Fic: Of History
Title: Of History
Series: Count Cain/Godchild
Character/Pairing: Cain, Riff
Rating: PG-13
A/N: This was written for the 31_days prompt "December 9: generations of poison, centuries of poison"
Cornwall Castle was full of the past. The floors creaked with the heaviness of history, and countless ghosts drifted through the rooms as they drew the living, their tormentors, into madness.
No place felt the weight of bygone days more than the dungeon where the poisons were kept, the place that had been Cain's childhood sanctuary for as long as he could remember. The Hargreaves poison collection was the result of hundreds of years of studying, searching, and creating. It contained everything from the classics-arsenic, cyanide, belladonna-to poisons taken from the skin of deadly frogs from wild, exotic lands. There had even been, before Cain had used it on his father, a very small vial of cantarella, the supposedly long lost “liquor of succession” that had been used by the Borgia family to such great success. By the time that he was seven, Cain could name them all, and by the time he was ten, he was dreaming up new ways of combining them. However, he never dared. Bringing the poisons upstairs or carrying equipment down would have broken the spell of safety that surrounded the dungeon, and Cain was unwilling to destroy his only refuge
But any imagining of safety was destroyed the day that Aunt Augusta threw herself from the asylum window and imparted to Cain a secret far more terrible than any child should have to bear. For the first time, Cain brought one of his children into the light. And as he cried in Riff's arms, a small, dark part of him noted that the “liquor of succession” had worked its magic once again. Earl Hargreaves is dead. Long live Earl Hargreaves.
Cain left Cornwall Castle and moved to London within a year. He had no desire to live among hungry ghosts and painful memories. If he had any regrets, it was only that he had to leave so many of his poisons behind. The mansion in London simply didn't have room for hundreds of years of lethal history. But Cain knew that one couldn't gain freedom without leaving something behind, and he considered it a fair trade. Besides, no longer was there nowhere to go but the dungeon and nothing else to do but study his collection. London always had some new excitement, and the mansion was his to do as he pleased in. And neither were the poisons still his only comforters. If he felt lonely or sad, there was Riff to stroke his hair or hold him close.
But even with Riff and the hustle and bustle of London, Cain could never forget, never ignore his children. The darkness of the city opened up many opportunities for procuring new poisons, and Cain was happy to discuss his passion with anyone who wanted to listen (and at least a few who did not). It wasn't long before Earl Cain C. Hargreaves become known as the Earl of Poison among English aristocracy. Cain took no displeasure in the nickname. In fact, he considered including it on his calling card until Riff was able to dissuade him. Not only did he consider the nickname to be accurate and even flattering, but it meant that, after a lonely childhood of being all but completely ignored, people were paying attention to him. After years as little more than a walking shadow, Cain delighted in the whispers and curious gazes that followed him. Knowing that was the only thing that kept Riff from commenting on his master's scandalous behavior. Nothing was more important to Riff than Cain's happiness, and if his master needed to create chaos to feel secure, then Riff would endure it without complaint (well, without much complaint). Though Riff did ask once or twice that Cain stop using the silverware for his experiments. People had to eat with those. Cain would reply that he was the only one who used the fine silver, and therefore he should be able to do what he wished with it. It wasn't until Merryweather moved in that he finally stopped. Accidentally poisoning himself was once thing, but he wasn't going to risk her safety. Riff would have loved her for that even if she hadn't been such a delightful child.
Earl of Poison wasn't the only name that high society gave to Cain. It also christened him the Earl Who Courts Death, and that name may have been even more true. Cain sought out murders and mysteries, but most of the time, Death was happy to come to him. Someone in Cain's presence would die, and he would hunt for the killer, while at the same time, Death would try and claim the Earl for herself. Cain was not the first of the Hargreaves to dance with Death, but he was perhaps the first to do so while seeking justice for the wronged. And though the burden of all the dead grew heavy on his shoulders, no one in the glitz and glamor of London high society saw his uncertainty or pain. The only place the pain came out was at home, and the only person who ever saw it was Riff, who would have died rather than break his master's confidence. So fashionable society only knew Cain as a charming, if slightly dangerous, eccentric and loved or hated him based on the assumption. No one got too close, because even the silliest upper class twit could sense the darkness in Cain that would break the pretty, if curious, image that everyone wanted to see. Even the ladies that knew him... intimately never questioned why he would only make love in the dark, never let them touch his back, and always left before morning.
Cornwall Castle, with its history and its ghosts, cast a long shadow, and the events that had occurred in his father's study before the man threw himself into the sea dogged Cain's every step, reminding him that his very touch was poison.
Some days, Cain could only ponder how long it would be until the poison that was inside of him finally claimed his life. On those days, he would find a party to attend, take Merry on a walk, or call for Riff and simply let himself be held. But even in the warmth provided by Riff's arms, in the back of his mind, Cain still wondered how long he had before he was simply another piece of history, just another ghost to haunt the Hargreaves name.
He suspected that it wouldn't be very much time at all.
Series: Count Cain/Godchild
Character/Pairing: Cain, Riff
Rating: PG-13
A/N: This was written for the 31_days prompt "December 9: generations of poison, centuries of poison"
Cornwall Castle was full of the past. The floors creaked with the heaviness of history, and countless ghosts drifted through the rooms as they drew the living, their tormentors, into madness.
No place felt the weight of bygone days more than the dungeon where the poisons were kept, the place that had been Cain's childhood sanctuary for as long as he could remember. The Hargreaves poison collection was the result of hundreds of years of studying, searching, and creating. It contained everything from the classics-arsenic, cyanide, belladonna-to poisons taken from the skin of deadly frogs from wild, exotic lands. There had even been, before Cain had used it on his father, a very small vial of cantarella, the supposedly long lost “liquor of succession” that had been used by the Borgia family to such great success. By the time that he was seven, Cain could name them all, and by the time he was ten, he was dreaming up new ways of combining them. However, he never dared. Bringing the poisons upstairs or carrying equipment down would have broken the spell of safety that surrounded the dungeon, and Cain was unwilling to destroy his only refuge
But any imagining of safety was destroyed the day that Aunt Augusta threw herself from the asylum window and imparted to Cain a secret far more terrible than any child should have to bear. For the first time, Cain brought one of his children into the light. And as he cried in Riff's arms, a small, dark part of him noted that the “liquor of succession” had worked its magic once again. Earl Hargreaves is dead. Long live Earl Hargreaves.
Cain left Cornwall Castle and moved to London within a year. He had no desire to live among hungry ghosts and painful memories. If he had any regrets, it was only that he had to leave so many of his poisons behind. The mansion in London simply didn't have room for hundreds of years of lethal history. But Cain knew that one couldn't gain freedom without leaving something behind, and he considered it a fair trade. Besides, no longer was there nowhere to go but the dungeon and nothing else to do but study his collection. London always had some new excitement, and the mansion was his to do as he pleased in. And neither were the poisons still his only comforters. If he felt lonely or sad, there was Riff to stroke his hair or hold him close.
But even with Riff and the hustle and bustle of London, Cain could never forget, never ignore his children. The darkness of the city opened up many opportunities for procuring new poisons, and Cain was happy to discuss his passion with anyone who wanted to listen (and at least a few who did not). It wasn't long before Earl Cain C. Hargreaves become known as the Earl of Poison among English aristocracy. Cain took no displeasure in the nickname. In fact, he considered including it on his calling card until Riff was able to dissuade him. Not only did he consider the nickname to be accurate and even flattering, but it meant that, after a lonely childhood of being all but completely ignored, people were paying attention to him. After years as little more than a walking shadow, Cain delighted in the whispers and curious gazes that followed him. Knowing that was the only thing that kept Riff from commenting on his master's scandalous behavior. Nothing was more important to Riff than Cain's happiness, and if his master needed to create chaos to feel secure, then Riff would endure it without complaint (well, without much complaint). Though Riff did ask once or twice that Cain stop using the silverware for his experiments. People had to eat with those. Cain would reply that he was the only one who used the fine silver, and therefore he should be able to do what he wished with it. It wasn't until Merryweather moved in that he finally stopped. Accidentally poisoning himself was once thing, but he wasn't going to risk her safety. Riff would have loved her for that even if she hadn't been such a delightful child.
Earl of Poison wasn't the only name that high society gave to Cain. It also christened him the Earl Who Courts Death, and that name may have been even more true. Cain sought out murders and mysteries, but most of the time, Death was happy to come to him. Someone in Cain's presence would die, and he would hunt for the killer, while at the same time, Death would try and claim the Earl for herself. Cain was not the first of the Hargreaves to dance with Death, but he was perhaps the first to do so while seeking justice for the wronged. And though the burden of all the dead grew heavy on his shoulders, no one in the glitz and glamor of London high society saw his uncertainty or pain. The only place the pain came out was at home, and the only person who ever saw it was Riff, who would have died rather than break his master's confidence. So fashionable society only knew Cain as a charming, if slightly dangerous, eccentric and loved or hated him based on the assumption. No one got too close, because even the silliest upper class twit could sense the darkness in Cain that would break the pretty, if curious, image that everyone wanted to see. Even the ladies that knew him... intimately never questioned why he would only make love in the dark, never let them touch his back, and always left before morning.
Cornwall Castle, with its history and its ghosts, cast a long shadow, and the events that had occurred in his father's study before the man threw himself into the sea dogged Cain's every step, reminding him that his very touch was poison.
Some days, Cain could only ponder how long it would be until the poison that was inside of him finally claimed his life. On those days, he would find a party to attend, take Merry on a walk, or call for Riff and simply let himself be held. But even in the warmth provided by Riff's arms, in the back of his mind, Cain still wondered how long he had before he was simply another piece of history, just another ghost to haunt the Hargreaves name.
He suspected that it wouldn't be very much time at all.