Original: Daysleeper (Slash)
Hello everyone. It's been a while! This one ran a little long, so apologies for that. Still trying to get back into the rhythm of writing. :)
Summary: Philip is an adventurer who discovers that his family's country estate might not be so boring after all.
Warnings: None
"Aren't you a little old for that?"
If Laurent heard Philip's question, he made no sign of it. He kept his head ducked low, sticking his knife into the soft flesh of the pumpkin sitting before him. "You're lucky I'm not making you do one, too," he said after a moment, leaning back to admire his handiwork. "But since you're a guest, I suppose I can make certain allowances."
"A guest," Philip repeated, wrinkling his nose. "It ought to be as much my house as it is yours-just because father left it to you-"
Laurent raised a hand, and Philip couldn't help but to quell his complaints. "My dear, sweet Philip," he said, giving an exaggerated pout as he buried his knife again in the side of the pumpkin, "It's for the best. You couldn't handle this place."
"What's to handle? Compared to the main house, this is nothing more than a cottage! And I've just returned from handling living in Boorhead Caverns for half a year, thank you very much. You do know they have bears there that wouldn't fit through the front door of this little shack, don't you?"
Laurent only shook his head, the corner of his mouth hinting at a smile. Philip had been exaggerating, of course; the country estate, nestled in the hills and vales of the northern province, was large enough to be a considered mansion in its own right, and if one of the Boorhead bears were to suck in his gut he could surely fit through the sizeable front door.
Yet, truth be told, there was something charming and close in the house's nature. Its latticed windows and teeming gardens-still green even now, despite the autumn chill-called to mind a much smaller, quainter residence.
"Don't be mad," Laurent said, finally looking away from his project. The jack-o'-lantern was nearly finished, its face a broad, mischievous grin. "Living out here is just a bit different, that's all. There are a lot of responsibilities, and they wouldn't lend themselves well to someone with such a curious nature." He stood, stretching, and looked out toward the sinking sun. "I doubt you'd much care for it anyway. But of course, you're always welcome to stay, if you'd like."
'Curious nature' had always been their father's way of saying that Philip had trouble following rules. Philip had always been a little defiant, and a little odd, too-he cared little for money, for books, for women, for sport, or for much of anything really, aside from adventure. The only things that ever seemed to bring him real enjoyment were worn shoes, full knapsacks and blank maps.
Philip sighed, taking in the faint smell of smoke and recent rainfall. "I suppose I wouldn't want to stay in one place forever," he said.
"Right. You'd be bored out of your mind. Nothing to do but the same chores every day. No mountains to climb, no, ah, caves to explore..."
Philip smiled, a little rueful, and then yawned. The sky was already beginning to glow a clear and vibrant orange, and the sun hung low, just grazing the peak of a far-off mountain. He looked at Laurent, who seemed intently focused on the view; his face, usually rounder and warmer than Philip's, was set harsh and stony in the gentle light.
He shook his head, and the boyish grin returned to his face. "Perhaps you ought to head on inside. It's been a long day, and you've been in that dreadful carriage all afternoon. Besides, I still have a few chores to take care of before the sun's gone out." Laurent nodded off in the direction of the marshy glade just down the hill, and Philip frowned. He would probably have enjoyed a journey down to the mudpit, but his eyelids weighed heavy-and besides, he would have the whole week to explore the grounds.
"I suppose you're right," he said, standing up and stretching.
"Your things are already in your room," Laurent said, scooping the hollow pumpkin up under one arm and slinging an empty glass lantern over his shoulder. "Ask Maddie to show you where it is. I'll be back before dark."
Philip nodded, and the two brothers parted, each heading opposite directions.
--
"Ah, a daysleeper."
Philip's eyes shot open. He had been asleep, he was sure of it; he had gone straight up to his room, and exhaustion had overtaken him quickly, but now-he was not in his room.
Indeed, he was not sure where he was at all.
He was slouched against a hard, terribly cold wall, smooth against his exposed arms-glass, he thought, turning his head to the side and catching his own reflection in the corner of his eye. His hands were pressed into a cold metal floor; he looked down and saw dark, sooty brass.
Someone laughed, soft and patronizing.
Philip looked up, trying to see who was laughing, but bright light poured into the room from a set of wide windows, blinding him. He held up a hand to shield his eyes, but it was no use; the sun was too strong, and it was reflecting off of everything in the room, seeming to set the glass walls ablaze.
"Who's there?" he said, squeezing his eyes shut. "Where am I?"
"Open your eyes. They'll adjust to the light."
Philip would do no such thing-he didn't follow such commands from anyone, much less someone whose identity was completely unknown. "Tell me who you are!" he spat, his voice furious and bold.
"Honestly, if this is the kind of company you're going to be, I'd just as soon prefer if you'd wake up and leave me alone."
Philip frowned, his frustration growing. "Listen, you-" He shot up, and without thinking, his eyes opened; the sun flashed across his vision, which flickered white and gold for a moment, and then-nothing. Well, not nothing, but nothing so very unusual; Philip could see normally again.
The room (if Philip could even call it that; it seemed to be more of a tall chamber made entirely of windows) was at once hazy and bright. Though it was cool, the air had something of the quality of warm amber to it: it felt thick and golden and rich. He looked up, and the windows converged and arced to a point, the ceiling like a glass cathedral.
But the whole chamber was, it seemed, encased within a second chamber, this one considerably darker; although refracted sunlight made each of the glass walls glow, beyond them Philip could make out solid, shining walls.
"You were saying?"
Philip turned. Standing just before him was a man-or some manner of a man, anyway. At first, Philip thought the sun was playing tricks on him again, but as his eyes lingered, he felt sure: the man had wings.
Dragonfly wings.
Surely he was dreaming. Never mind everything else-fairies weren't real.
"I-"
"Yes?"
The man stepped closer. He was wearing some sort of crimson armor, and it shone metallic in the setting sun.
"I-" Philip started again, and then cleared his throat. "I imagine you're supposed to a-a fairy, then." He had never had such a vivid dream before; in fact, he could not remember ever having had a dream at all before this.
"I imagine I am," the man replied, smiling. It struck Philip suddenly that the harsh, bright light had not come entirely from the sun, which was diminishing with each passing second. Rather, it had come from the man-the fairy-who was like a hot coal in the center of the room, emitting a clear coppery glow that seemed harsh when viewed from the corner of Philip's eye, but softened when he looked directly into it. "And I imagine you think you're dreaming."
"Of course I'm dreaming." The sunlight was still pouring in from four massive windows in the outer chamber-three triangles and a long, jagged gash. The image clicked in Philip's mind, and he recalled the tricky little grin that had decorated his brother's pumpkin just a little while ago. Philip squinted. "We're-we're inside a lantern that's inside a pumpkin, for heaven's sake, and you're a fairy."
"You're right about all of that, but I'm afraid this isn't a dream. You fell asleep before sunset," the fairy said. "And once he sun is down, you'll wake. Daysleepers make for rude guests in that way-always leaving just when things are about to get interesting. But we'll have to make do." He stepped closer, taking Philip's hand in his, and before Philip could protest, he found himself pressed back against the cold glass wall. The fairy's armor was warm and felt somehow delicate against his skin.
"What-"
"You're the brother, aren't you?" the fairy breathed, quirking an eyebrow as he asked. He leaned close and smiled, his face pale and enchanting in the warm light. "The one who's visiting. The one who's always looking for the next cliff to scale. The next jungle to explore." He leaned closer still, and Philip shrunk back, the palm of his free hand pressing nervously against the fairy's armor. "Your brother locked me in here to protect you, you know. This isn't a normal estate, you know. The valley's very dangerous at night, and a fairy lantern is a strong safeguard indeed-especially with a fairy like me inside." His wings flit back and forth. "I didn't want to do it, of course, put up a terrible fight-" he smiled again, and Philip felt his face flush in spite of himself, "-but I suppose there are worse ways to spend an evening." His words had a hint of amused condescension to them.
The condescension only riled Philip, however, who suddenly found his feet; he pushed back, and the fairy's eyebrows shot up as he stepped away. The sun was now half-gone, devoured by the distant mountains.
"I don't know what you're playing at," Philip said, his jaw set. "This is ridiculous."
The fairy's face, bright and handsome as a marble statue just struck by the first light of dawn, relaxed again into an amused smile. Philip wasn't usually one to wax poetic about others' looks, but he had to admit that the fairy was quite beautiful. "You've seen so much, haven't you? Traveled all over the world, the way your brother tells it-but you're still hungry, and even your little adventures are growing tedious. I can see it on your face." He stepped forward, and again pressed himself against Philip. This time, Philip didn't push back, instead looking up fully into the fairy's glow. "Haven't you ever wondered, daysleeper, if there isn't another kind of adventure out there?"
Outside, a wolf howled-but as the howl dragged on it turned into something else, something more like a shrill, angry laugh, crooked and wrong and profoundly frightening in the growing dimness. The sound chilled Philip's spine; it was the sort of sudden fear he hadn't felt in years, and he embraced it.
He looked up at the fairy, who smirked and bent down; their eyes were level, and Philip could see that his irises were bright, crystal orange, rolling and changing like wheels of fire.
"I..."
Just beyond the fairy, Philip could see that the very last sliver of sun was just about to fall beneath the mountains. It wasn't that he believed any of this was real, but if he was really about to wake up, well...
He might as well have a little fun before he did.
He grinned and grabbed the fairy by the shoulders, pulling him in close and connecting with him, pressing a kiss to his lips. Had Philip thought about the action before actually doing it, he would have thought that the fairy would've been surprised-and he would have been wrong. The fairy met his kiss with ardor that was nearly overpowering, as though he had been expecting it (indeed, waiting for it). Philip quickly found his legs buckling beneath him, his back pressed hard against the cold glass of the wall, his lips parting in a silent gasp. His arms slid down the fairy's shoulders and clutched at his armored forearms.
Then the fairy pulled back, careful and with a hint of what Philip wanted to believe was reluctance. His wings twitched delicately as he smiled, his eyebrows curved playfully upward. Over his shoulder, Philip could see the sun, now just a single point of light, vanish. The fairy's orange glow burned in his vision for a moment, and then suddenly, darkness engulfed him.
--
Twilight hung around Philip's window; he was sitting, fully clothed, on the edge of his bed, looking out the window. On the walkway just beneath Philip's room, the toothy smile of Laurent's jack-o'-lantern glowed orange in the dim evening light, although it did not flicker the way it ought to if there were a candle inside.
Philip looked out on the valley; a mist was rolling down from the mountains, thick and mysterious in the blossoming moonlight.
He supposed he would have to stay for a while, after all.
Summary: Philip is an adventurer who discovers that his family's country estate might not be so boring after all.
Warnings: None
"Aren't you a little old for that?"
If Laurent heard Philip's question, he made no sign of it. He kept his head ducked low, sticking his knife into the soft flesh of the pumpkin sitting before him. "You're lucky I'm not making you do one, too," he said after a moment, leaning back to admire his handiwork. "But since you're a guest, I suppose I can make certain allowances."
"A guest," Philip repeated, wrinkling his nose. "It ought to be as much my house as it is yours-just because father left it to you-"
Laurent raised a hand, and Philip couldn't help but to quell his complaints. "My dear, sweet Philip," he said, giving an exaggerated pout as he buried his knife again in the side of the pumpkin, "It's for the best. You couldn't handle this place."
"What's to handle? Compared to the main house, this is nothing more than a cottage! And I've just returned from handling living in Boorhead Caverns for half a year, thank you very much. You do know they have bears there that wouldn't fit through the front door of this little shack, don't you?"
Laurent only shook his head, the corner of his mouth hinting at a smile. Philip had been exaggerating, of course; the country estate, nestled in the hills and vales of the northern province, was large enough to be a considered mansion in its own right, and if one of the Boorhead bears were to suck in his gut he could surely fit through the sizeable front door.
Yet, truth be told, there was something charming and close in the house's nature. Its latticed windows and teeming gardens-still green even now, despite the autumn chill-called to mind a much smaller, quainter residence.
"Don't be mad," Laurent said, finally looking away from his project. The jack-o'-lantern was nearly finished, its face a broad, mischievous grin. "Living out here is just a bit different, that's all. There are a lot of responsibilities, and they wouldn't lend themselves well to someone with such a curious nature." He stood, stretching, and looked out toward the sinking sun. "I doubt you'd much care for it anyway. But of course, you're always welcome to stay, if you'd like."
'Curious nature' had always been their father's way of saying that Philip had trouble following rules. Philip had always been a little defiant, and a little odd, too-he cared little for money, for books, for women, for sport, or for much of anything really, aside from adventure. The only things that ever seemed to bring him real enjoyment were worn shoes, full knapsacks and blank maps.
Philip sighed, taking in the faint smell of smoke and recent rainfall. "I suppose I wouldn't want to stay in one place forever," he said.
"Right. You'd be bored out of your mind. Nothing to do but the same chores every day. No mountains to climb, no, ah, caves to explore..."
Philip smiled, a little rueful, and then yawned. The sky was already beginning to glow a clear and vibrant orange, and the sun hung low, just grazing the peak of a far-off mountain. He looked at Laurent, who seemed intently focused on the view; his face, usually rounder and warmer than Philip's, was set harsh and stony in the gentle light.
He shook his head, and the boyish grin returned to his face. "Perhaps you ought to head on inside. It's been a long day, and you've been in that dreadful carriage all afternoon. Besides, I still have a few chores to take care of before the sun's gone out." Laurent nodded off in the direction of the marshy glade just down the hill, and Philip frowned. He would probably have enjoyed a journey down to the mudpit, but his eyelids weighed heavy-and besides, he would have the whole week to explore the grounds.
"I suppose you're right," he said, standing up and stretching.
"Your things are already in your room," Laurent said, scooping the hollow pumpkin up under one arm and slinging an empty glass lantern over his shoulder. "Ask Maddie to show you where it is. I'll be back before dark."
Philip nodded, and the two brothers parted, each heading opposite directions.
--
"Ah, a daysleeper."
Philip's eyes shot open. He had been asleep, he was sure of it; he had gone straight up to his room, and exhaustion had overtaken him quickly, but now-he was not in his room.
Indeed, he was not sure where he was at all.
He was slouched against a hard, terribly cold wall, smooth against his exposed arms-glass, he thought, turning his head to the side and catching his own reflection in the corner of his eye. His hands were pressed into a cold metal floor; he looked down and saw dark, sooty brass.
Someone laughed, soft and patronizing.
Philip looked up, trying to see who was laughing, but bright light poured into the room from a set of wide windows, blinding him. He held up a hand to shield his eyes, but it was no use; the sun was too strong, and it was reflecting off of everything in the room, seeming to set the glass walls ablaze.
"Who's there?" he said, squeezing his eyes shut. "Where am I?"
"Open your eyes. They'll adjust to the light."
Philip would do no such thing-he didn't follow such commands from anyone, much less someone whose identity was completely unknown. "Tell me who you are!" he spat, his voice furious and bold.
"Honestly, if this is the kind of company you're going to be, I'd just as soon prefer if you'd wake up and leave me alone."
Philip frowned, his frustration growing. "Listen, you-" He shot up, and without thinking, his eyes opened; the sun flashed across his vision, which flickered white and gold for a moment, and then-nothing. Well, not nothing, but nothing so very unusual; Philip could see normally again.
The room (if Philip could even call it that; it seemed to be more of a tall chamber made entirely of windows) was at once hazy and bright. Though it was cool, the air had something of the quality of warm amber to it: it felt thick and golden and rich. He looked up, and the windows converged and arced to a point, the ceiling like a glass cathedral.
But the whole chamber was, it seemed, encased within a second chamber, this one considerably darker; although refracted sunlight made each of the glass walls glow, beyond them Philip could make out solid, shining walls.
"You were saying?"
Philip turned. Standing just before him was a man-or some manner of a man, anyway. At first, Philip thought the sun was playing tricks on him again, but as his eyes lingered, he felt sure: the man had wings.
Dragonfly wings.
Surely he was dreaming. Never mind everything else-fairies weren't real.
"I-"
"Yes?"
The man stepped closer. He was wearing some sort of crimson armor, and it shone metallic in the setting sun.
"I-" Philip started again, and then cleared his throat. "I imagine you're supposed to a-a fairy, then." He had never had such a vivid dream before; in fact, he could not remember ever having had a dream at all before this.
"I imagine I am," the man replied, smiling. It struck Philip suddenly that the harsh, bright light had not come entirely from the sun, which was diminishing with each passing second. Rather, it had come from the man-the fairy-who was like a hot coal in the center of the room, emitting a clear coppery glow that seemed harsh when viewed from the corner of Philip's eye, but softened when he looked directly into it. "And I imagine you think you're dreaming."
"Of course I'm dreaming." The sunlight was still pouring in from four massive windows in the outer chamber-three triangles and a long, jagged gash. The image clicked in Philip's mind, and he recalled the tricky little grin that had decorated his brother's pumpkin just a little while ago. Philip squinted. "We're-we're inside a lantern that's inside a pumpkin, for heaven's sake, and you're a fairy."
"You're right about all of that, but I'm afraid this isn't a dream. You fell asleep before sunset," the fairy said. "And once he sun is down, you'll wake. Daysleepers make for rude guests in that way-always leaving just when things are about to get interesting. But we'll have to make do." He stepped closer, taking Philip's hand in his, and before Philip could protest, he found himself pressed back against the cold glass wall. The fairy's armor was warm and felt somehow delicate against his skin.
"What-"
"You're the brother, aren't you?" the fairy breathed, quirking an eyebrow as he asked. He leaned close and smiled, his face pale and enchanting in the warm light. "The one who's visiting. The one who's always looking for the next cliff to scale. The next jungle to explore." He leaned closer still, and Philip shrunk back, the palm of his free hand pressing nervously against the fairy's armor. "Your brother locked me in here to protect you, you know. This isn't a normal estate, you know. The valley's very dangerous at night, and a fairy lantern is a strong safeguard indeed-especially with a fairy like me inside." His wings flit back and forth. "I didn't want to do it, of course, put up a terrible fight-" he smiled again, and Philip felt his face flush in spite of himself, "-but I suppose there are worse ways to spend an evening." His words had a hint of amused condescension to them.
The condescension only riled Philip, however, who suddenly found his feet; he pushed back, and the fairy's eyebrows shot up as he stepped away. The sun was now half-gone, devoured by the distant mountains.
"I don't know what you're playing at," Philip said, his jaw set. "This is ridiculous."
The fairy's face, bright and handsome as a marble statue just struck by the first light of dawn, relaxed again into an amused smile. Philip wasn't usually one to wax poetic about others' looks, but he had to admit that the fairy was quite beautiful. "You've seen so much, haven't you? Traveled all over the world, the way your brother tells it-but you're still hungry, and even your little adventures are growing tedious. I can see it on your face." He stepped forward, and again pressed himself against Philip. This time, Philip didn't push back, instead looking up fully into the fairy's glow. "Haven't you ever wondered, daysleeper, if there isn't another kind of adventure out there?"
Outside, a wolf howled-but as the howl dragged on it turned into something else, something more like a shrill, angry laugh, crooked and wrong and profoundly frightening in the growing dimness. The sound chilled Philip's spine; it was the sort of sudden fear he hadn't felt in years, and he embraced it.
He looked up at the fairy, who smirked and bent down; their eyes were level, and Philip could see that his irises were bright, crystal orange, rolling and changing like wheels of fire.
"I..."
Just beyond the fairy, Philip could see that the very last sliver of sun was just about to fall beneath the mountains. It wasn't that he believed any of this was real, but if he was really about to wake up, well...
He might as well have a little fun before he did.
He grinned and grabbed the fairy by the shoulders, pulling him in close and connecting with him, pressing a kiss to his lips. Had Philip thought about the action before actually doing it, he would have thought that the fairy would've been surprised-and he would have been wrong. The fairy met his kiss with ardor that was nearly overpowering, as though he had been expecting it (indeed, waiting for it). Philip quickly found his legs buckling beneath him, his back pressed hard against the cold glass of the wall, his lips parting in a silent gasp. His arms slid down the fairy's shoulders and clutched at his armored forearms.
Then the fairy pulled back, careful and with a hint of what Philip wanted to believe was reluctance. His wings twitched delicately as he smiled, his eyebrows curved playfully upward. Over his shoulder, Philip could see the sun, now just a single point of light, vanish. The fairy's orange glow burned in his vision for a moment, and then suddenly, darkness engulfed him.
--
Twilight hung around Philip's window; he was sitting, fully clothed, on the edge of his bed, looking out the window. On the walkway just beneath Philip's room, the toothy smile of Laurent's jack-o'-lantern glowed orange in the dim evening light, although it did not flicker the way it ought to if there were a candle inside.
Philip looked out on the valley; a mist was rolling down from the mountains, thick and mysterious in the blossoming moonlight.
He supposed he would have to stay for a while, after all.