(no subject)
Title: Lovely
Author: Dreaming of Everything, dreams_of_all
Series: Gundam Wing
Characters/Pairings: Duo, Heero, Wufei, Quatre, Trowa, Duo/Heero
Rating/Warnings: T for various things, not really pushing the rating. Slash.
Summary: A retelling of Beauty and the Beast. When someone stumbles into an enchantment hidden deep within a forest, he trades his life for the lives of one of his slaves... 1x2 shounen-ai.
Author's Notes: My eternal thanks to Lady_Friselle for being fantastic beyond words. (She betaed, for the record.)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
FFnet link
The tapping at the door fractured the carefully maintained silence. There was a quick scurry of servants hurrying to prepare for whoever might be out there: the butler appeared, and a maidservant to take coats; a strong footman in case it was an undesired guest, two page-boys to open the doors. They all worked around each other with uncanny precision, a perfectly orchestrated dance designed for absolute efficiency.
After all, appearances must be maintained.
The only hint of unprofessionalism was when the lord of the manor appeared; while there was no obvious outward reaction there was a sudden atmospheric rush of nearly frantic apprehension bordering on fear. One page swallowed spasmodically, then instantly stilled, hopeful that little slip would go unnoticed. A cold glare from his Master's piercingly inhuman eyes, a glittering, depthless blue, told him his actions had not gone unnoticed. He knew he would be punished later.
At Lord Yuy's nearly imperceptible nod the wide double doors were strenuously drawn open, well-oiled hinges making no noise. A small form huddled on the steps, looking even more lost and inconsequential in comparison to the grandeur that surrounded her. The footman could feel the lord stiffen in anger beside him.
The hunched figure drew haltingly nearer. The maid noticed uneasily that she looked both old and young, not pinned down to one age. Her eyes were a clear, watery blue, and she looked sightless, peering through everything around her as if it wasn't there, as if there was some truth only she could see.
"You have not been sent by the Winner family?" asked the butler; there was ice in his voice, his words more statement than question. The sentence was followed by a wail from the wind; a gust of it wove through the frozen tableau of statues in the front hall.
"I'm just looking for a night's rest..." began the woman, and the maid felt the hairs at the nape of her neck prickle at the words; the voice was as inhuman as her Lord's eyes, simultaneously malevolent and benevolent at once. There was the hiss and crack of ice giving way underlying the woman's speech; she noticed that no snow had settled on her. Silently she turned and fled, one page-boy following a brief beat later; she would rather face her Lord's anger-no matter what he had done to poor Anya a fortnight ago-than that mysterious woman who had no age and all ages.
The butler gestured at the footman to find he had left with the second page through the still-open doors, even though it was snowing hard and bitterly cold. There was more ice in the woman's voice than in the surrounding forests.
There was no response to the question; the silence was left purposefully a minute to long.
"...a bite of food, then?" asked the woman, and while it should have been a hopeful tone of voice there was no hope in it. Lord Yuy seemed to notice nothing wrong.
"You are taking up my time. Remove yourself from my premises. I have no need for trash..." he sneered the word, though there was no emotion in his voice, only cold, uncaring calculation. "...and I need to attend to my guest, Lord Chang. Have her removed."
There was an imperceptible shift in the atmosphere of the room. The Lord of the castle stiffened, turned; the woman, still an age that couldn't be pinned down, turned to face him. Her eyes were glazed with frozen rage.
"You would... Turn me away?" she said softly, almost gently. "Even with my child with me?" There was a flurry of snow flakes, and when it cleared she was holding a frail bundle that stirred listlessly, weakly.
"You are wasting my time," said Lord Yuy again. Was there a note of panic in his voice now, or was it just the rising wind?
"I see..." sighed the woman, and she smiled for the first time. "There's nothing for it but to share my curse, now. The rules are very specific." Her eyes had taken on the glisten of a river half-frozen over, after it had swallowed yet another sacrificial victim. "I do not think I would spare you even if I could. For you are something special. Your heart is as frozen as my own... I will take it from you."
For the first time since he had been a small child, still unsteady on his feet, Lord Yuy tried to run, only to find his body frozen. He felt his fear and knew he was panicking.
"First, I give you immortality, and eternal youth. To that I add... Yes. An appearance that fits you. Monster. So much like me..." There was hunger in her eyes now. The butler had run long ago.
"I give you eternity, and a body stronger, heavier, more endurable and faster than any man could hope to be. I also give you the aloneness you long for; there will be no one to interrupt you now, no one to hinder you with anything less than perfection. I'll leave you the company of your Lord Chang, since it is... So much more important than any wanderer.
"I've given you so much... Hardly a curse, just as mine is. Will you think that three hundred years from now, when no one will look at you because of your hideous body, assuming there was anyone who could? And so... I give you a chance to break it. Find someone who will love you unconditionally, no matter how you look, and it will disappear. Maybe that's even worse than the curse, hm? I know how you think, Monster. Infant. Beast-child."
Her last words to him were whispered, a lover's caress in her tone. "When you've hardened your heart to keep it from hurting so long that it's festered and died, then I will come for you."
After that... there was oblivion. Pain.
oOo
Heero always awoke silently, even from his nightmares.
It had been a hundred years since he'd last had that dream. Five times that many years since he'd first been cursed.
He'd had the dream... often, earlier. The first time came when the last of the servants died; they were trapped within the curse, unable to leave the castle grounds, but still aging. He'd had to bury the last one himself.
Now he was alone, except for Chang Wufei, and the people the curse had occasionally delivered to him-though none of them had ever stayed for more than three fourths of a year. The shortest time had been two months. A long, long ways from forever.
It didn't matter to him; he was self-contained. Emotionless. The perfect analytical Lord.
Monster.
oOo
Master Erik Ellyaugh had never been a good man, and for the first time he was regretting it. He could almost see his littlest sister, Toriana, looking at him sadly as he crashed through the undergrowth of the malicious forest; it seemed as if it was pulling him backwards, into the waiting arms of his pursuers.
She'd been dead for years, lost in the plague.
And he had survived, to pick the wrong child to try to kidnap.
In the disorganized chaos that became the aftermath of the plague-nearly everyone who had possessed power dead; nearly everyone was dead, for that matter-it had been easy to go into slavery. There were enough unscrupulous people with money to support him, and it was so very easy with all the rootless people wandering around, lost and helpless.
Erik had never been a bad master. He had made sure they were fed, and he never sold to the worst people, but he had to make a living, and the strong survive.
Hell, he had never even really dealt in children, only that one pick-pocket, the one who looked like a girl. The kid had been asking for it, stealing from him.
Until today, when he'd tried to kidnap Quatre Raberba Winner.
He hadn't known! All he had known was that his employer wanted someone with blond hair and blue eyes; hard to find in brown-haired Terre (1), his native city-state, which was surrounded by wilderness on one side and Arae (2) on the other. He'd never have taken the job, except that he'd been told what would happen to his career if he didn't; he believed him, because he knew what had happened to other people who'd managed to...disappoint people like him.
Winner! He'd tried to abduct a Winner! That was suicide; why not just cover himself with raw meat and throw himself to his guard dogs? It would certainly be less painful.
God, the kid had to be the heir. Only male, with all those sisters before him... shit.
The dogs behind him were getting louder.
He tore his way through a dense thicket and the sudden lack of resistance made him trip, nearly fall. The weather had changed... It was spring, a sullen one, true, but still... This clearing looked to be in late fall; the sky over-head was a curdled, troubled gray, the air much colder, the plants all dormant, with a few tattered leaves still clinging to the branches of the trees.
Now he was in a formal garden, with a castle looming out of the surroundings up ahead. It seemed deserted.
As he sat regaining his breath and his nerves the first few flakes of snow began to fall from the steely sky.
He couldn't hear the dogs anymore, he realized.
Erik walked slowly through the gardens he found himself in, dilapidated and winter-worn. Nobody lived in these woods. He suppressed a shiver, and told himself it was the cold.
Almost as if he was dreaming he found himself in front of a set of huge doors, looming above him; he knocked, not knowing what else to do, and they swung open, smoothly and silently, as if invisible servants were orchestrating it. The hallways were deathly quiet, but it felt as if there were conversations buzzing all around him, silently.
A doorway swung open to his right and he obeyed the silent command to enter, still half-dazed and exhausted. He stumbled over a drawn-out chair-had it moved to meet him?-and found himself sitting at a table, set but otherwise bare. Between blink and another he found food on his plate and a steaming cup of tea served to him. Erik purposefully ignored half-remembered stories his mother had told him about people who were trapped by fairies, caught forever, by eating even a mouthful of their food.
He fell into sleep halfway through the meal.
Erik Ellyaugh awoke late and disoriented the next morning, unsure of where he was. As he lay, attempting to work out his surroundings, it all came rushing out. Unnerved, he wondered whether his food had been poisoned or magicked, or if he had just fallen asleep because of a combination of sustenance, warmth and total exhaustion. There was no answer in the room he found himself in.
The room was spacious and opulent; tasteful in its over-decoration, it was meant to impress. While obviously old-it was decorated in a style he had only seen once, in a painting that was two hundred years old, and of a scene even older-it was as well-kept as if it had been made yesterday; none of the hangings, carpets or upholstery were faded, there was no thick coat of dust on the furniture, the wood hadn't darkened with use, the silver hinges on the cabinet showed no patina of age.
He had been left a breakfast tray, still steaming, though he hadn't seen anyone leave or enter the room. He wasn't quite sure it hadn't been there a moment ago...
Erik rose, shrugged on a dressing gown that had been left out and ate, noting he had been switched out of his torn and muddied clothes into luxurious night clothes while he slept. He finished his morning meal quickly, not as hungry as he'd thought he'd been, before going in search of clothes.
He couldn't find his old ones so he dressed himself from the wardrobe that was conveniently nudged open; while all the clothes were of an antiquated design they were well-made of the nicest fabrics he had ever seen: high-quality brocade, silk, velvet and satin. He had trouble figuring out how the many pieces fit together; they were designed for appearance, not practicality, that much was clear. Everything fit him perfectly, as if it had been made for him.
Fully prepared for the day he surveyed his room. Truly lavishly designed, gold and assorted jewels glittered against rich wood, sumptuous cloth and sparkling glass in a low-key manner obviously meant to catch someone's attention.
It was almost as if they were asking... He thought, as he carefully placed a candlestick in his travel bag, which had been conveniently left for him by his bed.
A few minutes and a few expensive (but small) items later he was done, and prepared to leave. The house was... It couldn't be deserted, because of the cooked meals, but it was obviously the retreat of someone who sought privacy. It would be best if he just...left...
He paused on a whim to take the rose that had been left with his breakfast tray, tucking it into a buttonhole as he left the room.
There wasn't a sign of any person at all until he crossed through the doors of the gloomy front hall into the bright sunshine.
"You wouldn't leave without thanking your host, would you?" came a voice to one side of the steps, so deep it seemed to resonate in his bones. There was a subliminal growl to the words.
He turned around; insensitive though he was, even Erik could sense something was utterly wrong.
No sign of his host. Some self-preserving instinct kept him from walking forward. "Th...Thank you for your hospitality; you saved my life. I am eternally grateful..."
His voice trailed off as he lost his nerve completely. There was a brief pause, as momentous and tense as the minute before a judge passes sentence.
"Yes. I can see that in how you have repaid me."
His bag fell from nerveless fingers, clinking as it hit the ground. Erik's breath was coming faster, so quick he was almost hyperventilating.
"You even took the rose." There was a shadow that wasn't his own lying out on the steps, bigger than any human, and grossly malformed. His heart was nearly humming. He couldn't raise his eyes from the sight; he thought he caught a glimpse of darkest brown-black fur for a brief second before it blended back into shadow.
"You have a child in your care?" came the voice, deep as the night.
He shook his head in a frantic yes, unable to find his voice, nearly hysterical.
The shadow drew marginally back. "You will send it to me. I would say it will be safe here, but you obviously don't care. Good." There was a pitiless, bitter humor in his words.
Slave-Master Erik Ellyaugh fled, that awful voice ringing in his ears; when he arrived home he wouldn't even remember mounting the horse that brought him there. There was a deep red rose, so dark that it faded into velvet-black at the center, wrapped into the tack.
oOo
He awoke the next morning in his own bed, and wept, ecstatic, for escaping the beast. Then he went, half-dressed, to his slave-pens, feverish, mumbling to himself.
"You." He kicked at the boy to wake him.
Purple eyes looked up at him, one ringed with bruised flesh, both sunken and unhealthy. A sickly, half-manic smiled played on his lips.
"Feed him." He ordered a guard, who obeyed quickly. It was the child's first meal in... quite a while. He wasn't sure exactly how long. The first water he'd had to drink in three days. Erik glanced at the adjoining cell. Good, he hadn't lost the Winner child. He would live through all his encounters from yesterday: the Beast, the Winner guards and his anonymous employer, none would kill him.
He laughed, though it quickly died in his throat. He couldn't contain his mumbling joy any longer, his eyes flicking neurotically at images only he could see in the air.
The guard was ordered to follow him with the boy. He was set on a spelled horse (it would always find its way to the right place) and taken to the woods-though Master Ellyaugh refused to leave his home and most especially to go near the Northeast Forest, where he'd gotten...lost...the day before-and the pick-pocket slave was turned loose.
The water he'd been given had been drugged, and he was unconscious, tied to the horse. There was no chance he'd awaken until it was too late.
oOo
Quatre Raberba Winner glanced listlessly up as another guard approached, this one with one eye obscured by a fall of hair. He didn't recognize the man, but there was no reason to: they were all hard, cruel men wearing a generic guard uniform-brown pants and a loose brown tunic-and Ellyaugh's insignia.
At least he was worth enough that nobody would rape him, at least until he was sold. It was a mild comfort.
He jerked to a more aware state as the door was opened and the man stepped in. Quatre pressed himself into the wall, prepared to defend himself as he'd been taught, as heir to the Winner holdings, if need be.
He knew he was at a disadvantage: he was shorter and slighter than the man who had entered, had already suffered a beating since his capture, and he was weak from lack of food, sleep and water. And the man could always call for backup... He was trapped, a caged rat.
The man bowed and Quatre blinked, caught off-guard.
"I've been sent by Lord Winner," he murmured as he bent to unshackle the boy. He finished quickly and let him stretch carefully, working out some of the pain and stiffness his bruises and cuts had caused, while the guard-his father's hire, really, he supposed-opened the window.
"Your name?" whispered Quatre, keeping a careful eye on his surroundings.
"...Trowa Barton," came the response after a barely noticeable pause. Silence fell, briefly.
A sudden noise made them both stifle a jump, and then they were away, over the roof of the warehouse Ellyaugh ran his slave trade in.
The notice of their disappearance made them turn their horses to the Northeast Forest. They would turn at some point, and come out in Arae, the closest city-state. From there they could return to the Winner house.
oOo
That was the plan, at least. The horses never stopped though, and they both found themselves asleep, until the echoing sound of hooves on a paved walk made them awake. The two glanced, wide-eyed, at each other; this wasn't where they should be, even though both animals had been spelled. It should have been impossible to end up lost.
The castle they found looming out of the night wasn't found in any part of Terrae, though it was in an ancient Terrae style. It was nothing that would be found in Arae, and even less something that would be found in Maae (3)-not that they could have gotten that far. It was surrounded by gardens, barely illuminated by thin moonlight.
The sudden sleep that had fallen on them only put them more on edge, that and the sudden way they had woken; neither was the type to fall asleep so easily. Both could nearly scent the magic in the air.
The hollow ring of the steps of another approaching horse made both stiffen, on guard; Quatre reached for where his knife had been hidden (though it had been taken by Ellyaugh) while Trowa reached for his.
A vague shape formed in the mist, then resolved into a figure tied to his horse's back; Quatre recognized him by the long brown braid, hanging down and spattered with mud, and the oddly colored violet eyes.
"He's the boy who had the cell next to mine," said Quatre to Trowa, and he dismounted and walked to the boy, trying to figure out how to untie him without dropping him. Trowa followed a minute later, and supported the former slave as the shorter boy untied him. While they worked the boys' eyes flicked between the two, sizing them up.
They finished fairly quickly-though it was no doubt an eternity to the bound boy-and supported him between them as he grew used to his legs again. After a few minutes he reached up and untied the gag they'd placed on him, spitting out the wad of cloth.
"Thanks," he muttered, voice hoarse, as Trowa offered him water. "Do you know where we are?"
"No," said Quatre, puzzled. "We're no place I've ever been... Maybe it was abandoned a long time ago to the forest."
"The gardens are still cared for," pointed out the newcomer. The three of them stood for a long, cold moment, unsure of what to do. One of the horses shifted slightly, the small noise seeming to shake them from a stupor of inaction.
"We should see if anyone's in the castle," said Quatre at last.
"Yeah," added in the new-comer with a nervous grin. "I mean, it can't be worse than freezing to death out here." Trowa snorted slightly in combined amusement and agreement, and they started off towards the building that dominated the grounds.
The walkways meandered, deceptively heading in one direction before veering sharply in another, with gardens preventing anyone from not following the path. Though the three were relatively close to the castle they never reached the front entrance, being shunted off into a labyrinth of precisely clipped hedge, tall enough that none of them could see over the sides. The small noises they made as they walked were silenced by the damp lawn they found themselves walking on, and a chill mist rose from the wet soil, clinging to the boxwoods that surrounded them and whisping around their ankles, shredded by their steps. Everyone's nerves were stretched to snapping, bodies tensed and senses extended as far as they could be.
Eventually they came to the end of the maze, where a figure waited for them. With dark hair pulled severely back and a stern gaze he was both imposing and reassuringly human, looking as if he was from Arae; it was nearly...comforting to be able to match a familiar place to his features.
He nodded sharply, unfazed, at the small group and turned, leading the way, the three of them following him, the pick-pocket chattering quietly about this and that, all inconsequential and meant largely for himself, as they went.
They quickly came to the castle, though not the front door, instead into what seemed to be a side wing, impressive though it was. That such care was taken on a side entrance spoke of vast wealth. Their guide was unnervingly silent and even the still-unnamed former slave grew quiet as they entered the imposing edifice. Their footsteps were both hushed and unnervingly loud; the absolute noiselessness of the hallways they passed through was as unsettling as the silence they had found in the gardens. Even their footsteps were hushed by the thick carpet, plush against the thief's bare feet. His eyes flickered from side to side, taking in the elaborate candelabras that lit it, the fully and carefully drawn drapes, the way the guttering candlelight cast shadows that looked as if they were people, running from one pool of darkness to the next.
Quatre couldn't help but notice how there were no portraits of the lords of the manor placed on the walls, no paintings of the ruling line. Though there were hunting scenes (but never with people... his subconscious whispered) and landscapes with strange hints of...creatures lurking somewhere just out of view, there were never any humans. There were tapestries of unicorns fleeing hunting dogs, but never any hunters, any maidens to lure the creatures out; there were small statues of satyrs, fair folk, chimeras, but never any of people, and no mirrors.
oOo
Trowa observed the other three people silently, watching the slave's unease and Lord Quatre's preoccupation. He watched the stiff walk of their guide and his rigid posture, wondering where they were going, but he followed the wordless, strict commandments laid down by the nearly sacred silence and kept his peace. There was little he could do about it, either way; this was the only shelter for many miles, and more snow was coming-he wouldn't be surprised if it was falling by now. He was unprepared to travel in these conditions, his already weakened charge even less so. No, there would be no other port in this storm.
Wufei was surprised, and hiding it; there should only be one person, not three. Maybe the curse was starting to fail... It had been five centuries, now, approximately. Too long. Even the most powerful magic would begin to run down, and this one had outlived its lifetime many times over, though it was the most powerful curse he had ever heard of, and curses are the hardest magic to work.
Every so often he wondered what the woman who had cursed him along with Heero had been. What sort of creature, human or other? Spirit, sorceress, sprite? She had spoken of her own curse; who had been its cause? What had caused her depthless hate?
He knew he'd never know, and he had stopped caring that he wouldn't long ago, but somehow he had trouble relinquishing the question itself.
The hallway came to an end in a small chamber, with three doors leading out of it, each marked with a name and an engraved rose: Trowa Barton, Duo Maxwell and Quatre Winner. He gave a small start of surprise at the familiar surname of the last. It was ironic; the Winners had finally arrived. If he were a less fair man he could have blamed this whole...mess on their family. It had been impatience at their lateness that had made Yuy present himself at the door.
He spoke for the first time. "These are your rooms. You are all free to explore the castle at will, assuming you do not enter any place that is locked. Breakfast will be served when you awaken, mid-meal at one in the afternoon and dinner at eight. Dinner will be served in the lesser dining hall, other meals in your rooms; the doors will show you the way. If you desire anything, look for me-my name is Chang Wufei- or request it of your rooms. Do not pry." He finished his short speech, looked the three critically over once more, than left.
"You're Duo, then?" asked Quatre kindly, looking at the boy. He was splattered with mud, too thin, exhausted and heavily bruised, and the Maaean got the feeling that this was not his normal temperament.
The boy swayed slightly as he stood, unresponsive, exhausted by a combination of stress, malnutrition and the drugs still in his system. He finally nodded as Quatre gazed at him concernedly, Trowa impassively, then turned, fumbled with his door-knob and stumbled into his room.
"Good night," said Quatre to Trowa before entering his own room, exhausted as well. Trowa nodded in reply, and entered his own.
Trowa alone would lay awake for a long while, questioning how they had known their names far enough in advance to have them engraved.
oOo
Wufei had one last duty before he went to his own rooms, even though the moon was already setting; dawn was only a few hours away.
He tapped quietly on the door and waited a respectful distance away until the door swung open and the Lord of the castle came out. Silently the two started walking, heading towards the gardens on a walk that had a familiarity born of repetition.
"What are your thoughts?" came the curt question after a few silent moments, the deep voice quiet enough that it was felt as much as heard.
"There are three this time. The spell must be unraveling."
"Only the one with the braid has to follow the spell's specifications. The other two were allowed in on accident, I believe."
"Maybe... There won't be too many more years before this is over." Over the decades Wufei had found he couldn't keep from hoping.
There was a deep growl from the shadows to his left.
"The woman must be long gone by now, especially if the curse is disintegrating."
This time there was no response, though a narrow strip of moonlight shone off of thick fur and glinted on blue eyes for a brief moment. Wufei was long used to his companion's appearance, but that fact didn't sway his friend’s (though it was in an odd sense that he used the term 'friend'; he supposed it was better than any other) self-consciousness. He suspected that the servants' reactions-disgust, fear, horror, shock-had had more of an effect than he had ever admitted, even to himself.
Wufei had found himself hoping that Heero would find someone to love him not only because then he himself would be released, but because he truly deserved something better than this constant guilt and disgust, all directed at himself. It was more than any person should ever have to have.
Maybe this time would be the time that released them all from their curse.
(1) Terrae: A city-state of the as-yet-unnamed world I'm writing. Mentally, it's probably best if you equate it with a vaguely English country... Only much smaller. Trowa, Heero and Duo are all Terraen.
(2) Arae: Another city-state, though this one is more a conglomeration of Asian countries... Wufei's a lord of this one.
(3) Maae: Catching on yet? Same as the previous two, with the Middle East. Quatre's family's from there.
Author: Dreaming of Everything, dreams_of_all
Series: Gundam Wing
Characters/Pairings: Duo, Heero, Wufei, Quatre, Trowa, Duo/Heero
Rating/Warnings: T for various things, not really pushing the rating. Slash.
Summary: A retelling of Beauty and the Beast. When someone stumbles into an enchantment hidden deep within a forest, he trades his life for the lives of one of his slaves... 1x2 shounen-ai.
Author's Notes: My eternal thanks to Lady_Friselle for being fantastic beyond words. (She betaed, for the record.)
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
FFnet link
The tapping at the door fractured the carefully maintained silence. There was a quick scurry of servants hurrying to prepare for whoever might be out there: the butler appeared, and a maidservant to take coats; a strong footman in case it was an undesired guest, two page-boys to open the doors. They all worked around each other with uncanny precision, a perfectly orchestrated dance designed for absolute efficiency.
After all, appearances must be maintained.
The only hint of unprofessionalism was when the lord of the manor appeared; while there was no obvious outward reaction there was a sudden atmospheric rush of nearly frantic apprehension bordering on fear. One page swallowed spasmodically, then instantly stilled, hopeful that little slip would go unnoticed. A cold glare from his Master's piercingly inhuman eyes, a glittering, depthless blue, told him his actions had not gone unnoticed. He knew he would be punished later.
At Lord Yuy's nearly imperceptible nod the wide double doors were strenuously drawn open, well-oiled hinges making no noise. A small form huddled on the steps, looking even more lost and inconsequential in comparison to the grandeur that surrounded her. The footman could feel the lord stiffen in anger beside him.
The hunched figure drew haltingly nearer. The maid noticed uneasily that she looked both old and young, not pinned down to one age. Her eyes were a clear, watery blue, and she looked sightless, peering through everything around her as if it wasn't there, as if there was some truth only she could see.
"You have not been sent by the Winner family?" asked the butler; there was ice in his voice, his words more statement than question. The sentence was followed by a wail from the wind; a gust of it wove through the frozen tableau of statues in the front hall.
"I'm just looking for a night's rest..." began the woman, and the maid felt the hairs at the nape of her neck prickle at the words; the voice was as inhuman as her Lord's eyes, simultaneously malevolent and benevolent at once. There was the hiss and crack of ice giving way underlying the woman's speech; she noticed that no snow had settled on her. Silently she turned and fled, one page-boy following a brief beat later; she would rather face her Lord's anger-no matter what he had done to poor Anya a fortnight ago-than that mysterious woman who had no age and all ages.
The butler gestured at the footman to find he had left with the second page through the still-open doors, even though it was snowing hard and bitterly cold. There was more ice in the woman's voice than in the surrounding forests.
There was no response to the question; the silence was left purposefully a minute to long.
"...a bite of food, then?" asked the woman, and while it should have been a hopeful tone of voice there was no hope in it. Lord Yuy seemed to notice nothing wrong.
"You are taking up my time. Remove yourself from my premises. I have no need for trash..." he sneered the word, though there was no emotion in his voice, only cold, uncaring calculation. "...and I need to attend to my guest, Lord Chang. Have her removed."
There was an imperceptible shift in the atmosphere of the room. The Lord of the castle stiffened, turned; the woman, still an age that couldn't be pinned down, turned to face him. Her eyes were glazed with frozen rage.
"You would... Turn me away?" she said softly, almost gently. "Even with my child with me?" There was a flurry of snow flakes, and when it cleared she was holding a frail bundle that stirred listlessly, weakly.
"You are wasting my time," said Lord Yuy again. Was there a note of panic in his voice now, or was it just the rising wind?
"I see..." sighed the woman, and she smiled for the first time. "There's nothing for it but to share my curse, now. The rules are very specific." Her eyes had taken on the glisten of a river half-frozen over, after it had swallowed yet another sacrificial victim. "I do not think I would spare you even if I could. For you are something special. Your heart is as frozen as my own... I will take it from you."
For the first time since he had been a small child, still unsteady on his feet, Lord Yuy tried to run, only to find his body frozen. He felt his fear and knew he was panicking.
"First, I give you immortality, and eternal youth. To that I add... Yes. An appearance that fits you. Monster. So much like me..." There was hunger in her eyes now. The butler had run long ago.
"I give you eternity, and a body stronger, heavier, more endurable and faster than any man could hope to be. I also give you the aloneness you long for; there will be no one to interrupt you now, no one to hinder you with anything less than perfection. I'll leave you the company of your Lord Chang, since it is... So much more important than any wanderer.
"I've given you so much... Hardly a curse, just as mine is. Will you think that three hundred years from now, when no one will look at you because of your hideous body, assuming there was anyone who could? And so... I give you a chance to break it. Find someone who will love you unconditionally, no matter how you look, and it will disappear. Maybe that's even worse than the curse, hm? I know how you think, Monster. Infant. Beast-child."
Her last words to him were whispered, a lover's caress in her tone. "When you've hardened your heart to keep it from hurting so long that it's festered and died, then I will come for you."
After that... there was oblivion. Pain.
oOo
Heero always awoke silently, even from his nightmares.
It had been a hundred years since he'd last had that dream. Five times that many years since he'd first been cursed.
He'd had the dream... often, earlier. The first time came when the last of the servants died; they were trapped within the curse, unable to leave the castle grounds, but still aging. He'd had to bury the last one himself.
Now he was alone, except for Chang Wufei, and the people the curse had occasionally delivered to him-though none of them had ever stayed for more than three fourths of a year. The shortest time had been two months. A long, long ways from forever.
It didn't matter to him; he was self-contained. Emotionless. The perfect analytical Lord.
Monster.
oOo
Master Erik Ellyaugh had never been a good man, and for the first time he was regretting it. He could almost see his littlest sister, Toriana, looking at him sadly as he crashed through the undergrowth of the malicious forest; it seemed as if it was pulling him backwards, into the waiting arms of his pursuers.
She'd been dead for years, lost in the plague.
And he had survived, to pick the wrong child to try to kidnap.
In the disorganized chaos that became the aftermath of the plague-nearly everyone who had possessed power dead; nearly everyone was dead, for that matter-it had been easy to go into slavery. There were enough unscrupulous people with money to support him, and it was so very easy with all the rootless people wandering around, lost and helpless.
Erik had never been a bad master. He had made sure they were fed, and he never sold to the worst people, but he had to make a living, and the strong survive.
Hell, he had never even really dealt in children, only that one pick-pocket, the one who looked like a girl. The kid had been asking for it, stealing from him.
Until today, when he'd tried to kidnap Quatre Raberba Winner.
He hadn't known! All he had known was that his employer wanted someone with blond hair and blue eyes; hard to find in brown-haired Terre (1), his native city-state, which was surrounded by wilderness on one side and Arae (2) on the other. He'd never have taken the job, except that he'd been told what would happen to his career if he didn't; he believed him, because he knew what had happened to other people who'd managed to...disappoint people like him.
Winner! He'd tried to abduct a Winner! That was suicide; why not just cover himself with raw meat and throw himself to his guard dogs? It would certainly be less painful.
God, the kid had to be the heir. Only male, with all those sisters before him... shit.
The dogs behind him were getting louder.
He tore his way through a dense thicket and the sudden lack of resistance made him trip, nearly fall. The weather had changed... It was spring, a sullen one, true, but still... This clearing looked to be in late fall; the sky over-head was a curdled, troubled gray, the air much colder, the plants all dormant, with a few tattered leaves still clinging to the branches of the trees.
Now he was in a formal garden, with a castle looming out of the surroundings up ahead. It seemed deserted.
As he sat regaining his breath and his nerves the first few flakes of snow began to fall from the steely sky.
He couldn't hear the dogs anymore, he realized.
Erik walked slowly through the gardens he found himself in, dilapidated and winter-worn. Nobody lived in these woods. He suppressed a shiver, and told himself it was the cold.
Almost as if he was dreaming he found himself in front of a set of huge doors, looming above him; he knocked, not knowing what else to do, and they swung open, smoothly and silently, as if invisible servants were orchestrating it. The hallways were deathly quiet, but it felt as if there were conversations buzzing all around him, silently.
A doorway swung open to his right and he obeyed the silent command to enter, still half-dazed and exhausted. He stumbled over a drawn-out chair-had it moved to meet him?-and found himself sitting at a table, set but otherwise bare. Between blink and another he found food on his plate and a steaming cup of tea served to him. Erik purposefully ignored half-remembered stories his mother had told him about people who were trapped by fairies, caught forever, by eating even a mouthful of their food.
He fell into sleep halfway through the meal.
Erik Ellyaugh awoke late and disoriented the next morning, unsure of where he was. As he lay, attempting to work out his surroundings, it all came rushing out. Unnerved, he wondered whether his food had been poisoned or magicked, or if he had just fallen asleep because of a combination of sustenance, warmth and total exhaustion. There was no answer in the room he found himself in.
The room was spacious and opulent; tasteful in its over-decoration, it was meant to impress. While obviously old-it was decorated in a style he had only seen once, in a painting that was two hundred years old, and of a scene even older-it was as well-kept as if it had been made yesterday; none of the hangings, carpets or upholstery were faded, there was no thick coat of dust on the furniture, the wood hadn't darkened with use, the silver hinges on the cabinet showed no patina of age.
He had been left a breakfast tray, still steaming, though he hadn't seen anyone leave or enter the room. He wasn't quite sure it hadn't been there a moment ago...
Erik rose, shrugged on a dressing gown that had been left out and ate, noting he had been switched out of his torn and muddied clothes into luxurious night clothes while he slept. He finished his morning meal quickly, not as hungry as he'd thought he'd been, before going in search of clothes.
He couldn't find his old ones so he dressed himself from the wardrobe that was conveniently nudged open; while all the clothes were of an antiquated design they were well-made of the nicest fabrics he had ever seen: high-quality brocade, silk, velvet and satin. He had trouble figuring out how the many pieces fit together; they were designed for appearance, not practicality, that much was clear. Everything fit him perfectly, as if it had been made for him.
Fully prepared for the day he surveyed his room. Truly lavishly designed, gold and assorted jewels glittered against rich wood, sumptuous cloth and sparkling glass in a low-key manner obviously meant to catch someone's attention.
It was almost as if they were asking... He thought, as he carefully placed a candlestick in his travel bag, which had been conveniently left for him by his bed.
A few minutes and a few expensive (but small) items later he was done, and prepared to leave. The house was... It couldn't be deserted, because of the cooked meals, but it was obviously the retreat of someone who sought privacy. It would be best if he just...left...
He paused on a whim to take the rose that had been left with his breakfast tray, tucking it into a buttonhole as he left the room.
There wasn't a sign of any person at all until he crossed through the doors of the gloomy front hall into the bright sunshine.
"You wouldn't leave without thanking your host, would you?" came a voice to one side of the steps, so deep it seemed to resonate in his bones. There was a subliminal growl to the words.
He turned around; insensitive though he was, even Erik could sense something was utterly wrong.
No sign of his host. Some self-preserving instinct kept him from walking forward. "Th...Thank you for your hospitality; you saved my life. I am eternally grateful..."
His voice trailed off as he lost his nerve completely. There was a brief pause, as momentous and tense as the minute before a judge passes sentence.
"Yes. I can see that in how you have repaid me."
His bag fell from nerveless fingers, clinking as it hit the ground. Erik's breath was coming faster, so quick he was almost hyperventilating.
"You even took the rose." There was a shadow that wasn't his own lying out on the steps, bigger than any human, and grossly malformed. His heart was nearly humming. He couldn't raise his eyes from the sight; he thought he caught a glimpse of darkest brown-black fur for a brief second before it blended back into shadow.
"You have a child in your care?" came the voice, deep as the night.
He shook his head in a frantic yes, unable to find his voice, nearly hysterical.
The shadow drew marginally back. "You will send it to me. I would say it will be safe here, but you obviously don't care. Good." There was a pitiless, bitter humor in his words.
Slave-Master Erik Ellyaugh fled, that awful voice ringing in his ears; when he arrived home he wouldn't even remember mounting the horse that brought him there. There was a deep red rose, so dark that it faded into velvet-black at the center, wrapped into the tack.
oOo
He awoke the next morning in his own bed, and wept, ecstatic, for escaping the beast. Then he went, half-dressed, to his slave-pens, feverish, mumbling to himself.
"You." He kicked at the boy to wake him.
Purple eyes looked up at him, one ringed with bruised flesh, both sunken and unhealthy. A sickly, half-manic smiled played on his lips.
"Feed him." He ordered a guard, who obeyed quickly. It was the child's first meal in... quite a while. He wasn't sure exactly how long. The first water he'd had to drink in three days. Erik glanced at the adjoining cell. Good, he hadn't lost the Winner child. He would live through all his encounters from yesterday: the Beast, the Winner guards and his anonymous employer, none would kill him.
He laughed, though it quickly died in his throat. He couldn't contain his mumbling joy any longer, his eyes flicking neurotically at images only he could see in the air.
The guard was ordered to follow him with the boy. He was set on a spelled horse (it would always find its way to the right place) and taken to the woods-though Master Ellyaugh refused to leave his home and most especially to go near the Northeast Forest, where he'd gotten...lost...the day before-and the pick-pocket slave was turned loose.
The water he'd been given had been drugged, and he was unconscious, tied to the horse. There was no chance he'd awaken until it was too late.
oOo
Quatre Raberba Winner glanced listlessly up as another guard approached, this one with one eye obscured by a fall of hair. He didn't recognize the man, but there was no reason to: they were all hard, cruel men wearing a generic guard uniform-brown pants and a loose brown tunic-and Ellyaugh's insignia.
At least he was worth enough that nobody would rape him, at least until he was sold. It was a mild comfort.
He jerked to a more aware state as the door was opened and the man stepped in. Quatre pressed himself into the wall, prepared to defend himself as he'd been taught, as heir to the Winner holdings, if need be.
He knew he was at a disadvantage: he was shorter and slighter than the man who had entered, had already suffered a beating since his capture, and he was weak from lack of food, sleep and water. And the man could always call for backup... He was trapped, a caged rat.
The man bowed and Quatre blinked, caught off-guard.
"I've been sent by Lord Winner," he murmured as he bent to unshackle the boy. He finished quickly and let him stretch carefully, working out some of the pain and stiffness his bruises and cuts had caused, while the guard-his father's hire, really, he supposed-opened the window.
"Your name?" whispered Quatre, keeping a careful eye on his surroundings.
"...Trowa Barton," came the response after a barely noticeable pause. Silence fell, briefly.
A sudden noise made them both stifle a jump, and then they were away, over the roof of the warehouse Ellyaugh ran his slave trade in.
The notice of their disappearance made them turn their horses to the Northeast Forest. They would turn at some point, and come out in Arae, the closest city-state. From there they could return to the Winner house.
oOo
That was the plan, at least. The horses never stopped though, and they both found themselves asleep, until the echoing sound of hooves on a paved walk made them awake. The two glanced, wide-eyed, at each other; this wasn't where they should be, even though both animals had been spelled. It should have been impossible to end up lost.
The castle they found looming out of the night wasn't found in any part of Terrae, though it was in an ancient Terrae style. It was nothing that would be found in Arae, and even less something that would be found in Maae (3)-not that they could have gotten that far. It was surrounded by gardens, barely illuminated by thin moonlight.
The sudden sleep that had fallen on them only put them more on edge, that and the sudden way they had woken; neither was the type to fall asleep so easily. Both could nearly scent the magic in the air.
The hollow ring of the steps of another approaching horse made both stiffen, on guard; Quatre reached for where his knife had been hidden (though it had been taken by Ellyaugh) while Trowa reached for his.
A vague shape formed in the mist, then resolved into a figure tied to his horse's back; Quatre recognized him by the long brown braid, hanging down and spattered with mud, and the oddly colored violet eyes.
"He's the boy who had the cell next to mine," said Quatre to Trowa, and he dismounted and walked to the boy, trying to figure out how to untie him without dropping him. Trowa followed a minute later, and supported the former slave as the shorter boy untied him. While they worked the boys' eyes flicked between the two, sizing them up.
They finished fairly quickly-though it was no doubt an eternity to the bound boy-and supported him between them as he grew used to his legs again. After a few minutes he reached up and untied the gag they'd placed on him, spitting out the wad of cloth.
"Thanks," he muttered, voice hoarse, as Trowa offered him water. "Do you know where we are?"
"No," said Quatre, puzzled. "We're no place I've ever been... Maybe it was abandoned a long time ago to the forest."
"The gardens are still cared for," pointed out the newcomer. The three of them stood for a long, cold moment, unsure of what to do. One of the horses shifted slightly, the small noise seeming to shake them from a stupor of inaction.
"We should see if anyone's in the castle," said Quatre at last.
"Yeah," added in the new-comer with a nervous grin. "I mean, it can't be worse than freezing to death out here." Trowa snorted slightly in combined amusement and agreement, and they started off towards the building that dominated the grounds.
The walkways meandered, deceptively heading in one direction before veering sharply in another, with gardens preventing anyone from not following the path. Though the three were relatively close to the castle they never reached the front entrance, being shunted off into a labyrinth of precisely clipped hedge, tall enough that none of them could see over the sides. The small noises they made as they walked were silenced by the damp lawn they found themselves walking on, and a chill mist rose from the wet soil, clinging to the boxwoods that surrounded them and whisping around their ankles, shredded by their steps. Everyone's nerves were stretched to snapping, bodies tensed and senses extended as far as they could be.
Eventually they came to the end of the maze, where a figure waited for them. With dark hair pulled severely back and a stern gaze he was both imposing and reassuringly human, looking as if he was from Arae; it was nearly...comforting to be able to match a familiar place to his features.
He nodded sharply, unfazed, at the small group and turned, leading the way, the three of them following him, the pick-pocket chattering quietly about this and that, all inconsequential and meant largely for himself, as they went.
They quickly came to the castle, though not the front door, instead into what seemed to be a side wing, impressive though it was. That such care was taken on a side entrance spoke of vast wealth. Their guide was unnervingly silent and even the still-unnamed former slave grew quiet as they entered the imposing edifice. Their footsteps were both hushed and unnervingly loud; the absolute noiselessness of the hallways they passed through was as unsettling as the silence they had found in the gardens. Even their footsteps were hushed by the thick carpet, plush against the thief's bare feet. His eyes flickered from side to side, taking in the elaborate candelabras that lit it, the fully and carefully drawn drapes, the way the guttering candlelight cast shadows that looked as if they were people, running from one pool of darkness to the next.
Quatre couldn't help but notice how there were no portraits of the lords of the manor placed on the walls, no paintings of the ruling line. Though there were hunting scenes (but never with people... his subconscious whispered) and landscapes with strange hints of...creatures lurking somewhere just out of view, there were never any humans. There were tapestries of unicorns fleeing hunting dogs, but never any hunters, any maidens to lure the creatures out; there were small statues of satyrs, fair folk, chimeras, but never any of people, and no mirrors.
oOo
Trowa observed the other three people silently, watching the slave's unease and Lord Quatre's preoccupation. He watched the stiff walk of their guide and his rigid posture, wondering where they were going, but he followed the wordless, strict commandments laid down by the nearly sacred silence and kept his peace. There was little he could do about it, either way; this was the only shelter for many miles, and more snow was coming-he wouldn't be surprised if it was falling by now. He was unprepared to travel in these conditions, his already weakened charge even less so. No, there would be no other port in this storm.
Wufei was surprised, and hiding it; there should only be one person, not three. Maybe the curse was starting to fail... It had been five centuries, now, approximately. Too long. Even the most powerful magic would begin to run down, and this one had outlived its lifetime many times over, though it was the most powerful curse he had ever heard of, and curses are the hardest magic to work.
Every so often he wondered what the woman who had cursed him along with Heero had been. What sort of creature, human or other? Spirit, sorceress, sprite? She had spoken of her own curse; who had been its cause? What had caused her depthless hate?
He knew he'd never know, and he had stopped caring that he wouldn't long ago, but somehow he had trouble relinquishing the question itself.
The hallway came to an end in a small chamber, with three doors leading out of it, each marked with a name and an engraved rose: Trowa Barton, Duo Maxwell and Quatre Winner. He gave a small start of surprise at the familiar surname of the last. It was ironic; the Winners had finally arrived. If he were a less fair man he could have blamed this whole...mess on their family. It had been impatience at their lateness that had made Yuy present himself at the door.
He spoke for the first time. "These are your rooms. You are all free to explore the castle at will, assuming you do not enter any place that is locked. Breakfast will be served when you awaken, mid-meal at one in the afternoon and dinner at eight. Dinner will be served in the lesser dining hall, other meals in your rooms; the doors will show you the way. If you desire anything, look for me-my name is Chang Wufei- or request it of your rooms. Do not pry." He finished his short speech, looked the three critically over once more, than left.
"You're Duo, then?" asked Quatre kindly, looking at the boy. He was splattered with mud, too thin, exhausted and heavily bruised, and the Maaean got the feeling that this was not his normal temperament.
The boy swayed slightly as he stood, unresponsive, exhausted by a combination of stress, malnutrition and the drugs still in his system. He finally nodded as Quatre gazed at him concernedly, Trowa impassively, then turned, fumbled with his door-knob and stumbled into his room.
"Good night," said Quatre to Trowa before entering his own room, exhausted as well. Trowa nodded in reply, and entered his own.
Trowa alone would lay awake for a long while, questioning how they had known their names far enough in advance to have them engraved.
oOo
Wufei had one last duty before he went to his own rooms, even though the moon was already setting; dawn was only a few hours away.
He tapped quietly on the door and waited a respectful distance away until the door swung open and the Lord of the castle came out. Silently the two started walking, heading towards the gardens on a walk that had a familiarity born of repetition.
"What are your thoughts?" came the curt question after a few silent moments, the deep voice quiet enough that it was felt as much as heard.
"There are three this time. The spell must be unraveling."
"Only the one with the braid has to follow the spell's specifications. The other two were allowed in on accident, I believe."
"Maybe... There won't be too many more years before this is over." Over the decades Wufei had found he couldn't keep from hoping.
There was a deep growl from the shadows to his left.
"The woman must be long gone by now, especially if the curse is disintegrating."
This time there was no response, though a narrow strip of moonlight shone off of thick fur and glinted on blue eyes for a brief moment. Wufei was long used to his companion's appearance, but that fact didn't sway his friend’s (though it was in an odd sense that he used the term 'friend'; he supposed it was better than any other) self-consciousness. He suspected that the servants' reactions-disgust, fear, horror, shock-had had more of an effect than he had ever admitted, even to himself.
Wufei had found himself hoping that Heero would find someone to love him not only because then he himself would be released, but because he truly deserved something better than this constant guilt and disgust, all directed at himself. It was more than any person should ever have to have.
Maybe this time would be the time that released them all from their curse.
(1) Terrae: A city-state of the as-yet-unnamed world I'm writing. Mentally, it's probably best if you equate it with a vaguely English country... Only much smaller. Trowa, Heero and Duo are all Terraen.
(2) Arae: Another city-state, though this one is more a conglomeration of Asian countries... Wufei's a lord of this one.
(3) Maae: Catching on yet? Same as the previous two, with the Middle East. Quatre's family's from there.