|Show Me A Reason|
|Summary:||In a sinister mood, Lucienne visits Amelia in the dungeon. Amelia wants mercy… but can she provide a good enough reason?|
|Related Logs:||I will put this list in shortly|
|Guards. Mice. A whore. Kinky!|
|01 Sep 288|
The filth of this place does not cease to amaze and disgust the Lady Lucienne to her very core, even upon her second visit. The smell, most of all, makes her sick to her stomach. She comes at the first morning change of the guard after dawn, her fresh and clean appearance a stark contrast to the dungeon. Not only accompanied by the guards to take up duty, she's brought with her one of her own personal favourites to look upon her as she requests to see the prisoner Miss Amelia, even her prim voice out of place in these depths.
They allow her, for it is not their place to deny, and the two readying to leave perform the last task of their by readying Amelia for a visitor. With her hands clasped at her front, Lucienne waits to be shown to the cell, having brought nothing of sustenance or comfort this time - likely not even the promise of any, either.
With an impending visitor, Amelia's hands and ankles are shackled. The woman has been placed under strict rules this time and under a suicide watch. Her hands are inspected before she is allowed to turn and face the woman outside her cell. The door is left open for the moment but Amelia has been forbidden to exit. Under threat of death. She stands at the far end, her shoulder slumped and the now-pale woman looking towards the floor by default of her slumped stature. Eyes drift over the newly visible stone as if taking in something rather exciting. But they slowly rise to see Luci and drop immediately. "Lady Lucienne," she whipers hoarsely. Its like the gentle, sing-song of her soprano had been drug down a road of gravel.
Lucienne's own sweet soprano, on the other hand, is delicate and proper as ever, if containing a wealth of disdain for the woman before her. Yet even in scorn, she is ever a flower. "Miss Amelia." She steels herself with a short breath (not wanting to inhale anymore of the stench than is absolutely necessary), and steps just the one footfall inside the cell. "How much has happened since we last spoke," says the lady, as though intimating a fond trip down memory lane. The reality, of course, is far different.
Amelia does not raise her head, the slouch leaving her head to hang in the same defeated stance. She shuffles her stance once to the right, more an adjustment of balance than anything. The guards report her only voice contact has been Ser Bruce and Jerold. "Since we last spoke." Its the uttered phrase of a woman who has nothing left. Her hair is greasy, the unwashed lengths cascading around her head and obscuring her expression. The finely-tuned whore who catored to nobility has been reuced to nothing more than common scum. "I've since disgraced the man I love, heard of him doing it to himself, and also killed a man. I'm wonderful. I trust you are well, Lady Terrick," she offers quietly.
Lucienne lifts her chin haughtily, finding some perverse kind of pleasure in seeing this woman, who has set the wheels of both their fates in motion, reduced so. "Yes, well," she begins in the most unsympathetic of tones. "I've seen my dearest heart returned to my side, so I suppose in some small way I should thank you, Amelia. And yet… as far back as I trace this, the blame for my impending tearing away from him again, and the rest of my family, lies squarely on your shoulders. So I come here, Amelia. Once again, I visit you in a squalid cell. They tell me you're an upholder of the truth these last few days, Amelia. That you might have changed your ways. So tell me, my dear woman, who was it?"
Amelia hears the tone and she seems to sink just a little bit lower in her stature. The woman, for all she had been, is nothing more than just the body she inhabits. "My intentions were the highest," she whispers. "They still are." She leans her head to wipe her nose on her shoulder. Its not the movement of a refined whore. Likely a gesture that has come up from memories long shoved into her memory. "I've changed?" She sighs, another side-step and her balance falters to lean against the side of her cell. She keeps her face hidden still. "Ask me whatever you desire. I'll speak truth to a Terrick. I just ask that you kill me in return for the favor of honesty. And I do not mean arguing for my hanging." She lifts her head slowly, leaning it against the stone as well while she looks up. "Please. End me? I beg no other favors."
"Of course," says Lucienne, holding up her two bare hands, palms first at right-angles to the ground and then outstretched to offer their services to the whore. She even sounds sincere, a dangerous edge to her tone that she puts on quite well. "Tell me, then: who told you the rumours regarding Ser Anton. Where did that information come from?"
Amelia's eyes seem to actually gain some hope. She's been down here so long. Alone. Nobody will see her. She see's the hands flatten into that shape and her chin lifts as she steps forward before the shackles on her ankles stop her. There's a slight whimper. The guard outside only watches for the moment. the older women strains her neck out, brows twisted in a sick hope of an end. "I'll tell anything, m'Lady. But nobody. hand to the Seven. Lady Isolde Nayland told me she were most curious. I developed my theories. I sought to protect Jaremy. I swear, m'Lady." Her hoarse breathing is broken only be heavy breaths, her head trying to reach those hands. "I never told Jaremy to act. Never. I never hinted. I only want something more for you all," she urges, her voice cracking.
"You mean to tell me that Issie put to you that the Lord Ser Anton Valentin was falsely claiming nobility, and that she had formulated her own suspicion that he might be courting Ironer causes?" Cruelly, Lucienne keeps her hands outstretched like that, enticing poor Amelia to them from her place only barely inside the door.
Amelia urges, nearly surging her energy towards those hands before she collapses to her knees. The woman falls as some common piece of trash before Lucienne and has no energy to rise. the knees even hit with a sickly 'thump' so the likelihood of injury is higher. Her body leans to the wall, the former whore having nothing else left. "She told me about the letters," she breathes, head resting on the stone beside her as her form slowly sinks forward. "I knew other things. I tried to warn you all. I told nobody to act. I was awaiting.. confirmation.." She sighs. "isolde promised. She was to deliver word. She's disappeared. All I wanted to do was prove myself." Amelia is a crumbled shell, the limits of her shackles tying her to the floor in front of Lucienne. "If you won't, please. Give me a knife. Or a spoon. I'll save my disgrace for myself. Not the family. Please."
Lucienne hones in on something the whore says, and she even places another, encouraging foot inside the cell. Oh, Amelia, you are another step closer to the death you so desire! "What other things did you know? Where, pray tell me, do the Ironers come into these matters?"
Amelia stares up at the woman in front of her. The desire to die is plain. But the slow steps have her falter. Her expression shifts from one of desperation to one of resignation slowly, almost like ice melting. She's being toyed with. Her attention drifts and she looks away in her slump. "Kill me or don't, m'Lady. I'll tell you whatever you want regardless. I just pray for death soon." She stares at the floor. "The Ironborn come into it in a very loose theory. It was and still is flimsy. Ser Gedeon's mother is an Iron according to Lady Isolde. Well Jaremy told me that Lord Tordane was seen flirting heavily with an Ironborn woman at the tournament at The Crag. Should that Ironborn be his mother, think of the differences in their birthdays. The whole thing about Lady Valda cheating on Lord Tordane while he was away is utter hogwash if Gedeon was sired at the tournament. Their birthdays would have to be the same. If that was his mother at The Crag, then those letters about Gedeon being the true heir are faked and faking notes would require serious, serious coin and influence. Like the kind had by nobility. Either Iron or .. other. But again.. it was a loose theory. I have no supporting evidence. Just logic points." She shrugs.
Is she being toyed with, though? Lucienne takes another step towards Amelia, her fingers flexing gently as they might squeeze around the thickness of the whore's neck, bringing that release so sought. She bears no argument, hearing out the theories and nodding just the once. "What else do you know, then? Tell me something of use, Amelia. I would give you mercy, if only you provide a reason, my dear."
Amelia looks up to the hands and then to the head attached to them. She turns her body a touch so that should the hands arrive, they are not impeded. The guard outside glances in to check that things are alright and watch. "What else.." Amelia sighs, whispering. "I know I never told Jaremy to send a raven to King's Landing. I told him the Tully's were involved in Anton being ascended. I know Isolde promised to send a raven. I'd wanted to embarass them. I also know I never told you to sour your relationship with Ser Anton. I told you that there was reason to suspect him of crimes, but that there was no proof." She lists it off, her eyes lifeless and blank like her expression pointed towards Lucienne's feet. "I know I am the scapegoat. I know I hate what I have been. I know I want you to kill me. I know that nothing I can do or so will ever make things better. I know that your family will never love me again. I know that their opinion matters more to me than the rising and setting of the sun. I know I do not want to live in a world where you look at me with disdain like you do, Lady Lucienne."
That all earns Amelia another step from the lady. But not yet her hands of mercy, oh no. Lucienne's eyebrows lift, her expression cold. "Amelia, honestly - when you look upon my fair face, do you see a stupid girl? I already know those things, that's not what I need from you. You have had your way with noble men that I have never even set my eyes upon, dear woman, and you have spied upon my family for years on behalf of your sick House. Tell me something about Rickart Nayland, or one of his sons, or any of those wretched harpies. Do you know who poisoned Gedeon? Do you know their next move? I would choke the breath from your very chest, my dear, do not doubt your lady."
"No. I see something like hate, m'Lady. Its directed towards me. I've not seen it before from your family. I'd rather just sit here were it all the same to you, Lady Lucienne." She glances up and then back down quickly. "I know nothing. Rickart recruited me initially. Claimed me privately as his daughter. Made extravagent promises. Their next move is probably to have me killed or captured so I can be tortured for what I know of your family. As for Gedeon.." She clears her throat. "Probably the same person who killed the Septon that verified the authenticity of the letters. It was probably the man I killed."
There is something twisted in the tiny curve of Lucienne's lips, as she smiles cruelly down at Amelia. "I don't hate you. I pity you," she sneers. "A smarter woman in your position would have something more to offer than just her life. The more that you tell, the more I realise what a simple woman you must be. And for that, Amelia, I pity you."
Amelia lifts her eyes to look back at Lucienne. "I am unworthy of it. In five years you will not remember my name. You can pay lipservice to the word 'pity' but that is not what you feel. If you think me simple, that is your decision. I cannot change that. But considering I did what I did?" She shakes her head. "I am willing to bloody my hands for the men and women I love, m'Lady. I am going to the gallows for them. Would you do the same?"
As Amelia speaks, Lucienne takes her last step forward. Agonisingly slow, she drops to a crouch in front of the whore, her eyes narrowing and her jaw tensing. Just one of her hands surges forward, seeking to grasp Amelia in a tight choke hold just below her chin. "Thanks to you," she snarls through clenched teeth, "My sentence will be the rest of my life." She lets go with a flick of her wrist, which leaves her tender and clutching it with the other hand as she rises. "Guards!" She'll be seen out now.
Amelia's eyes fall away as Lucienne crouches. When her throat is grabbed, Amelia jumps a bit but blows out all the air in her lungs, leaning her neck into the grab. It might even be surprising. She really does want to die. But when the hand flicks away, Amelia falls forward a touch and she sighs. "I told Jaremy to blame me for everything. He will not. You may do so if you wish. I will admit to anything the Terrick family requests." She rubs her hands at the tender spot, looking up to the departing Luci. "Be safe, my Lady."
There is nothing more from the lady, who swishes angrily out of that cell, leaving the guards to secure it again. She won't be back.