to allow her this time with Lorence. Especially now that his statue had been completed, the likeness both a comfort and a knife in the heart as she placed the bouquet at its feet and gazed upward towards its face as she remembered the horror of that day.

“He is not in pain,” The maester tells her as they stand in the entrance of the tent, the air thick with the scent of sweat and horses and blood. “He has been given milk of the poppy to ease his pain, however…” Clarice could barely hear the man as he spoke of her husband, of the injuries done to his person that gave no hope of recovery. She feels as though she is in a daze, hardly aware of those around her or even the gentle press to cross the threshold into the pavilion that felt like a floral tomb.

And there, laid out as though already on his funeral bier, was Lorence.

She moves towards him slowly, with each step silently begging to be woken from this nightmare as she gazed down at her husband. His eyes were shut, his skin so pale he would’ve blended with the sheets if they weren’t so stained from his blood, his skull incised under his skin, as if his injuries was determined to devour him to his bones.

Clarice choked back tears, fighting furiously against them as she didn’t want him to see her like this. To see her disconsolate; he needed to take strength from her presence, know that she—

“Clarice.”

Immediately she is at his side, taking his hand that felt alarmingly cold to her touch. And in his eyes, red-rimmed, she saw fear. For he did not feel the pain of his injuries anymore, because of the drugs administered, but there was a deeper pain that caused that fear.

Lorence knew he was doomed.

His fingers dug into her flesh as he rasped at her to listen, weakly tugging at her until she leaned in, breathing in the fetid smell of blood and sweat and death.“You must listen to me. I must tell you…I…I failed you. I was a fool, and I have spoiled your happiness with my foolishness.”

“No, you haven’t. Don’t say such things.”

“Clarice.” His hand gripped her wrist, not hearing her refutes as he fought to speak. “Jon and Roger will be castellan and steward for ly-Lyonel, but you will be his regent. You must be his regent.” She must have looked as though she might pull away in disbelief, but icy grip held her in place and his face- By the Seven, his face! “You must work with them, to make Lyonel safe in his lordship. Promise me.” And with tear filled eyes, she promised, and Lorence sighed, fingers unraveling from her wrist, his body limp.

Clarice gazed up at the stone rendering of her husband, tired in a way that she felt in her very soul. It clung to her like a marriage cloak, a heavy weight of exhaustion from just trying to survive one day to the next. Whoever came up with the lie that time healed all wounds, Clarice wanted to scream at them for such a lie.

For time will not heal this wound.