Wanted to try this out here first...
...as I know at least some of you have seen Le Chevalier D'Eon all the way through. There's at least one major spoiler involved if you haven't, but the fic itself is decidedly AU, as you'll see if you read it. What I'm trying to say here: PART of this is accurate for the end of the series, but MOST of it isn't.
Actually based on a weird dream I had the night before I watched the final four episodes. o.O For awhile I was convinced it was going to become canon, too...
Title: As Rome Burns
Author: Serra, the one with hand tremors
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Maximilien, Durand and Robin; could be taken as Durand/Maxxie, Durand/Robin or Maxxie/Robin if you are thus inclined. Also hints at unrequited Durand/Lia near the end.
Warning: Spoilerific for... I forget exactly which episode, but it's past the Russia arc. Probably best for you not to read this if you've only seen what we've watched in Bella.
Disclaimer: LCD is not mine, nor are either of the two fine men involved in this fic, or... that kid over there, either. I make no money from the writing of this story.
Summary: Durand finds himself summoned by an old acquaintance.
Durand woke near midnight to something that was not a sound, but not quite a feeling either. The stump of his arm throbbed with an irrepressible heat that permeated throughout his body, rising within him until he couldn't help but toss the covers off and sprawl, shirtless, on the bed in an attempt to relieve it. But of course the cool air did little, if anything at all; physical reality had little bearing on the powers at work here. Even if he were to submerge himself in the Seine, this fever would remain. It was a heat that burned from inside, not out, and could only be extinguished by the one who created it.
Maximilien's soul was calling.
Almost in a daze, Durand rose, dressing himself with relative ease; he had had almost a year to adapt to his circumstances, after all. He could have restrained himself further if he wished, waited until the heat became truly unbearable, but at this point it was easier to let his body act as it would. Durand being who he was, he had fought the call before, but the results had been enough to shake even someone who had once cut off his own arm. The power with which he was bound was truly amazing, although it seemed it was not strong enough to simply force him bodily to come to Maximilien--or perhaps the Poet found it more amusing to watch him suffer before he inevitably showed up.
His body was sluggish, protesting the lack of sleep Durand had offered it before it was rudely woken, but Durand forced himself down the stairs and out onto the soundless street. Of course his former comrade was not simply waiting outside for him; that would have been too easy, and he knew how well Maximilien enjoyed toying with him these days. Rather, he turned toward the north, hiding his exhaustion for pride's sake as he strode into the night. Ahead, in the fog of the unseasonably warm night, stood the one who summoned him, though he bore little resemblance to the Maximilien he had once known.
Indeed, were it not for the calling of his soul, Durand would not have recognized him as Maximilien Robespierre at all. Maximilien's vessel had grown precious little since he obtained it, standing nearly a full head's height below that of his former body. His eyes, while they had retained almost the same color, were noticeably rounder and wider. Perhaps most tellingly, while he had grown his hair to roughly the same length, no amount of time could disguise the copper red coloration.
A faint smirk tugged at Durand's lips--as much as Maximilien's soul might be tied to this body, the body itself was still that of his former protege. "Good evening, Robin."
"Oh, come now, Durand. You've known us like this long enough to know which one we are right now." Maximilien took a step forward, returning Durand's smirk in kind. "We'd appreciate it if you didn't refer to either of us by that name, though. Robin's become more accustomed to responding to mine."
Durand shrugged. "I apologize. Force of habit."
Maximilien's eyes roamed over Durand's body, finally coming to rest on his empty sleeve. "Not the only habit you've acquired lately, is it?"
"If you'd prefer to call you dragging me out of bed three times a week my habit, then by all means, go right ahead," Durand muttered. "Let's make this quick: my answer is still no. May I go back to sleep now?"
"No, I think you've been sleeping more than long enough at this point." The look on Maximilien's face was decidedly sour, and Durand knew from his tone he wasn't talking about going to bed. "Listen carefully, since you seem to have such a problem doing that: France is in peril. Rome is burning, and Nero has not even the courtesy to fiddle." He took another long stride towards Durand, reaching out as if to touch his face. "You are wasted as you are. I want you by my side."
Durand slapped Maximilien's hand away, glaring fiercely at him. "I've heard this speech of yours a thousand time, Maximilien. What makes you think this time will be any different?"
"Perhaps I continue to cling to a vain hope that you will someday see reason," Maximilien retorted. "Are you truly so blind? The chosen drown in decadence while the masses starve. The only ones with protection under the law are those in the king's favor. France stands under one man's awe, and the only thing on that man's mind is his own pleasure--are you truly content with that?"
"You operate under the assumption that your proposed republic would not degenerate into the same thing," Durand replied, turning away. "For the last time, no. I'm leaving now."
Maximilien's hand lashed out, catching Durand's wrist and dragging the other back. "You cannot simply walk away from a national crisis, Durand!"
"I'm not." Durand wrenched his wrist from the other man's grasp, whirling to face him. "I'm walking away from your offer. After what you and your brethren have done, you still think I would join you? What is so difficult to understand about that?"
"The fact that you will not listen to logic is what confounds me!" Maximilien softened, looking almost desperate for a moment. "Please, I want you with me when the monarchy falls."
"Then why not just make a gargoyle out of me?" Durand snapped.
"You would be wasted in that capacity as well!" Maximilien reached out for Durand, but didn't attempt to grab him again. "I'm not asking you; I'm begging you. Let go of your loyalties and see reason for once."
"The only loyalty I have any longer is to myself," Durand replied. "Leave me."
When Maximilien spoke again, his voice was slightly higher-pitched, his eyes a bit wider than before. "You really never were a knight of France, were you?"
Durand chuckled darkly, turning away from the boy. "I knew you were smart, Robin."
"He doesn't mean you any harm, you know," came the small voice from behind him. "He... we just want to see you safe."
"That's very kind of both of you, but I'm afraid I can't accept your offer." Durand began to walk, heading back toward his home. "The only loyalty I have by now is to myself."
A faint laugh erupted behind him, and then both souls sharing Robin's body spoke at once. "You're wrong, Durand. The only loyalty you've ever had is to Lia."
Actually based on a weird dream I had the night before I watched the final four episodes. o.O For awhile I was convinced it was going to become canon, too...
Title: As Rome Burns
Author: Serra, the one with hand tremors
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Maximilien, Durand and Robin; could be taken as Durand/Maxxie, Durand/Robin or Maxxie/Robin if you are thus inclined. Also hints at unrequited Durand/Lia near the end.
Warning: Spoilerific for... I forget exactly which episode, but it's past the Russia arc. Probably best for you not to read this if you've only seen what we've watched in Bella.
Disclaimer: LCD is not mine, nor are either of the two fine men involved in this fic, or... that kid over there, either. I make no money from the writing of this story.
Summary: Durand finds himself summoned by an old acquaintance.
Durand woke near midnight to something that was not a sound, but not quite a feeling either. The stump of his arm throbbed with an irrepressible heat that permeated throughout his body, rising within him until he couldn't help but toss the covers off and sprawl, shirtless, on the bed in an attempt to relieve it. But of course the cool air did little, if anything at all; physical reality had little bearing on the powers at work here. Even if he were to submerge himself in the Seine, this fever would remain. It was a heat that burned from inside, not out, and could only be extinguished by the one who created it.
Maximilien's soul was calling.
Almost in a daze, Durand rose, dressing himself with relative ease; he had had almost a year to adapt to his circumstances, after all. He could have restrained himself further if he wished, waited until the heat became truly unbearable, but at this point it was easier to let his body act as it would. Durand being who he was, he had fought the call before, but the results had been enough to shake even someone who had once cut off his own arm. The power with which he was bound was truly amazing, although it seemed it was not strong enough to simply force him bodily to come to Maximilien--or perhaps the Poet found it more amusing to watch him suffer before he inevitably showed up.
His body was sluggish, protesting the lack of sleep Durand had offered it before it was rudely woken, but Durand forced himself down the stairs and out onto the soundless street. Of course his former comrade was not simply waiting outside for him; that would have been too easy, and he knew how well Maximilien enjoyed toying with him these days. Rather, he turned toward the north, hiding his exhaustion for pride's sake as he strode into the night. Ahead, in the fog of the unseasonably warm night, stood the one who summoned him, though he bore little resemblance to the Maximilien he had once known.
Indeed, were it not for the calling of his soul, Durand would not have recognized him as Maximilien Robespierre at all. Maximilien's vessel had grown precious little since he obtained it, standing nearly a full head's height below that of his former body. His eyes, while they had retained almost the same color, were noticeably rounder and wider. Perhaps most tellingly, while he had grown his hair to roughly the same length, no amount of time could disguise the copper red coloration.
A faint smirk tugged at Durand's lips--as much as Maximilien's soul might be tied to this body, the body itself was still that of his former protege. "Good evening, Robin."
"Oh, come now, Durand. You've known us like this long enough to know which one we are right now." Maximilien took a step forward, returning Durand's smirk in kind. "We'd appreciate it if you didn't refer to either of us by that name, though. Robin's become more accustomed to responding to mine."
Durand shrugged. "I apologize. Force of habit."
Maximilien's eyes roamed over Durand's body, finally coming to rest on his empty sleeve. "Not the only habit you've acquired lately, is it?"
"If you'd prefer to call you dragging me out of bed three times a week my habit, then by all means, go right ahead," Durand muttered. "Let's make this quick: my answer is still no. May I go back to sleep now?"
"No, I think you've been sleeping more than long enough at this point." The look on Maximilien's face was decidedly sour, and Durand knew from his tone he wasn't talking about going to bed. "Listen carefully, since you seem to have such a problem doing that: France is in peril. Rome is burning, and Nero has not even the courtesy to fiddle." He took another long stride towards Durand, reaching out as if to touch his face. "You are wasted as you are. I want you by my side."
Durand slapped Maximilien's hand away, glaring fiercely at him. "I've heard this speech of yours a thousand time, Maximilien. What makes you think this time will be any different?"
"Perhaps I continue to cling to a vain hope that you will someday see reason," Maximilien retorted. "Are you truly so blind? The chosen drown in decadence while the masses starve. The only ones with protection under the law are those in the king's favor. France stands under one man's awe, and the only thing on that man's mind is his own pleasure--are you truly content with that?"
"You operate under the assumption that your proposed republic would not degenerate into the same thing," Durand replied, turning away. "For the last time, no. I'm leaving now."
Maximilien's hand lashed out, catching Durand's wrist and dragging the other back. "You cannot simply walk away from a national crisis, Durand!"
"I'm not." Durand wrenched his wrist from the other man's grasp, whirling to face him. "I'm walking away from your offer. After what you and your brethren have done, you still think I would join you? What is so difficult to understand about that?"
"The fact that you will not listen to logic is what confounds me!" Maximilien softened, looking almost desperate for a moment. "Please, I want you with me when the monarchy falls."
"Then why not just make a gargoyle out of me?" Durand snapped.
"You would be wasted in that capacity as well!" Maximilien reached out for Durand, but didn't attempt to grab him again. "I'm not asking you; I'm begging you. Let go of your loyalties and see reason for once."
"The only loyalty I have any longer is to myself," Durand replied. "Leave me."
When Maximilien spoke again, his voice was slightly higher-pitched, his eyes a bit wider than before. "You really never were a knight of France, were you?"
Durand chuckled darkly, turning away from the boy. "I knew you were smart, Robin."
"He doesn't mean you any harm, you know," came the small voice from behind him. "He... we just want to see you safe."
"That's very kind of both of you, but I'm afraid I can't accept your offer." Durand began to walk, heading back toward his home. "The only loyalty I have by now is to myself."
A faint laugh erupted behind him, and then both souls sharing Robin's body spoke at once. "You're wrong, Durand. The only loyalty you've ever had is to Lia."