logsinthenight | EVENT LOG: GRAVES

EVENT LOG:
GRAVES

characters: everyone.
location: Bonfire Square.
date/time: July 12-19.
content: mysterious shrines appear and bring visions of death.
warnings: likely violence and potentially gore.

time to pay your respects.

It happens when no one is looking, when most of the town is asleep and the rest are inside. A makeshift cemetery has come to Beacon, taking up residence in the middle of Bonfire Square. Each monument, shrine, and altar is dedicated to someone who now resides here, a memorial of their previous life.

Some may be drawn by curiosity, others by fear, and some may simply have to pass through this strange graveyard to get to the Bonfire itself. Whenever a person gets near, the altars beckon with a mysterious urge— an urge to approach, and an urge to leave something behind. They will feel compelled to make offerings at the various shrines, but doing so has a curious effect; it causes one to experience the death of the person whose grave they've honored.

Whether you resist the compulsion or give in willingly (or something in between), you'll also have to wrestle with the fact that a grave exists for you. Will you let your death be known, or try your best to keep it secret? Destroying it sure won't work, as it will return— with a duplicate somewhere else in town.

However you choose to deal with this, one thing is hard to ignore— this a tangible reminder of your death, and the fact that it's probably permanent.

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What would the Queen and Princess do on a battlefield? He did not even wish to have them at Castle Black.

⟪ God, help her understand this, for as it stands, it makes no sense at all. Even at the next part, she shakes her head. ⟫ I would not abandon him. I have seen his victory in the flames, and he must return to the Wall to meet his destiny.

⟪ And then there's the thing about Davos, who clings to his wife and sons as if they were themselves a shape of God. Flea Bottom, at least, is true. ⟫ It would make sense, at least, to bring you back to life. The Lord of Light has want for you, as does the King. I have not done it before, mind, but I know the words.

I don't know. I think they were taken for a reason.

[And he knows what came of that reason. The image is in his mind, the smell of someone burning as he experienced at Castle Black. He couldn't imagine it with the child he had met and seen. He hadn't known her as well as Davos had, but even that was enough to make him feel a surge of pity and sorrow at the loss of her.]

He wasn't victorious, my lady. He fell in the field. His men were slaughtered by the Boltons. [He was being harsh in simply stating it as he was. To offset that, he wanted to at least offer something more.] He was a good man.

He has want of me? For what? To raise me to reclaim Winterfell, meet Daenerys Targaryen and then fall beyond the Wall? If that's my purpose, it was one any man could do.

⟪ For the first time since she has known him, she is the first to break eye contact. When Arya had told her, she tried not to believe it – but Jon Snow she knew, and he was many things... but a liar he was not. Cruel he was not.

She takes a breath, wants to say something, doesn't. ⟫

He was. He liked you. ⟪ In his own way, and it... it hurts to think. She'd like to not think. ⟫

I can only say what I knew then: the morning of my death, I heard your name in the smoke. ⟪ She closes her eyes. ⟫ Perhaps you were not meant to die.

[It isn't so strange to see her unsettled. Since his return, he has seen it a few times, taking away some of the mystery surrounding her. In those brief moments, he could see a woman behind the magic and heat, certainly older than him and steeped in wisdom, but still human like him.]

He reminded me of my father. [The best compliment he could give someone.] Does that happen? Men who were supposed to have some sort of purpose for your god suddenly dying?

Why not Ser Berric instead of me? Maybe he was your Prince that was Promised.

Azor Ahai can fail.

⟪ To talk to him eases the weight, somewhat, it gives her something to hold onto, something to distract her from her sorrow, her failure, from the darkness that is devouring her as surely as it has devoured thousands before. ⟫

This has ever been a truth: destined to save the world does not mean guaranteed. The visions are sent to prevent it, but... ⟪ that isn't always enough. ⟫ Born amid salt and smoke, this is the prophecy. Whatever Beric Dondarrion is for, it's not this.

But the Dead were defeated. It was Daenerys who stopped them. Her dragons, her armies.

[It had to be her this whole time. Whether he was brought back or not, she was the one who actually seemed to have stopped them. Arya mentioned he was there, but she said nothing of what he had done to help. He knew deep in his gut that it wasn't his sword that would make a different, the dragons would turn the tide.]

Prophecies are words and words or winds. I don't know why you're god brought me back, but it wasn't for very long.

It isn't words I see in the flames, Jon Snow.

⟪ Some decisiveness returns to her voice, her manner, she steps close and meets his gaze, head on, stubborn and driven as ever. ⟫

The visions burn, R'hllor speaks a language of fire more keen and more intense than any other, but it is not an easy art. It all ties together, and I am sure had I had more time ––

⟪ She laughs. It's a short, mad thing, and she shakes it off quickly enough. ⟫ Seems as though we both know nothing.

Does your god speak to you here?

[It was almost a challenge. Once he might have been intimidated by these abilities and the supposed power of her god, but where was he now? Did he even exist in this darkness? It seemed like it hadn't been enough to keep his priestess alive or the person he resurrected.

He flinched at her words, they still could pain him even after all this time.]

I know some things. I know in the end we were all made fools. Thoros of Myr is dead, you're dead and I'm dead. There's only Ser Beric left and he's on his last life.

Nothing speaks to me here.

⟪ There's very little fight in her today – it's all the death, all the grief, and the knowledge of her failure, the certainty that her purpose is gone for good. It's been long enough in this strange place for her to know for certain that she won't be returned.

So why she had to drive that one dagger home, she isn't sure. She doesn't even blame him. ⟫

It's lost, then. The Long Night will come and claim all.

There's Dany.

[He can hold onto that. He knows that she died as well, but Arya had assured him that Dany had succeeded in saving the North. If it was the aftermath or during the battle, she at least managed where Jon had not. He didn't know if prophecies were true, but apparently it fit her better than him.

He's tired by it all though, the waste and the disappointment.]

You never considered her?

Why is it your business?

⦓ No, she does not say that it isn't his business, in a way, that would be a lie, but she is curious about the parameters here. Having never met Daenerys Targaryen, having only ever seen her in one dying moment, it's simply not enough to guess.

So her tone isn't accusatory, nor is it sharp, she is simply curious. As simply curious as she can be, considering the way Westeros' future history has steeped itself into her bones.⦔

She's the only chance we have in defeating the Dead. Even if we unite every House in Westeros, it won't be enough without her dragons.

[There were other reasons, deeper reasons that he couldn't go into or express. Melisandre wasn't the one who he'd fully bear his heart to. Not about Daenerys and the lingering feeling of loss at whatever opportunities they might have had.

She wasn't here at least. She didn't have to suffer this afterlife.]

EVENT LOG: GRAVES

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