[Day 8, dream]My Hero[Content may be disturbing]

[So, fair warning, I don't think I can pull this off without having things here that I normally would advocate a fade to black over...this is Theomore's dream, so you do not need to read it if you don't want to.]

Riverton stood ablaze, it's fiery rooftops gave off a surprisingly pleasant heat, and the flames cast shadows everywhere, creating an interesting play as nothing was truly out of the light.

The tears in Brenda's pleading eyes glistened in the light from the fires, her hands doing what they could to cover her form, and above her, Theomore towered, casting his own shadow over her. "
Will you be my hero?"
the voice of Lady Sofia spoke softly, he could feel the warmth of her body as she pressed it up against his from behind. "
Be my savior"
her hands finding their way to his member to encourage it. "
Please, do it for me? Save me, Ser Theomore."


His own voice tells him that this is horribly wrong, his mouth beyond his control, but Sofia slides around and silences it with a kiss and an embrace, before hoisting herself up by his shoulders, forcing him to support her by holding up her thighs. "
You must do it"
she purrs seductively "
For me...for all the others."
A jolt of pleasure shoots through his body and she has won. "
Do it for this. Be my hero, and I will always be grateful...."


She slides back to the ground, moving behind him once again, Brenda tries to speak in protest, tries to appeal, but Sofia sushes her. "
I do pity you, poor thing, but your sacrifice will be treasured by the mother above, who sees all the victims that will be spared your fate."
Theomore takes no pleasure in grabbing her arms away, but as he gets on with the deed, the screams brings him enjoyment, and he almost regrets not dragging it out longer than necessary.

"
I am forever grateful"
Sofia rewards him with another kiss, and Ser Benjen appears to the scene, askance, as to why he was summoned by his betrothed. "
Your betrothed no more."
she replies, arms crossed and an angry look upon her, the fires casting determined reflections in her eyes. "
Behold your work blackguard!"
She points to the crying girl cuddled up as far away from them as the blackening walls allow. "
That wasn't me!"
He protests, but Sofia betrays a temper Theomore did not think she had in her. "
YOU HAVE DISHONORED ME!"
at this, the furious Frey lives up to his nickname and hits her on the lip, blood streaming out...and the vision of him fades.

"
You know what you must do, my hero, I get what I want, you get what you want, might be you could get more of it if you're good..."
she licks the blood from her face seductively before fading away.

A single droplet of blood falls on her Theomore, and as he blinks the blood clear, a cascade of coins, prize warhorses and looted suits of armour descends on him from heavens, drowning him in his successes...

[Be careful Reader. You're treading on Theo's dreams]

A boy, his face obscured by blood and the tip of a lance lodged in his chest lies slumped on the ground, tearful dark eyes looking up at him.
"
It was an accident, I am sorry."
Theomore offers though the response is that which you could expect from a corpse, though corpses does not have tears, do they?

"
Not your fault, is it?"
The tourney master, some Frey cousin or whatever, said. "
Did you not bribe me to give you a boy to dislodge?"

"
I would much rather have some lord too fat to fit on the saddle, in a full plate worth a good ransom, you know..rather than a boy not fit to ride in such company"


"
Yes, well, I figured that a jouster of your calibre would go gentle on him, wouldn't want some lordly son get hurt, now would we? But you went in business as usual."


"
And that doesn't often result in any lasting harm, even against the more frail, now does it?"


"
This time it did."


"
Still, a tragic quirk of fate, it could have happened to anyone, I simply had the misfortune of holding the lance that delivered tragedy, all by chance, not my fault."


"
Do tell yourself that Ser Theomore, do tell yourself that."

Suddenly Ser Theomore is standing in a river, water rushing past his waist, its cool clean refreshing bubbles sound almost musical to his eats. Ah good He thinks now I can bathe. Grabbing soap off a rock that is next to him Ser Theomore begins to scub, as he scrubs he begins to feel more dirty. He continues lathering himself up and dipping under the water. Trying desperately to get clean. On and on he continues until his young nephew wakes him from his reverie.

"
Uncle"
He says, "
Tis time."


Time for what Asks Theromore, but he obeys. This is strange, Why don't I know where I'm going, what is happening. Ser Theomore mounts his horse, seemingly unaffected by the chill in the air on his flesh. Arm yourself you blackguard! he hears a tenor voice challenge to him in his mind. Without realizing it he is armed in black plate, Sitting next to his Nephew who is pointing at an unfamiliar yet well-known castle.

"
This will be yours Uncle."
Says the young Lord. "
All you have to do is charge into the front gates and take it."


But that is suicide! Thinks the Knight. Why can I not say it? He feels himself urge his horse onword, in a single glorious charge towards the gates of the castle. Why cant I stop this horse? Why can I at least draw my sword, Where is my lance And then he knew. He understood everything. The world opened up to him as the castle blinked in and out of existence. As he approached the gate he heard the guardsmen command him to stop but he just continued. Arrows pierced his armor and he coughed up blood but his horse continued, unaffected by the stings of arrows. Then he was under the walls and he heard the order. He expected oil to come down, to heat him and his armor up and cook him, instead coins. So many coins showered him, starting off like a pleasant summer drizzle then turning into a pouring waterfall. Burying him, suffocating him. He ate the yellow coins, all he saw was the silver and gold coins.

This is it. This is what I wanted

The light grew dimmer until it was just imagination, a distant memory that disappeared into the Aether.
Loneliness
Fear
Triumph

[I am going to put it out here, whatever reader and arlyn wrote is not in Theomore's dream, while I do appreciate what you are trying to do, there is a certain psychological theme in my head about what he fears that I'd like to try and get into writing here, and it has nothing whatsoever to do with drowning in prizes, that's so far out of character that it gets.]