Ancient Wounds pt 28
Author's note: Wth any luck thise series will soon draw to a close, but alas I lose my will to write these days, though I try (hence why this has ben so long in teh making. To my readers, I thank you :)
Author: yours truly, ExMaverick aka Jess
Title: Ancient Wounds
Rating: PG
Summary: Prequel to my vampire fic Deepest Shadow. Ville recounts the events of his mortal life growing up in the poverty of 20th century Finland, wrought with grief, sex, romance, passion and abuse leading into his birth to darkness.
His lengthy tales are imparted to the sleepy mind of his young lover, but only in the seclusion of his own darkest thoughts does he begin to relive the greatest obsessions and deepest hurts rooted in his bygone and decadent time.
Warnings: Blood, angst, abuse.
Pairing: Vam,Ville/Jonne (in parts)
Previous Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5i, 5ii, 6, 7, 8, 9i, 9ii, 10i, 10ii, 10iii,11, 12i, 12ii, 13, 14i, 14ii, 14iii, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20i, 20ii,
21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27
--------------------------------------------------------------<3
When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow--
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shrudder comes o'er me--
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee so well--
Long, long I shall rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met--
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?--
With silence and tears.
………………..
I spent those next days in a trance, only creeping from my room to feed like some poor, sick bewildered ghost. The Master had my loyalty completely and without reserve. I knew the moment he had opened the door of my sordid prison that I would do as he said from that day forth and serve him as he had always intended. He was my Master, he was my Lord, my keeper; and saw it my duty to do nothing but love, honour and obey him.
I bore Dyre no ill will, and did not falter in my gaze when he looked into my eyes, only feel the sweet ache in my breast when I recollected his kiss. It appeared that obedience was no certainty to a bleeding heart, as mind panged for love hopelessly as ever. I would always be a slave to love, always.
I never did touch Dyre again so intimately as I had the nights before my punishment, but my devotion to him did not waver, and when we locked eyes in empty halls or in the presence of my most terrible brothers I felt as if I were disrobing him and he unwrapping me in our minds darkest of chambers. We held a passion of endurance in that house. That velvet draped, rich scented tomb of ours. It took a night seeking nourishment in the town together though, when he cupped my slender hand in freeze of the night and kissed my forehead playfully, to make me realize that our love-however wanton it was-was that of friendship. We had sought comfort in one another because we were the only two that could give love willingly to another. Apart from our childhood bond, there was no true romantic love.
Thus we remained, and time passed quickly. It was amazing what obedience did to the passage of time in those years, those years of submitting to the Master’s kisses and learning my tuition with ungodly focus. Months flew by like days, years changing the leaves from emerald to gold while all who dwelt within the manor house remained unchangeable.
The Master taught us to play in those days, Dyre and I, with humans in the town (for Dyre’s tears and slit throat had atoned for his hands on my flesh in our Lord’s eyes). He lead us both in suits of finery to the taverns to sit and to watch the smoky drunkards brawl and to pick the one fairest of face, man or maiden, to play lamb to the slaughter. He taught us to move from tavern to tavern over months to avoid suspicion of our immortal faces. He taught us to order hot wine when the snow newly blanketed the streets and to delight in the layers of scent in it. He taught us to walk among them, and to require no need for isolation.
It was, in fact, in the year 1916 that something began that would change my world completely. The nuance of summer had taken the land in its rejuvenating grasp, and I at the mortal age of six-and-twenty years found myself once again locked up in my chambers for study when Dyre burst in looking rather more than somewhat excited.
“For you,” he smiled shoving a yellowing, thin sealed envelope onto my desk papers over which I had been pouring so busily. I looked at him quizzically, then at the envelope, then back at him again. He had grown much into the mentor and loving brotherly figure I had needed in the three years I’d been in The Blood, and yet still at times so young in his excitability. It did my heart good to see him each night. But what of the strange envelope?
It was nothing out of the ordinary in particular, the standard size for the time and made from the parchment cheap and easily available to anyone in the towns of Oulu, save one detail.
The wax seal.
Holding the paper firmly closed was a large globule of hardened scarlet wax, spread circularly and branded by a firm crest, a large V guilded with impressions of filigree and assorted vine fruits. The envelope itself merely addressed itself ‘Ville’. I furrowed my brow in consideration, casting aside my previous workings.
“Where did-” I asked before being sharply cut off by my companion who was busy admiring himself in my dressing table mirror.
“No idea at all I’m afraid” he said “It was handed to me at the Buck’s Inn last night, by one of the bar staff. Someone apparently left it there knowing it would somehow find you. Well go on then don’t just sit there like a fool, aren’t you going to open it?”
“But Master Vuori-“
“Ville you know very well he turns a blind eye to that sort of thing,” he smirked preening himself cockily, delighted at the occasion of it all “after all how many passionate letters do I get from the boys at the White Stag after a night in their company? Surely you’re entitled to some admiration from afar”
I sighed. Ever since our tavern crawls started Dyre had become the most wanton little tease to the renters that inhabited the local bars and brothels. He revelled in it. I cannot say it didn’t amuse me a great deal.
I mused for a moment before breaking he seal with a ceremonious slowness, opening it so gently as to cause Dyre to drag himself aware from his reflection in interest. What I read in flourished penmanship was simply this-
Ville,
I have been searching for you some time now.
If this reaches you then my task is nearly at its end.
Meet me at the Buck’s Inn on the eve of eighteenth,
there is so much I must have you know.
I will be waiting.
Author: yours truly, ExMaverick aka Jess
Title: Ancient Wounds
Rating: PG
Summary: Prequel to my vampire fic Deepest Shadow. Ville recounts the events of his mortal life growing up in the poverty of 20th century Finland, wrought with grief, sex, romance, passion and abuse leading into his birth to darkness.
His lengthy tales are imparted to the sleepy mind of his young lover, but only in the seclusion of his own darkest thoughts does he begin to relive the greatest obsessions and deepest hurts rooted in his bygone and decadent time.
Warnings: Blood, angst, abuse.
Pairing: Vam,Ville/Jonne (in parts)
Previous Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5i, 5ii, 6, 7, 8, 9i, 9ii, 10i, 10ii, 10iii,11, 12i, 12ii, 13, 14i, 14ii, 14iii, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20i, 20ii,
21, 22, 23, 24, 25, 26, 27
--------------------------------------------------------------<3
When we two parted
In silence and tears,
Half broken-hearted
To sever for years,
Pale grew thy cheek and cold,
Colder thy kiss;
Truly that hour foretold
Sorrow to this.
The dew of the morning
Sunk chill on my brow--
It felt like the warning
Of what I feel now.
Thy vows are all broken,
And light is thy fame;
I hear thy name spoken,
And share in its shame.
They name thee before me,
A knell to mine ear;
A shrudder comes o'er me--
Why wert thou so dear?
They know not I knew thee,
Who knew thee so well--
Long, long I shall rue thee,
Too deeply to tell.
In secret we met--
In silence I grieve,
That thy heart could forget,
Thy spirit deceive
If I should meet thee
After long years,
How should I greet thee?--
With silence and tears.
………………..
I spent those next days in a trance, only creeping from my room to feed like some poor, sick bewildered ghost. The Master had my loyalty completely and without reserve. I knew the moment he had opened the door of my sordid prison that I would do as he said from that day forth and serve him as he had always intended. He was my Master, he was my Lord, my keeper; and saw it my duty to do nothing but love, honour and obey him.
I bore Dyre no ill will, and did not falter in my gaze when he looked into my eyes, only feel the sweet ache in my breast when I recollected his kiss. It appeared that obedience was no certainty to a bleeding heart, as mind panged for love hopelessly as ever. I would always be a slave to love, always.
I never did touch Dyre again so intimately as I had the nights before my punishment, but my devotion to him did not waver, and when we locked eyes in empty halls or in the presence of my most terrible brothers I felt as if I were disrobing him and he unwrapping me in our minds darkest of chambers. We held a passion of endurance in that house. That velvet draped, rich scented tomb of ours. It took a night seeking nourishment in the town together though, when he cupped my slender hand in freeze of the night and kissed my forehead playfully, to make me realize that our love-however wanton it was-was that of friendship. We had sought comfort in one another because we were the only two that could give love willingly to another. Apart from our childhood bond, there was no true romantic love.
Thus we remained, and time passed quickly. It was amazing what obedience did to the passage of time in those years, those years of submitting to the Master’s kisses and learning my tuition with ungodly focus. Months flew by like days, years changing the leaves from emerald to gold while all who dwelt within the manor house remained unchangeable.
The Master taught us to play in those days, Dyre and I, with humans in the town (for Dyre’s tears and slit throat had atoned for his hands on my flesh in our Lord’s eyes). He lead us both in suits of finery to the taverns to sit and to watch the smoky drunkards brawl and to pick the one fairest of face, man or maiden, to play lamb to the slaughter. He taught us to move from tavern to tavern over months to avoid suspicion of our immortal faces. He taught us to order hot wine when the snow newly blanketed the streets and to delight in the layers of scent in it. He taught us to walk among them, and to require no need for isolation.
It was, in fact, in the year 1916 that something began that would change my world completely. The nuance of summer had taken the land in its rejuvenating grasp, and I at the mortal age of six-and-twenty years found myself once again locked up in my chambers for study when Dyre burst in looking rather more than somewhat excited.
“For you,” he smiled shoving a yellowing, thin sealed envelope onto my desk papers over which I had been pouring so busily. I looked at him quizzically, then at the envelope, then back at him again. He had grown much into the mentor and loving brotherly figure I had needed in the three years I’d been in The Blood, and yet still at times so young in his excitability. It did my heart good to see him each night. But what of the strange envelope?
It was nothing out of the ordinary in particular, the standard size for the time and made from the parchment cheap and easily available to anyone in the towns of Oulu, save one detail.
The wax seal.
Holding the paper firmly closed was a large globule of hardened scarlet wax, spread circularly and branded by a firm crest, a large V guilded with impressions of filigree and assorted vine fruits. The envelope itself merely addressed itself ‘Ville’. I furrowed my brow in consideration, casting aside my previous workings.
“Where did-” I asked before being sharply cut off by my companion who was busy admiring himself in my dressing table mirror.
“No idea at all I’m afraid” he said “It was handed to me at the Buck’s Inn last night, by one of the bar staff. Someone apparently left it there knowing it would somehow find you. Well go on then don’t just sit there like a fool, aren’t you going to open it?”
“But Master Vuori-“
“Ville you know very well he turns a blind eye to that sort of thing,” he smirked preening himself cockily, delighted at the occasion of it all “after all how many passionate letters do I get from the boys at the White Stag after a night in their company? Surely you’re entitled to some admiration from afar”
I sighed. Ever since our tavern crawls started Dyre had become the most wanton little tease to the renters that inhabited the local bars and brothels. He revelled in it. I cannot say it didn’t amuse me a great deal.
I mused for a moment before breaking he seal with a ceremonious slowness, opening it so gently as to cause Dyre to drag himself aware from his reflection in interest. What I read in flourished penmanship was simply this-
Ville,
I have been searching for you some time now.
If this reaches you then my task is nearly at its end.
Meet me at the Buck’s Inn on the eve of eighteenth,
there is so much I must have you know.
I will be waiting.