[JP] Doppelganger
He learns more about Magicks from her in a week then years of training at the Watcher’s Academy, and she teaches him more about women in one night then any of his half-drunken conquests, or awkward, ungraceful maneuvers and when he asked her why; she laughed and said it was because he reminded her of someone she knew long ago.
They had met a Wicker Man’s ceremony, near Bath, and he had barely begun to use the name Ripper. She seemed to have long since stepped into her role, whatever that may be, and was perfectly at ease with the throngs of neopagans, and drunken revelers even if her perfect ageless faced seemed the tiniest bit bored. She looked very much like a girl who had been through this one too many times and while not unhappy there, she seemed disinterested. He had thought, in passing, that she was waiting for someone, and when he stumbled towards her, her eyes met his as if she had found him.
He sensed her powers even through his drug fueled haze, and surrounded by as many people as they were without even trying to reach for the Magicks around them. He didn’t need to, it came cascading off of her like waves against stone, making her polished and hard. She didn’t look that much older than him, and was still beautiful; pale skinned with angry eyes. She liked to smile but it was cruel and sly but he read something off the way she moved; an age that laid hidden just under her skin like her Magick.
She came to him that first night, amid the burning men and blaring rock music but every night after that he followed her.
She had a small home, near a cemetery and a running river where she had a modest farm, if it could be called that. There were a few chickens, two horses and crows that roosted on her fence. Ripper thought it was quaint but in contrast to the sort of woman she seemed to be. She just smiled that cruel smile told him he’d stay with her from Imbolc to Samhain. She showed him their bed for the next four months and said they’d begin tomorrow morning.
Nimueh laughed at how skilled he was, in wonder at first and then later, like it was some sort of private joke. She said he was her finest student, in spite of his upbringing, and if he remained by her side; he’d be a King like he was before. When Ripper asked what she meant by that, the lady smiled and apologized, saying nothing else.
One afternoon, she took him to a nearby mountain they spent most of the daylight climbing up until they reached a spot to her liking. She lay down on her cloak and stared into Whitshire, leaving Ripper with his thoughts for a moment. Then, reaching over, she took his hand.
She offered him something then, in a distant voice, with her eyes never leaving the horizon. Ripper found his mind travelling back to the history of this place; how once, long ago it had been sacred to the Old Religion before the Great Purges. What he knew was part history, part legend any English child knew, this was the birthplace of Arthur’s father, and during the Purges, it had been the place of one of the final battles. The last Dragon fell near this very mountain, but did not die although what happened to the great beast the Watcher Journals never said. The time for Magic and Watchers had passed, at least for a moment in England, and like it often does when that happens, it went underground and what is known is passed on only in whispers, and secrets.
“Stay with me.” Nimueh said softly. “You are the counterweight to something that happened a long time ago. You know too much of the Magicks to fear them like the Watchers say you should, you have my blood in your veins like you should have had so long ago…stay with me this time. Learn from me.”
There was something in her tone that flickered something in Ripper, an ancient fear he felt in his very soul he couldn’t understand. It made him lean away from her.
Her ageless eyes were fixed on him. “If you stay, I can teach you so much more about Magicks then you will ever learn in your chronicles and tomes. I can give you the power over life and death. Think before you refuse me, that power is within your grasps. By my side, you won’t only have power but wisdom as well. You’re the balance. Stay.”
She leaned over and kissed him then, not on the lips like a lover, but on the shoulder. It happened very quickly, so quickly it knocked Ripper on his ass.
He screamed when the axe entered the shoulder. It was white hot pain that drove out every other thought in his head except that Nimueh was behind him. It made him drop the sword but somehow, with sheer force of will, he threw his weight into his good shoulder and then charged into the armor. His opponent, shocked by the force from a dying man, tumbled back. He heard Nimueh shout, and then felt the fireball blast from her fingertips towards their enemy. He barely had time to move before the flames engulfed the poor soul.
He was holding someone’s hand, a new mother, in the throes of childbirth and somehow he knew she was dying. It hurt more than any scar he received in battle.
There were screams coming from the flames, although the figures of wicker in the hungry flames couldn’t be made out to resemble any sort of shapes. Still, they writhed like shadows in dark; and screamed till the fires took even that. He kept his eye on the fires to the very end, after his subjects had turned in horror and even his companions turned their attentions to him. He tightened his grip on his horse, and continued to watch. They were beginning to hate him, he knew, but he couldn’t let himself be swayed now. Not when his work had barely begun.
Nimueh’s fingernails were clawing into his hand as he dragged her the distance from throne to hall. The Court looked on in horror, and his heart was breaking in his chest. It felt liable to stop now, at any moment.
“Mark me, Uther Pendragon!” She screamed; he could feel her gather her pride and her Magic around her like a crown. “Your hands bear the same smear as mine for this crime! If you mean to make me suffer, you’ll find it returned in kind. It was you who disturbed the tandem, not I! It’s you who have weighted down the world. This is my last warning, do not disturb the balance. If you try to upset it, you’ll lose more than Igraine!!”
He knew she was telling the truth the moment the words left her lips; and staring down at her; he finally understood what she had been warning him about a year ago. He thought of the woman in the crypts now and the child in the crib safe within the Castle, and he knew. Such terrible powers she had, such terrible powers he wielded. They held too much together, and ruled so unwisely with it. They would make the burn if they continued on their path. Part of him, the King and honorable man that was not blinded by pain or fears, knew then. They would probably burn anyways.
He couldn’t allow it. They would destroy too much if they remained as one.
Gathering strength he didn’t feel, he lifted his head and regarded her coldly. “To war then, Great Lady. In the manner and course we know.”
Memories after memories were racing through Ripper’s skull; he thought he would break under the onslaught. He became aware only of Nimueh’s hand in his and he gripped so hard he might have broken her fingers. He tore away from her at the last memory, crying out from the horror he felt or the pain. He was trembling, feeling the Magicks pulse around him, through his skin down to his very fingertips. He was shaking.
It took an eternity for him to look up. She knew before his voice returned. “Your answer is still no.”
He left Bath behind the next morning but the memories continued. They became stronger, more chaotic. They scared him. He went to London to ignore them. To see if he could push Nimueh from his mind, and what she offered and how close he had come to accepting it as far from memory as possible. But the dreams continued. Even after he found Ethan, and the others…
They only stopped when he found Eyghon the Sleepwalker and in truth, he was grateful for the escape. But only in the beginning.
What followed after was much worst.
They had met a Wicker Man’s ceremony, near Bath, and he had barely begun to use the name Ripper. She seemed to have long since stepped into her role, whatever that may be, and was perfectly at ease with the throngs of neopagans, and drunken revelers even if her perfect ageless faced seemed the tiniest bit bored. She looked very much like a girl who had been through this one too many times and while not unhappy there, she seemed disinterested. He had thought, in passing, that she was waiting for someone, and when he stumbled towards her, her eyes met his as if she had found him.
He sensed her powers even through his drug fueled haze, and surrounded by as many people as they were without even trying to reach for the Magicks around them. He didn’t need to, it came cascading off of her like waves against stone, making her polished and hard. She didn’t look that much older than him, and was still beautiful; pale skinned with angry eyes. She liked to smile but it was cruel and sly but he read something off the way she moved; an age that laid hidden just under her skin like her Magick.
She came to him that first night, amid the burning men and blaring rock music but every night after that he followed her.
She had a small home, near a cemetery and a running river where she had a modest farm, if it could be called that. There were a few chickens, two horses and crows that roosted on her fence. Ripper thought it was quaint but in contrast to the sort of woman she seemed to be. She just smiled that cruel smile told him he’d stay with her from Imbolc to Samhain. She showed him their bed for the next four months and said they’d begin tomorrow morning.
Nimueh laughed at how skilled he was, in wonder at first and then later, like it was some sort of private joke. She said he was her finest student, in spite of his upbringing, and if he remained by her side; he’d be a King like he was before. When Ripper asked what she meant by that, the lady smiled and apologized, saying nothing else.
One afternoon, she took him to a nearby mountain they spent most of the daylight climbing up until they reached a spot to her liking. She lay down on her cloak and stared into Whitshire, leaving Ripper with his thoughts for a moment. Then, reaching over, she took his hand.
She offered him something then, in a distant voice, with her eyes never leaving the horizon. Ripper found his mind travelling back to the history of this place; how once, long ago it had been sacred to the Old Religion before the Great Purges. What he knew was part history, part legend any English child knew, this was the birthplace of Arthur’s father, and during the Purges, it had been the place of one of the final battles. The last Dragon fell near this very mountain, but did not die although what happened to the great beast the Watcher Journals never said. The time for Magic and Watchers had passed, at least for a moment in England, and like it often does when that happens, it went underground and what is known is passed on only in whispers, and secrets.
“Stay with me.” Nimueh said softly. “You are the counterweight to something that happened a long time ago. You know too much of the Magicks to fear them like the Watchers say you should, you have my blood in your veins like you should have had so long ago…stay with me this time. Learn from me.”
There was something in her tone that flickered something in Ripper, an ancient fear he felt in his very soul he couldn’t understand. It made him lean away from her.
Her ageless eyes were fixed on him. “If you stay, I can teach you so much more about Magicks then you will ever learn in your chronicles and tomes. I can give you the power over life and death. Think before you refuse me, that power is within your grasps. By my side, you won’t only have power but wisdom as well. You’re the balance. Stay.”
She leaned over and kissed him then, not on the lips like a lover, but on the shoulder. It happened very quickly, so quickly it knocked Ripper on his ass.
He screamed when the axe entered the shoulder. It was white hot pain that drove out every other thought in his head except that Nimueh was behind him. It made him drop the sword but somehow, with sheer force of will, he threw his weight into his good shoulder and then charged into the armor. His opponent, shocked by the force from a dying man, tumbled back. He heard Nimueh shout, and then felt the fireball blast from her fingertips towards their enemy. He barely had time to move before the flames engulfed the poor soul.
He was holding someone’s hand, a new mother, in the throes of childbirth and somehow he knew she was dying. It hurt more than any scar he received in battle.
There were screams coming from the flames, although the figures of wicker in the hungry flames couldn’t be made out to resemble any sort of shapes. Still, they writhed like shadows in dark; and screamed till the fires took even that. He kept his eye on the fires to the very end, after his subjects had turned in horror and even his companions turned their attentions to him. He tightened his grip on his horse, and continued to watch. They were beginning to hate him, he knew, but he couldn’t let himself be swayed now. Not when his work had barely begun.
Nimueh’s fingernails were clawing into his hand as he dragged her the distance from throne to hall. The Court looked on in horror, and his heart was breaking in his chest. It felt liable to stop now, at any moment.
“Mark me, Uther Pendragon!” She screamed; he could feel her gather her pride and her Magic around her like a crown. “Your hands bear the same smear as mine for this crime! If you mean to make me suffer, you’ll find it returned in kind. It was you who disturbed the tandem, not I! It’s you who have weighted down the world. This is my last warning, do not disturb the balance. If you try to upset it, you’ll lose more than Igraine!!”
He knew she was telling the truth the moment the words left her lips; and staring down at her; he finally understood what she had been warning him about a year ago. He thought of the woman in the crypts now and the child in the crib safe within the Castle, and he knew. Such terrible powers she had, such terrible powers he wielded. They held too much together, and ruled so unwisely with it. They would make the burn if they continued on their path. Part of him, the King and honorable man that was not blinded by pain or fears, knew then. They would probably burn anyways.
He couldn’t allow it. They would destroy too much if they remained as one.
Gathering strength he didn’t feel, he lifted his head and regarded her coldly. “To war then, Great Lady. In the manner and course we know.”
Memories after memories were racing through Ripper’s skull; he thought he would break under the onslaught. He became aware only of Nimueh’s hand in his and he gripped so hard he might have broken her fingers. He tore away from her at the last memory, crying out from the horror he felt or the pain. He was trembling, feeling the Magicks pulse around him, through his skin down to his very fingertips. He was shaking.
It took an eternity for him to look up. She knew before his voice returned. “Your answer is still no.”
He left Bath behind the next morning but the memories continued. They became stronger, more chaotic. They scared him. He went to London to ignore them. To see if he could push Nimueh from his mind, and what she offered and how close he had come to accepting it as far from memory as possible. But the dreams continued. Even after he found Ethan, and the others…
They only stopped when he found Eyghon the Sleepwalker and in truth, he was grateful for the escape. But only in the beginning.
What followed after was much worst.