Post by macbeth on Feb 17, 2011 20:21:39 GMT -5
Despite the fact that he'd been gone for so long, Macbeth still knew his old country, and in the dead of night, was able to slip through the lands undetected. News of Luach's death had reached him, and without a single thought on the matter, he rushed home to Scotland to find his beloved wife.
He had not yet cried for the death of his son. He couldn't allow himself to do it alone. He'd find Gruoch, and the two of them would mourn together before quitting the country forever, being together for as long as time would allow it for her. Macbeth had heard that for her safety during the battles of the past year, she'd been living in a small village, and now, finally, he was here.
Macbeth stealthily moved through the village, checking in window after window, ducking before his presence could be seen by any inhabitants. Most of them were asleep at this late hour, a fact that was working in his favor. Finally, he looked in a small house and saw his beloved lying on a bed. But rather than feeling joy at seeing her, alarm seized him. She was pale, and much too thin... she was wasting away...
No longer concerned for his own safety, Macbeth burst through the door and rushed to her side. He picked her up in his arms, shocked at how light and fragile she felt. He gasped as he saw a small black vial lying on the bed next to her. No... she couldn't have...
“Gruoch...” He whispered.
Her green eyes slowly opened, and his heart twisted even more at the sight of the dull, lifeless look they carried.
“Husband?” She said, her voice barely above a whisper as she tried to lift a hand. She could barely lift it more than a few inches, and he took it in his, holding it to his cheek.
“Oh, Macbeth...” She murmured. “I've missed you so...”
“Gruoch...” Macbeth murmured, his heart aching. “I've come back for you, my love...”
“It's too late for me, my love... just hold me...”
Macbeth held her, unable to stop the slowing of her heart as it fluttered weakly in her chest. A soft sigh escaped her as she finally fell limp in his arms.
Macbeth released a loud cry of anguish as he clutched her tighter to him, sobbing over her body.
~~~
Macbeth jerked out of his sleep, sweat lingering on his forehead as the dream hung around him. The nightmare of watching his beloved Gruoch die came to him every so often, and the pain of it never ebbed.
He took a moment to get control of his breathing before slipping out of his bed. It was early in the morning, several hours before the sun would even begin to consider rising, but his heart was beating against his chest so hard that he didn't bother with trying to go back to sleep and instead left his mansion to take a walk and clear his head.
In place of his normal battle attire, Macbeth was dressed in a pair of loose pants and a t-shirt. The night air helped to cool him down, though it did little to ease the pain in his heart. He sat down on a bench in the park, having had the foresight to bring one of his taser guns with him in case he ran into any muggers.
Well over 900 years had passed... when would the pain leave him too?
He had not yet cried for the death of his son. He couldn't allow himself to do it alone. He'd find Gruoch, and the two of them would mourn together before quitting the country forever, being together for as long as time would allow it for her. Macbeth had heard that for her safety during the battles of the past year, she'd been living in a small village, and now, finally, he was here.
Macbeth stealthily moved through the village, checking in window after window, ducking before his presence could be seen by any inhabitants. Most of them were asleep at this late hour, a fact that was working in his favor. Finally, he looked in a small house and saw his beloved lying on a bed. But rather than feeling joy at seeing her, alarm seized him. She was pale, and much too thin... she was wasting away...
No longer concerned for his own safety, Macbeth burst through the door and rushed to her side. He picked her up in his arms, shocked at how light and fragile she felt. He gasped as he saw a small black vial lying on the bed next to her. No... she couldn't have...
“Gruoch...” He whispered.
Her green eyes slowly opened, and his heart twisted even more at the sight of the dull, lifeless look they carried.
“Husband?” She said, her voice barely above a whisper as she tried to lift a hand. She could barely lift it more than a few inches, and he took it in his, holding it to his cheek.
“Oh, Macbeth...” She murmured. “I've missed you so...”
“Gruoch...” Macbeth murmured, his heart aching. “I've come back for you, my love...”
“It's too late for me, my love... just hold me...”
Macbeth held her, unable to stop the slowing of her heart as it fluttered weakly in her chest. A soft sigh escaped her as she finally fell limp in his arms.
Macbeth released a loud cry of anguish as he clutched her tighter to him, sobbing over her body.
~~~
Macbeth jerked out of his sleep, sweat lingering on his forehead as the dream hung around him. The nightmare of watching his beloved Gruoch die came to him every so often, and the pain of it never ebbed.
He took a moment to get control of his breathing before slipping out of his bed. It was early in the morning, several hours before the sun would even begin to consider rising, but his heart was beating against his chest so hard that he didn't bother with trying to go back to sleep and instead left his mansion to take a walk and clear his head.
In place of his normal battle attire, Macbeth was dressed in a pair of loose pants and a t-shirt. The night air helped to cool him down, though it did little to ease the pain in his heart. He sat down on a bench in the park, having had the foresight to bring one of his taser guns with him in case he ran into any muggers.
Well over 900 years had passed... when would the pain leave him too?