Author: TunelessLyric PM
Written for the DAWC prompt about graffiti, Gregoir reads the words left behind by a mage in his cell. Inspired by karebear's Blood Brothers, Fight Back and Writing on the Wall. Rating for language and content.Rated: Fiction M - English - Hurt/Comfort/Angst - Greagoir & Anders - Words: 919 - Reviews: 3 - Favs: 1 - Published: 02-25-12 - Status: Complete - id: 7870758
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Written for the DAWC graffiti prompt/challenge thingy. Inspired very much by karebear's fic for the same prompt and her Blood Brothers-Fight Back shorts.
This is the part of me that you're never ever gonna take away me, no - Part of Me ~ Katy Perry
Anders wakes to the sound of the heavy cell door screeching shut. He gropes groggily in the dim light. Along with his bread and water the templars have so generously accepted his request for paint. A smikr creeps across his face as he envisions his artwork, finished and bright in this dank, gloomy hell hole.
Gregoir sighs as he turns the key in the lock. He swears his men are sending him on some stupid chase through his Tower for a prank. But then, the Templar who had sent him down here in the first place hadn't been lying to the knight-commander.
Gregoir pushes the cell door open. He holds the runesone aloft to better illuminate the small rock carved room. The smell of blood and mould down here is enough to gag a maggot but still the old Templar enters.
A flicker of colour catches Gregoir's eye. He looks carefully at the wall before him. Words and pictures cover nearly evey inch of stone inside the cell. The Templar had been right. Gregoir begins to read.
ONE DAY, I'LL GET OUT. ONE DAY, I'LL GET OUT AND NEVER COME BACK. Cocky to this short line is the most realistic sunset Gregoir has ever seen painted. Below is a crude picture of the old templar himself. A list of expletives run along the wall beside the drawing. They begin as scratches in a barely-legible child's hand, then become the deftly-made brush strokes of the cell's usual occupant.
LOSER, STUPID HEAD, CHANTRY JERKS are scratched into the wall. DUMBASSES, DICKHEAD follow. Last are the terrible, I HATE THIS PLACE, YOU SHOULD DIE and FUCK YOU. The first two of the last set are somehow the worst. Gregoir feels a surge of anger and indignance.
The templar moves on to a new patch of wall. This one is a puctire of deep brown eyes. Young eyes. Underneath is a pair of hands, each gripping the other tightly as a trail of blood squeezes betewwn fingers. Blood magic? Not with eyes as innocent as tose painted above. FIGHT BACK, BROTHER reads the caption.
Gregoir's breath catches as he spots the next bit of art.
YOU CAN STEP ON ME, BUT I'LL NEVER STAY DOWN; KNOCK ME OVER, BUT I'VE SLEPT ON THIS FLOOR BEFORE AND I KNOW IT'S NOT THAT HARD.
A picture of a tigerlabelled Ser Pounce-a-lot is attacking a group of templars. Gregoir recognizes this scene from one drawn in a library book. Seems as though he finally found the culprit. He sighs again.
ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS - a templar is holding a young boy dressed in ugly blue mage robes to the ground - BUT I CAN SCREAM LOUDER - the boy is holding a whip, standing before the templar who now sports lash marks across his back. I COUNTED - the number of lashes the mage recieved id painted in large, red letters that are dripping down the wall. Gregoir stops in his tracks and does a quick tally. The lad was right.
The templar continues reading the wall. A terrifying image of red glowing eyes staring out of the blackness startles Gregoir. To the right is an image of a templar helmet with the same eyes. THEY ARE THE SAME. THEY ARE ALWAYS WATCHING, THEY ALWAYS KNOW.
Moving on, theknight-commander spots the Hero of Ferelden, wearing her mage robes. The light reflected in her hair is bright, a memory perhapes?
A verse from the Chant of Light is painted beneath, but peeling. Gregoir smoothes it with his hand, but still cannot read it.
I DREAMED OF PARADISE ONCE. NOW I DON'T EVEN REMEMBER MY OWN NAME. KINLOCH HOLD, WHERE WE TAKE YOUR KIN, LOCK THEM UP AND HOLD THEM UNTIL THEY DIE. I WANT TO DIE, BUT THAT WOULD BE LETTING THEM WIN, THEY ALWAYS WIN.
Gregoir wonders how the artist reached the ceiling. Then he spots the niches pockmarking the walls. Carved out to serve as footholds then? Enterprising bugger.
I WON'T GIVE IN. I WON'T GIVE IN. The phrase is repeated throughout the panoramic canvas. I CAN'T GO ON, BUT I CAN'T LET THEM WIN.
An abomination stares out of the wall at Gregoir. I CAN HEAR THEM. BUT AT LEAST THEY CAN'T GET ME DOWN HERE.
A night scene dominates a wall. HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN? I CAN'T TELL. TOO LONG. A YEAR YET?
The next picture is a tiny yellow tabby kitten. MR WIGGUMS. MY ONLY VISITOR IN A YEAR. THE ONLY ONE WHO CARES IF I'M ALIVE.
Gregoir turns to look for the next peice of angry art and insults. He doesn't see any more he missed. He turns to the door and sees an inscription there.
YOU ARE NOW ENTERING THE TEMPLARE-FREE ZONE OF KINLOCH HOLD. FEEL FREE TO ADD TO MY WORK.
Gregoir runs his hand over the wall as he turns to leave. Maybe he'll come back tonight and take the artist up on that offer. Maybe he'll add how he feels tonight.
ASHAMED AND SORRY. ENJOY YOUR FREEDOM ANDERS. YOU DESERVE IT.