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monisse · 5 years

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These Raging Minds (II)

Pairing: Brianna / Roger Spoilers: Missing scene from The Fiery Cross, sometime after Alamance Summary: As she absently stroked the healing flesh of his scarred throat, Brianna wondered if the songs still came to him as effortlessly as they did before, with an overwhelming urge to sing, or if he now made a conscious effort to suffocate them before he was even tempted to form the notes.

There was an itch at the very tip of her fingers from an innate desire to capture the view before her into a canvas, even though she knew the natural powders that inhabited the strokes of her paintbrush would pale in comparison to the intensity of the surrounding colors. Brianna felt that the scenery was vaguely familiar, but she was unable to attach it to a specific memory, perhaps a consequence of being displaced in time herself, as if she had already been there, or is yet to be.

The grass in which she sat extended towards a lake adorned with purple flowers near the shore. She placed a hand in front of her eyes, always mindful of her fair skin, and even though the sun was bright above in the sky it neither burn, nor was it warm. That peculiar sensation, or lack thereof, demanded a rational explanation, but before Brianna could analyze it, something in her peripheral vision caught her attention. There was a group of trees a short distance away, inconsequential in their rooted stillness, were it not for the large white oak that stood taller than all others, at the center. She observed then, overcome with horror, that a looped noose was suspended from one of its branches, balancing in the wind. A chill ran down her spine as she opened her mouth to a soundless scream.

Then, without warning, the world she inhabited was suddenly on the move with its watercolors blending together, and when she placed one hand above the grass that was rapidly disappearing below, she felt the earth trembling underneath.

With a sense of urgency and blood pounding in her ears, Brianna opened her eyes to a darker world than the one she had left. Yet, the motion persisted. She blinked once, twice, allowing her eyes to adjust to the lack of light. For a brief moment Brianna though she was still inside her head, trapped in some sort of awful twist of the previous dream but the sight of Roger beside her, fighting angrily against himself, felt real enough to push her into action. In one swift move, only slowed by a short struggle against the tangled sheet, she rose and leaned over him.

"Roger!" She called out, voice cracking with the remnants of a restless sleep.

By now she was already familiar, as much as one could ever be, with the incoherent nightmares that drove him awake in the middle of the night, often startling her in the process. However, this was something else entirely, for it had taken over his body in the most horrific fashion.

His eyes were closed, looking inward at a sight only visible to him, while his hands scratched desperately at his damaged throat as though pulling at an invisible rope that dug its rough fibers against the skin there. Strangled grunts came out of his contorted mouth with each attempt to draw air into lungs, and with the effort to breathe Roger was on the verge of choking himself.

Both her hands trembled while roaming just above his body, not fully knowing where to touch. But in spite of the hesitation, her mind was fully alert. Brianna knew exactly where he had wandered off, his mind had plunged into his own demise without conscious consent. She had not seen Roger as he hanged not so long ago, although she had raced against time itself to find him. Nevertheless, the image before her now would be engraved in her head as a close resemblance. When Brianna arrived by the large white oak, she had thought him dead, although the finality of it had not completely register right away. And the sight had been so horrifying that even after all this time, she still remembered the dreadful sensation of all blood being drained at once and replaced by an icy fluid that stopped her heart momentarily. It had only started again prompted by a moan from the seemingly lifeless form of Roger which swung from the branch between life and death.

In the bed right before her eyes, his whole body tensed at once and she instinctively took hold of his hands, trying to pry them away from his neck. Despite her firm grip, Roger resisted with the strength implied by his sturdy frame, but seldom fully unleashed. In that moment a far recess of her brain, the sardonic side of her, noticed that she was locked in a physical representation of the mind struggle they had been living in the past months, pushing and pulling without one fully yielding to the other.

Roger had tried to speak at length ever since they had returned to the Ridge, albeit remaining conscious of the oddness of his damaged voice. But as time went by, along with increasing frustration, the words became few and far between. Eventually he became silent again. In the void left by his words Brianna had learned to read the subtle changes in his stance, the ever-changing expressions in his face, and all of which he did not speak aloud. All of it was nearly deafening, and the deeper the silence grew between them, the louder her mind became.

He had always been a man of eloquent word and amusing wit, traits always expressed freely. Only now he could not, or would not unleash his thoughts, not even to her. Brianna was convinced that in spite of his early efforts, Roger must have grown tired of the ever-present judgment, unspoken as it was, and the looks of pity surely had made him progressively withdraw into miserable thoughts, mentally out of reach from her. Then, in the absence of sound, Roger often disappeared into the woods for hours on end, and when he finally came back, as silent as he had left, Brianna had to bite down the bitter remarks at the tip of her tongue. Often enough, she fancied surrendering to a selfish spree that would fill the void with screams, loud and enraged, and throw the loneliness she felt mercilessly back at him. However, a quick look into the desolation etched across his face ceased all thoughts of that kind.

She called for him, desperately now, but he remained completely oblivious, lost in a creation rooted in the reality where death was an imminent conclusion. Amidst the struggle to breathe his face became an angry shade of red against the faded amber light from the hearth. The muscles in his arms were strained beyond capacity, resisting her every move. Yet, she refused to surrender Roger, unconscious or not, to the darkest corners of his mind. They had lived through far more than it was rationally conceivable, and this was yet another test to their combined resilience.

With renewed determination she slipped her fingers between his, entwining their hands firmly, and pulled at them once more. Without as much resistance as before, his hands held unconsciously onto hers and slowly departed from his neck.

With both his hands safely between hers, she leaned further down and placed her lips above his, barely touching.

“Breathe, Roger. Breathe!” She murmured continuously like a mantra to bring him back safely.

As if triggered awake by her calling, he rose from the bed with a loud gasp, voraciously consuming the air he had been deprived of. Brianna caught the abrupt motion of his body with her hands and felt his heart beat fast underneath. Long dark lashes moved rapidly, trying to make sense of the surroundings. The air passed through his damaged throat with some effort, that much she could tell, and from the way he panted it must be exceedingly painful as well.

The relief she immediately felt when he woke up was short lived once his eyes found hers. Their shade of moss, usually intense and lively, was clouded with a hint of tears, and behind them lay a vast field of regret, fear and anger, all combining into the overwhelming loss of oneself.

Brianna saw a changed Roger in those eyes, one that was still somewhat foreign to her. And among the flood of emotions, she saw in them a question, as plainly as if he had voiced it.

He parted his lips to speak though only a strangled sound came out, which made him visibly self-conscious. Being the only one privy to that level of vulnerability made her own throat constrict, while her eyes burned at the edges, threatening tears as well.

Carefully, she moved around the bed and sat against the headboard, resting her back on the pillows there.

"Come here." Brianna said while lifting her arms in invitation.

And he went willingly, too tired and greatly in need to do otherwise. Brianna welcomed the full weight of his body, the warmth of his skin on her cooler one, and even the fast beating if his heart against hers. Roger molded his body to hers, as his son often did, with his head on her chest and arms surrounding her, seeking the sort of comfort only she could provide.

Cradling Roger against her, she brushed the dark waves of his hair, with fingers traveling down towards the large expanse of his back, feeling the bumps of fading scars underneath their tips. His skin was clammy to the touch after fighting against himself, but she was not willing to let him go.

“I Iove you, no matter what.” She said firmly just so the words cut through the silence of the room to answer his unspoken question. He did not reply, only let out a long-held sigh of relief and with it his body relaxed, fully melting into hers.

She realized he had been alone with his thoughts for far too long, mourning the memory of singing, and that sort of pain, with the doubts that accompanied it, were a heavy burden to carry by himself.

As she absently stroked the healing flesh of his scarred throat, Brianna wondered if the songs still came to him as effortlessly as they did before, with an overwhelming urge to sing, or if he now made a conscious effort to suffocate them before he was even tempted to form the notes.

It took a while and a few sleepless nights, but she had finally relinquished to the notion that her memories of Roger singing, which played in her mind frequently, would have to be enough from then on. However, Roger was yet to surrender to the inevitable conclusion that that piece of him was lost, perhaps forever. A piece that was so intrinsically his, natural and all-encompassing of his sense of self, that he felt like his own identity had been compromised. What he had yet to understand, was that he was far more than just that piece. Brianna saw him as an assortment of the fierce loyalty, integrity, compassion and courage that made him a worthy man. But he was also determined and stubborn in equal measure, and that lesson was not one he would easily learn from her. He had to do it alone, or not at all.

His very soul was as bruised as his throat, but she would wait patiently until he found himself again.

#brianna mackenzie #roger mackenzie #roger x brianna #brianna x roger #themackenziesarehere #outlander #outlander fanfiction #bree x roger #brianna fraser #thefierycross

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curiousferret · 7 years

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Aztec Ritual Heart Removal

The men dragged Andy to a tan round pedestal stone, the single floor fixture in the central burial chamber of the Pyramid. The sloping sides of the low hassock-size pedestal were adorned with bas relief petroglyphic carvings of grotesque humanoid creatures and serpents. Contorted animal-like human figures and manlike serpents in primitive frescoes also covered the roughened ceiling. The rose and ocher colors of these ceiling murals danced alive in the flickering yellow light of the torches. Two warriors pulled the rod from under Andy's armpits, dropping his unconscious body on the stone pedestal. Alberto cut away the leather thongs binding Andy's wrists behind his back. Then the four warriors with another practiced choreographic move suspended Andy spread-eagle over the low stone pedestal. Each of the four warriors adjusted his pull on Andy's arms and legs so that Andy's body was suspended tense as a trampoline over the stone pedestal. Caped in the jaguar skin, Tenoch walked deliberately toward the center of the room from out of a black slit crevice. Standing before the round stone, he resembled the feather-capped creatures in the wall carvings and paintings. The feathers of his head cap brushed the low arched ceiling. He stood with his feather-encased arms folded before him. With a barely perceptible movement of Tenoch's head, the four men pulling on Andy's extremities increased the tension so that he was quartered even more tightly over the stone pedestal. Tenoch raised his arms upright, fanning the wings of feathers beneath each outstretched arm. His arm shook, vibrating the feathers over his arms. "I am Huitzilopochtli." His hollow voice echoed in the flickering light of the room. Taking his declaration as a signal, the four men suspending Andy's naked body lowered it carefully until Andy's back rested firmly on the flat smooth stone. Alberto confirmed the position of Andy's naked chest on the stone and gestured for the tension on each extremity increased further tightening Andy's tense spread-eagled body. Then Alberto wrapped a thin leather strap around Andy's head, holding it still as if enclosed in a leather bridle. Andy's eyes blinked open apparently trying to focus on the low resonant vocal frequencies of Tenoch's voice with its grotesque cadence and menacing harshness. "Huitzilopochtli will be honored," Tenoch said in the same low-frequency voice. At this command each of the warriors in the chamber dropped to his knees but pulled even harder on Andy's arms and legs. "You will now honor Huitzilopochtli," Tenoch said. His head bowed, Alberto stepped forward, holding a thin stone tablet, the size and shape of a serving tray. On this black obsidian tray two dark green stone knives sculpted form volcanic obsidian glass shimmered in the flare of the torches in the chamber. Huitzilopochtli oiled body, muscular and dark, glistened in the torch light of the chamber. He pulled himself full upright, flexing and tightening his muscles. Tenoch walked slowly and regally to stand beside Alberto now holding Andy's head immobile in the leather bridle. Tenoch stood focused on the ceiling mural of a feathered manlike figure dangling a snake from its mouth. The black obsidian stones used for the eyes of the mural's grotesque humanoid matched Tenoch's glistening black eyes. As if anointing Andy, Tenoch laid his soft manicured fingers on the man's bound forehead. Andy's eyes flickered open at the touch. "You will honor Huitzilopochtli with your heart and the blood of your life." A horror of understanding filled Andy's eyes. He tried to shake his head, but the leather strapping held him motionless. Andy's aboriginal howl filled the chamber. Alberto cinched the leather loop strap on Andy's writhing head and obliterated the scream caught in Andy's clinched jaws. Tenoch again turned his gaze upward to the figure of the feathered, bird like man painted on the ceiling of the chamber. The portrait returned an unseeing stare through obsidian stone eyes. The bitter smell of the flaming torches crowded the air until the chamber was filled with a new and palpable air of expectation. Death was an imminent presence on the closeness of the subterranean tomb. Tenoch lifted the obsidian knife from the stone tray as in an ancient ceremonial ritual. In a gracefully executed movement of his arms, Tenoch grasped the curved handle of the larger of the two knives, lifting it smoothly high above his head. The tip of the blade touched the painted birldlike figure on the domed ceiling. The light of the torches from the room glinted off the cobbled surface of the obsidian knife blade reflecting stars of green light on the walls of the burial chamber like the inside of a kaleidoscope. Flare flames shot a translucent green through the thin sharp blade as Tenoch waved the ancient ceremonial knife high above his head. Tanoch chanted his slow booming cadence like a rocking tumbrels carrying the condemned to the executioner, "I am Huitzilopochtli." The pauses between the syllables of the Aztec god's name stretched the sound into an ominous pronouncement of execution. Andy's eyes opened in horrified comprehension of his impending death to see the swift arc of Tenoch's hand carrying the obsidian knife moving downward toward his chest. Time languished. The hand of Tenoch drew with excruciating slowness a shimmering green stream as the obsidian blade slashed downward. The irregular surface of the dark green blade coruscated with flashes of the torches in its descending arc toward Andy. The penetration of the knife blade into Andy's chest echoed in the chamber like the sound of a punctured ripe melon. Andy's eyelids fluttered in a frenzy until they froze open as if the globes were about to burst from their sockets. Tenoch's forearm muscles bulged under his dark oiled skin when he jerked the knife blade sharply upward toward Andy's left shoulder, cutting a precise opening in the chest from just below the nipple upward into Andy's left armpit. The soft tissue and muscle of the chest wall parted cleanly as if the edges of a cut melon had popped open. Alberto pulled the leather bridle around Andy's head to the left, directing Andy's line of vision so that his goggled-eyes focused on the handle of the obsidian knife embed deep in his chest. Andy's neck strained as he struggled to breathe air into his left lung that collapsed away from the jagged sucking wound in his chest. Andy's jugular veins stood out like cables just below the skin of the neck. The chanting stooped with the plunge of the knife. Tenoch pulled the long knife out of the chest and laid the obsidian knife on the tray. Droplets of blood tracked across Andy's abdomen following the path of the bloody knife. Using both hands, Tenoch grasped the upper and lower edges of the chest incision and pulled the wound edges forcibly apart. The cracking sound of the fracturing ribs shot through the quiet chamber. The incision gaped widely exposing the pulsating heart, a muscular fist pumping and dancing beneath its tissue investments deep inside Andy's chest. Tenoch took the second smaller obsidian blade that fit the palm of his left hand and plunged both bare hands into the gaping wound until the root of the heart was in his fingers. With his hands working together, he gathered the great arteries and veins of the heart in his right hand like a sheaf of blood-filled tubes. With his left hand Tenoch pointed the small stone knife blade upward towards the ceiling and repeated again in his slow fearsome cadence, "I am Huitzilopochtli." In response to the pain or to the eerie words from Tenoch, Andy's eyes opened one last time. He screamed silently his final and complete comprehension of his fate. Tenoch's left hand holding the smaller obsidian knife disappeared alongside his right hand into the gaping bloody hole in Andy's chest. For a few seconds, both hands worked in unison, buried to his wrists in the incision. The only visible movement of Tenoch's body was the flexion of his forearms. After nearly a minute, Tenoch flung his head backwards, setting the feathers of the hood quivering. He screamed at the ceiling mural. "Thus I receiveth the sun to drink." His words ricocheted around the circular chamber. The rumbling timbre of his pronouncement was obliterated by Andy's shrieking cry, as Tenoch pulled his forearms upward delivering the severed pumping heart through the opening in Andy's chest. Andy's heart pulsated and quivered in Tenoch bloody hands as he raised the pumping organ above his head. Residual blood in the convulsing muscle spurted in a bloody foam fountain from the eight cleanly transected orifices of the heart's major arteries and veins. The chest wound quickly filled with dark blood overflowing the edges and dripping onto the hard floor bathing Tenoch's bare feet in blood. Tenoch held the beating heart in both hands high above his head, letting the blood drip onto his face and bare chest. The warriors thrust their heads upwards. At the tips of Tenoch's fingers, the pulsating heart nearly touched the grotesque bird-like figure painted on the ceiling of the chamber. "I am the God of the Sun. The blood of life nourishes me," Tenoch shouted again in his awful cadence, turning the pulsating heart in his hands so that the spurting residual blood dribbled from the squirming organ across his face. His tongue lapped away the blood as it fell on his lips. "I am Huitilopochtli," he said, now in a booming upbeat rhythm. Slowly he lowered the heart to his face. Tenoch kissed the pale red muscle of the heart. The beating of the heart faded in strength when the heart touched Tenoch's lips. He held the heart pressed to his lips until the beat of the heart stopped completely.

#heart #sacrifice #aztec

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