fic: The Ribbon and the Ring 29
Title: The Ribbon and the Ring 29
Author: Seraphim Grace
Archive: www.geocities.com/taliasen1256, if you want it ask, I just like to know where they are. http://seraphim-grace.livejournal.com/, http://www.mediaminer.org,
Feedback: Always appreciated and replied to.
Rating: 18 (This is an open rating so I don't have to worry).
Pairings: 1x2
Warnings: Angst. Some gore. Some incredibly bad French.
Notes: AU, and features necromancy.
Unbetaed because I figured you’d all waited long enough for this.
Jimpachi was a desert city of white walls and coloured mosaics. Women travelled the streets on chairs carried aloft by oiled men in satin. The roads were packed dirt and gravel, and the wind was thick with sand. Duo jumped down from the carriage with an excited yelp, “it’s like a story book,” he exulted grabbing Heero by the hand, “where are the animal gods? And the mummies?” Deakon lowered his head in shame, there really was no taking Duo anywhere.
Jimpachi was a satrapy caught between the desert nations and Meirin, which allowed it certain privileges and certain obligations. It was the city of secrets and many things were kept hidden by the silver mask of the Satrap, Vashti.
Vashti wore shimmering, almost transparent satin and her hair was a mass of tight black braids but the only mark of her eminence was the silver mask she wore, it was utterly expressionless except for a silver tear on one cheek. Deakon remembered the beautiful girl she had been before her mother had died and she had taken the throne, and felt a pang of sorrow that such beauty might be hidden behind the null mask of Jimpachi.
“Lords of Meirin,” she said in a voice that was a sad whisper, “welcome to my humble home, it is sad that whenever you visit our small city that it is only in passing.” Deakon could hear the tremble in her voice and knew it was badly suppressed but he said nothing.
“You poor child,” Duo said tilting his head to listen to the dead, “you’re so very lonely.” He reached out but stopped as if he knew it was forbidden to touch her, especially in public, “you fulfil a role lost to history and no one has even bothered to tell you why, but still you assumed the mask because the alternative was terrible.” He stepped forward and offered her a little smile, “your tower has fallen,” he said and took the edges of the mask, “you don’t need to hide.” And he pulled off the mask.
Vashti made a little cry and covered her face with her hands, “it’s okay,” Duo said softly, and held the mask out in open hands, “you don’t need to hide, we will keep the secrets for you.”
Vashti looked at him through her hands before she snatched back the mask and put it on. “It’s my burden,” she whispered, “and it will be my daughter’s, and her daughter’s, we are the Satrap of Jimpachi.” Then placing the mask back on her face, “none of us are singular, Lord of Meirin, we never had that luxury. Thank you for offering to keep my burden but it is mine.”
Duo reached up and kissed the metal forehead, “she loves you very much,” he whispered for her ears alone, “thank you for your kindness to the House of Meirin,” he said more formally, “I am young and the young often make faux pas,” she didn’t recognise the word, he could tell that though the mask kept her expression still and neutered. “I am young,” he repeated, “and I make mistakes, the dead try to guide me,” he was grinning at her, “but that doesn’t mean I listen, you’re too beautiful to wear that mask, I know the secret of this place, and I can feel it in the stones, the dead sing it to me in soft voices like memories, choose a husband, Vashti, have some joy in this place. It is more a mausoleum than Halcyon.”
Vashti finally stiffened at that, “I am the Satrap of Jimpachi,” she said.
Deakon could almost see Achren, one of the three spirits that clung to Duo, she was a watery wraith in a red dress with blood-stained hair and half her handsome beauty rotted to nothing. He couldn’t hear what she whispered though. Duo offered her that winning smile again, tilting his head to better listen to her counsel. “I have overstepped the boundaries between our two Houses,” he said in a soft formal tone. “My apologies to the Satrap and to her citizens, tell me what recompense I owe such as she for the slight.”
“You shouldn’t listen to her,” Deakon said suddenly, surprising himself. “She has an agenda, My Lady Satrap,” he bowed to Vashti, “I knew your mother, though only briefly.”
“My sister murdered my husband,” Vashti said turning back to face her throne, “and she murdered my child in it’s cradle, though it was a son and did not threaten the rule of succession. She still remained my heir, would you still take my mask and make me unable to do what must be done.”
The armoured maiden appeared beside Duo, stroking his short hair and whispering. “I am the Lord of Meirin,” he said, “I can perform the execution. She has wronged your house and all that you love, but I can remove the sin from your hands, fratricide is terrible even when justified. She has counted these past months on your inability to act against her. I have no such compunction.”
“Duo,” Heero gasped.
“It is his right,” the Cadacus corrected, “as lord of Meirin.”
Vashti seemed to wither under the offer. “Thank you,” she said finally.
“I’ll do it,” Deakon said, “I’ve,” he stopped.
Duo smiled, “and so have I.”
The bathhouse of Jimpachi was surprising because rather than the open pools of water that Deakon was used to the baths of Jimpachi were rooms full of perfumed steam and a fountain of cold water used to wash away the sweat. Devlin informed him it was because they were so close to the desert that water was valuable. The baths were open to the entire palace but the attendant had given them both soft woven towels to wrap around their waists. Josian had had no trouble with his, wrapping it around and then pulling the ties into a strong knot but Deakon couldn’t tie it at all, forcing a smirking Jored to do it for him.
“Do you know why I brought you here?” Jored asked as they sat side by side on a long stone bench, a few men and women sat here and there throughout the rooms.
“We’ve been on that boat without bathing facilities for weeks.” Deakon ventured with a grin
Jored grinned back. With the sweat slicking his skin it looked as if he was made of cast gold, and his hair was lank at the back of his neck. “No, I mean this one.”
Deakon shook his head.
“Look.” Josian pointed at the wall. There was an image there, a mural that almost completely circled the room, carved into the dark grey stone. It told a story in a single picture starting at the door and ending just before it had come full circle. “That is the only depiction in the world of the Lord of Meirin.” He lowered his voice to an almost whisper, one of the servants mentioned it when they showed me to my rooms.
“A prophecy?” Deakon asked, he had seen the prophecies in the Aegis and it looked nothing like that.
“No.” Josian said, “Duo’s story. Look, there by the door, see how the wizard is at his table and there is a darkness.” Deakon traced Jored’s outstretched finger. “That is Adam D’Cevni, he was a great wizard.” He took a sigh, thinking of his words, “he didn’t call himself that, he said he was an alchemist, and one day through some miscalculation he managed to open a door to the aether.” He stopped searching for the word, “and plucked out a pair of daemons. Of course, his adoptive father didn’t see it like that, he thought that Adam had just stolen them from somewhere and paid them to go along with it.” Deakon nodded, it was the more plausible answer. “They were put up in Halcyon and then one of them introduced himself as Shinigami.” He wiped a bead of sweat that was trickling down his forehead before it ran into his eye. “See, there, where the light falls on one of them to reflect on the other.” Deakon nodded, “that’s the artist’s impression of that, so, as there was a Lady of Meirin he was tested and found to be able to speak to the dead, like you can.” Deakon nodded again, “you can see it there.”
Jored stopped for a moment, thinking. “As I said there were two of them, the Tennosha, or Lord of Meirin, and his guardian, the Senshisha who was devoted to him and ever so slightly scary. They were invited to Dramathen for the Day of the Dead and went but whilst they were there the Seraphim attacked the imperial palace and forced both the then Lady of Meirin and the two daemons to flee into the night. Their travels took them to Samrath.”
“Duo never told me this.” Deakon said looking at the mural.
“I know,” Jored said, “I got Josian drunk once and he told me, I think they were there before. Tobin was forever telling us he was older than he looked.” He looked around the room, the one other person was sat far from them with Devlin sat with his arms crossed looking imposing, then he leant forward and snuck a kiss from Deakon’s lips. It was lingering and tasted of salt and steam and the perfumed oils in the air. “I spoke to Heero this morning,” Jored said when he pulled back, Deakon’s head on his shoulder, “I’ve never known a couple more desperate to be together with no idea how to get on with it.” He laughed, “he told me all these wonderful things he wanted to say to Duo but didn’t know how.”
“And what did you do?”
“I told him to tell him, to use the words he used to me, that Duo loved him and he’d understand if he was nervous.”
Deakon smiled up at his lover, “you’re too kind-hearted, I want to lock them in a room together and see what happens, either they’ll make love or kill the other.”
“Isn’t that the senshisha vow?” Jored asked with a laugh, “that they’ll kill the other.”
“No,” Deakon said batting him on the arm, “its no sword will kill you unless it be mine.”
Duo actually turned out to be a rather good shot with the vase on the table beside him. Heero was caught between trying to explain, ducking or seeing if he could make it to Meirin on foot. It had been like this for an hour. Duo screamed something unintelligible and then threw a silver cup full of kir at him. The Cadacus stepped into the doorway and grabbed Heero by the neck, in two paces he had Duo as well and threw them both down on the large cushion. “No screaming,” he said firmly, crossing his arms across his chest, “no yelling, no fighting, and Duo,” he narrowed his black eyes, “no biting. Now, slowly, tell me what happened.” Duo looked at Heero and scowled, Heero just looked baffled. The Cadacus started counting under his breath.
“I told him how I felt.” Heero said bluntly.
The Cadacus raised a black eyebrow.
“No, you told me what Jored told you to tell me. You bring me someone else’s words of love.”
The Cadacus started counting again and then took a deep breath though he didn’t need the air. “Heero,” he said trying his best to stay calm, “tell me what happened on your side.”
“I was with Jored this morning,” Heero said looking at the floor, “and I was upset so he asked me if something was wrong. I told him that I was afraid to tell Duo how I felt.” He stopped.
“And he told you what to say.” Duo snapped.
“Duo,” the Cadacus hissed. Duo went quiet.
“I told him that I wanted to venerate him, that I wanted to worship all of him, from the skin at the back of his knees to the space between his toes. He told me tell this to Duo and not to keep it to myself. So I did.” He looked ashamed more than anything, “and Duo asked me if Jored had told me to say it and I said yes because he had.”
The Cadacus considered breaking something, preferably one of them. “Idiots, you’re idiots, the pair of you.” He snapped. “Duo, Jored told Heero to repeat what he had already said, that doesn’t mean he went to Jored to find out the words to say. Now both of you, apologise.” He leaned over them in what he hoped was a menacing manner.
“I’m sorry,” Duo said, and Heero managed it at the same time, both of them genuinely contrite. The Cadacus rolled his eyes and was silently grateful that he was dead because otherwise these two would have been the death of him. He began to understand the Senshisha vow because he was quite certain that they were going to kill each other long before they actually came to terms with how they felt.
Author’s Note:
The Oath - “no sword will kill you unless it be mine,” is actually an old lover’s oath, it’s ancient but more than that I couldn’t tell you simply because I don’t know, when you find it it’s listed as anonymous. I didn’t want to take credit for it because it’s not mine.
Author: Seraphim Grace
Archive: www.geocities.com/taliasen1256, if you want it ask, I just like to know where they are. http://seraphim-grace.livejournal.com/, http://www.mediaminer.org,
Feedback: Always appreciated and replied to.
Rating: 18 (This is an open rating so I don't have to worry).
Pairings: 1x2
Warnings: Angst. Some gore. Some incredibly bad French.
Notes: AU, and features necromancy.
Unbetaed because I figured you’d all waited long enough for this.
Jimpachi was a desert city of white walls and coloured mosaics. Women travelled the streets on chairs carried aloft by oiled men in satin. The roads were packed dirt and gravel, and the wind was thick with sand. Duo jumped down from the carriage with an excited yelp, “it’s like a story book,” he exulted grabbing Heero by the hand, “where are the animal gods? And the mummies?” Deakon lowered his head in shame, there really was no taking Duo anywhere.
Jimpachi was a satrapy caught between the desert nations and Meirin, which allowed it certain privileges and certain obligations. It was the city of secrets and many things were kept hidden by the silver mask of the Satrap, Vashti.
Vashti wore shimmering, almost transparent satin and her hair was a mass of tight black braids but the only mark of her eminence was the silver mask she wore, it was utterly expressionless except for a silver tear on one cheek. Deakon remembered the beautiful girl she had been before her mother had died and she had taken the throne, and felt a pang of sorrow that such beauty might be hidden behind the null mask of Jimpachi.
“Lords of Meirin,” she said in a voice that was a sad whisper, “welcome to my humble home, it is sad that whenever you visit our small city that it is only in passing.” Deakon could hear the tremble in her voice and knew it was badly suppressed but he said nothing.
“You poor child,” Duo said tilting his head to listen to the dead, “you’re so very lonely.” He reached out but stopped as if he knew it was forbidden to touch her, especially in public, “you fulfil a role lost to history and no one has even bothered to tell you why, but still you assumed the mask because the alternative was terrible.” He stepped forward and offered her a little smile, “your tower has fallen,” he said and took the edges of the mask, “you don’t need to hide.” And he pulled off the mask.
Vashti made a little cry and covered her face with her hands, “it’s okay,” Duo said softly, and held the mask out in open hands, “you don’t need to hide, we will keep the secrets for you.”
Vashti looked at him through her hands before she snatched back the mask and put it on. “It’s my burden,” she whispered, “and it will be my daughter’s, and her daughter’s, we are the Satrap of Jimpachi.” Then placing the mask back on her face, “none of us are singular, Lord of Meirin, we never had that luxury. Thank you for offering to keep my burden but it is mine.”
Duo reached up and kissed the metal forehead, “she loves you very much,” he whispered for her ears alone, “thank you for your kindness to the House of Meirin,” he said more formally, “I am young and the young often make faux pas,” she didn’t recognise the word, he could tell that though the mask kept her expression still and neutered. “I am young,” he repeated, “and I make mistakes, the dead try to guide me,” he was grinning at her, “but that doesn’t mean I listen, you’re too beautiful to wear that mask, I know the secret of this place, and I can feel it in the stones, the dead sing it to me in soft voices like memories, choose a husband, Vashti, have some joy in this place. It is more a mausoleum than Halcyon.”
Vashti finally stiffened at that, “I am the Satrap of Jimpachi,” she said.
Deakon could almost see Achren, one of the three spirits that clung to Duo, she was a watery wraith in a red dress with blood-stained hair and half her handsome beauty rotted to nothing. He couldn’t hear what she whispered though. Duo offered her that winning smile again, tilting his head to better listen to her counsel. “I have overstepped the boundaries between our two Houses,” he said in a soft formal tone. “My apologies to the Satrap and to her citizens, tell me what recompense I owe such as she for the slight.”
“You shouldn’t listen to her,” Deakon said suddenly, surprising himself. “She has an agenda, My Lady Satrap,” he bowed to Vashti, “I knew your mother, though only briefly.”
“My sister murdered my husband,” Vashti said turning back to face her throne, “and she murdered my child in it’s cradle, though it was a son and did not threaten the rule of succession. She still remained my heir, would you still take my mask and make me unable to do what must be done.”
The armoured maiden appeared beside Duo, stroking his short hair and whispering. “I am the Lord of Meirin,” he said, “I can perform the execution. She has wronged your house and all that you love, but I can remove the sin from your hands, fratricide is terrible even when justified. She has counted these past months on your inability to act against her. I have no such compunction.”
“Duo,” Heero gasped.
“It is his right,” the Cadacus corrected, “as lord of Meirin.”
Vashti seemed to wither under the offer. “Thank you,” she said finally.
“I’ll do it,” Deakon said, “I’ve,” he stopped.
Duo smiled, “and so have I.”
The bathhouse of Jimpachi was surprising because rather than the open pools of water that Deakon was used to the baths of Jimpachi were rooms full of perfumed steam and a fountain of cold water used to wash away the sweat. Devlin informed him it was because they were so close to the desert that water was valuable. The baths were open to the entire palace but the attendant had given them both soft woven towels to wrap around their waists. Josian had had no trouble with his, wrapping it around and then pulling the ties into a strong knot but Deakon couldn’t tie it at all, forcing a smirking Jored to do it for him.
“Do you know why I brought you here?” Jored asked as they sat side by side on a long stone bench, a few men and women sat here and there throughout the rooms.
“We’ve been on that boat without bathing facilities for weeks.” Deakon ventured with a grin
Jored grinned back. With the sweat slicking his skin it looked as if he was made of cast gold, and his hair was lank at the back of his neck. “No, I mean this one.”
Deakon shook his head.
“Look.” Josian pointed at the wall. There was an image there, a mural that almost completely circled the room, carved into the dark grey stone. It told a story in a single picture starting at the door and ending just before it had come full circle. “That is the only depiction in the world of the Lord of Meirin.” He lowered his voice to an almost whisper, one of the servants mentioned it when they showed me to my rooms.
“A prophecy?” Deakon asked, he had seen the prophecies in the Aegis and it looked nothing like that.
“No.” Josian said, “Duo’s story. Look, there by the door, see how the wizard is at his table and there is a darkness.” Deakon traced Jored’s outstretched finger. “That is Adam D’Cevni, he was a great wizard.” He took a sigh, thinking of his words, “he didn’t call himself that, he said he was an alchemist, and one day through some miscalculation he managed to open a door to the aether.” He stopped searching for the word, “and plucked out a pair of daemons. Of course, his adoptive father didn’t see it like that, he thought that Adam had just stolen them from somewhere and paid them to go along with it.” Deakon nodded, it was the more plausible answer. “They were put up in Halcyon and then one of them introduced himself as Shinigami.” He wiped a bead of sweat that was trickling down his forehead before it ran into his eye. “See, there, where the light falls on one of them to reflect on the other.” Deakon nodded, “that’s the artist’s impression of that, so, as there was a Lady of Meirin he was tested and found to be able to speak to the dead, like you can.” Deakon nodded again, “you can see it there.”
Jored stopped for a moment, thinking. “As I said there were two of them, the Tennosha, or Lord of Meirin, and his guardian, the Senshisha who was devoted to him and ever so slightly scary. They were invited to Dramathen for the Day of the Dead and went but whilst they were there the Seraphim attacked the imperial palace and forced both the then Lady of Meirin and the two daemons to flee into the night. Their travels took them to Samrath.”
“Duo never told me this.” Deakon said looking at the mural.
“I know,” Jored said, “I got Josian drunk once and he told me, I think they were there before. Tobin was forever telling us he was older than he looked.” He looked around the room, the one other person was sat far from them with Devlin sat with his arms crossed looking imposing, then he leant forward and snuck a kiss from Deakon’s lips. It was lingering and tasted of salt and steam and the perfumed oils in the air. “I spoke to Heero this morning,” Jored said when he pulled back, Deakon’s head on his shoulder, “I’ve never known a couple more desperate to be together with no idea how to get on with it.” He laughed, “he told me all these wonderful things he wanted to say to Duo but didn’t know how.”
“And what did you do?”
“I told him to tell him, to use the words he used to me, that Duo loved him and he’d understand if he was nervous.”
Deakon smiled up at his lover, “you’re too kind-hearted, I want to lock them in a room together and see what happens, either they’ll make love or kill the other.”
“Isn’t that the senshisha vow?” Jored asked with a laugh, “that they’ll kill the other.”
“No,” Deakon said batting him on the arm, “its no sword will kill you unless it be mine.”
Duo actually turned out to be a rather good shot with the vase on the table beside him. Heero was caught between trying to explain, ducking or seeing if he could make it to Meirin on foot. It had been like this for an hour. Duo screamed something unintelligible and then threw a silver cup full of kir at him. The Cadacus stepped into the doorway and grabbed Heero by the neck, in two paces he had Duo as well and threw them both down on the large cushion. “No screaming,” he said firmly, crossing his arms across his chest, “no yelling, no fighting, and Duo,” he narrowed his black eyes, “no biting. Now, slowly, tell me what happened.” Duo looked at Heero and scowled, Heero just looked baffled. The Cadacus started counting under his breath.
“I told him how I felt.” Heero said bluntly.
The Cadacus raised a black eyebrow.
“No, you told me what Jored told you to tell me. You bring me someone else’s words of love.”
The Cadacus started counting again and then took a deep breath though he didn’t need the air. “Heero,” he said trying his best to stay calm, “tell me what happened on your side.”
“I was with Jored this morning,” Heero said looking at the floor, “and I was upset so he asked me if something was wrong. I told him that I was afraid to tell Duo how I felt.” He stopped.
“And he told you what to say.” Duo snapped.
“Duo,” the Cadacus hissed. Duo went quiet.
“I told him that I wanted to venerate him, that I wanted to worship all of him, from the skin at the back of his knees to the space between his toes. He told me tell this to Duo and not to keep it to myself. So I did.” He looked ashamed more than anything, “and Duo asked me if Jored had told me to say it and I said yes because he had.”
The Cadacus considered breaking something, preferably one of them. “Idiots, you’re idiots, the pair of you.” He snapped. “Duo, Jored told Heero to repeat what he had already said, that doesn’t mean he went to Jored to find out the words to say. Now both of you, apologise.” He leaned over them in what he hoped was a menacing manner.
“I’m sorry,” Duo said, and Heero managed it at the same time, both of them genuinely contrite. The Cadacus rolled his eyes and was silently grateful that he was dead because otherwise these two would have been the death of him. He began to understand the Senshisha vow because he was quite certain that they were going to kill each other long before they actually came to terms with how they felt.
Author’s Note:
The Oath - “no sword will kill you unless it be mine,” is actually an old lover’s oath, it’s ancient but more than that I couldn’t tell you simply because I don’t know, when you find it it’s listed as anonymous. I didn’t want to take credit for it because it’s not mine.