Fic things
Apr. 30th, 2006 02:37 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
I'm not sure I'm entirely happy with this, but then I don't think I've ever been entirely happy with anything I've written *shrug* the curse of the perpetual editor.
Anyway, this is sort of for
darthhellokitty who has probably forgotten she even asked for this, it was so long ago ;-)
This is part of the epic, but it's a flashback fic and doesn't really tie to any particular part of the story, so it can be read as a standalone... although obviously if you've read at least as far as The First Regret you'll have much more of a clue and not be going WTF all the time ;-)
Disclaimer: Not my characters sadly, but I do have fun playing with them. No profit made, no harm meant.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Implied child abuse (physical)
Pairing: None
Notes: Part of Building a Mystery - FB fic. For Layna who's probably forgotten she asked for this, it was that long ago ;-)
Summary: What a piece of work is man - well, that's a matter of perspective.
The Paragon of Animals
Copyright Margaret Turner
30th November 2004
The boy woke reluctantly. He hurt again: sharp, stinging pains in his hands; dull, aching pains in his back that became shooting, stabbing pains if he moved unwarily. It wasn't the pain that had woken him though, it was far too common for that; cautiously the boy looked around, trying to find the source of his unease.
The air was oddly hushed as it had been only a season ago when a fierce storm had ripped trees from the ground and killed so many. It made his skin itch and left him wishing he were small enough, like his friends, to slip between the bars of his cage and leave this place. It wasn't the first time he had wished it, merely a new reason for it.
The boy watched the villagers go by, unconcerned by anything more than the prospect of heavy rain; he wondered at their ignorance, but cared little. Only the Priest seemed to share his restlessness and it made his back ache in remembrance to see the man. Sharp stone slivers beneath his skin, set into the sensitive webbing of fingers and toes, a lattice of scars across his back. It was all he had ever known, but even he knew it wasn't right.
He'd shared his cage with others in the past, but he was the only one now to remain. His last companion had been a girl, younger than himself; she had fed his friends for a week before they had finally removed her body. He didn't know the why of it all; he'd never known - maybe it was simply his fair skin and hair against the darker tones of the villagers. He knew only that the Priest had found him and claimed him as a blessed child of the Gods, but the boy had seen nothing of it.
Every full moon he would be brought to the great stone that smelled of old blood and death; always the Priest would watch with narrowed eyes, waiting for something, some sign that never came and his frustration would mean bruises that lasted for days. He had seen the Priest cut himself and heal with miraculous speed, but no matter how many times he was cut, it led only to pain. He had never yet fallen to the fever and weakness his sometime companions had however and he was still here when they were all long gone, so maybe it was true. Maybe he was as favoured by the Gods as the Priest was, but he could not understand why anyone would want such a blessing if this were the life it meant.
He could remember no other life, no family, the cage and the inevitability of pain were the boundaries of his world, but instinct told him there was more - another kind of life - and he reached blindly for the means to gain it. He had no language, save what he had learned by listening; mostly curses, insults and the rote of their rituals, but without understanding the words were meaningless. Over the seasons he had learned not to try to talk to the villagers, but the rats and the dogs didn't care where the petting or the food came from and rewarded his efforts with the only affection he had ever received.
By the time night finally fell and the moon had risen just past full, the air had grown closer still until the boy was almost shaking with the tension. His friends had hidden away, leaving him alone as night descended, and he wished he too could burrow into the concealing darkness beneath earth and trees. He shrank back against the heavy bars of his cage, almost able to ignore the ache of barely healed wounds on his back. Shivering silently the boy lost himself to the growing fear, staring sightlessly out into the darkness of the forest and its promise of impossible freedom.
He wasn't sure how long the gleam of eyes had been there beyond the torchlight before he finally noticed it, glittering gold like the great beasts he had admired from afar. Fascination overcame fear and he edged forward, wanting to see and know this new creature in his world. He had seen the great cats prowl at a distance, seen the terrible wounds foolish warriors had received for daring to hunt them and he had mourned when a young one had been brought in for its skin, teeth and claws adorning the Priest's dark robes with stolen beauty. The chance to know such a beautiful creature was the only hope he dared have.
There was a low rumble of thunder in the distance and the long-expected rain began, slowly at first but quickly becoming heavy and drenching, making the torches sputter. Mesmerised by the vague shape just beyond the edge of the torchlight, the boy didn't so much as blink when it finally came forward, silent and graceful. Unlike the beasts he had glimpsed in the past though, this one was not wary of man and as it entered the flickering light it became obvious why. For a moment he held the golden eyes of a man, in form if not in truth, and saw something he had never before seen directed at him. He had no name for it, sorrow was part of it, but also... as if it knew him, knew the boy who didn't speak, whose only friends were the animals like whom he was treated.
A cry rose from the village, shattering the odd connection; the Priest was shouting, waving the young warriors that flooded from the central hut towards the edge of the village and the boy's cage. He wanted to speak, to warn this creature away from the fates he had seen and been dealt, but he had no words as the warriors neared.
Unperturbed the golden eyes slid towards the approaching warriors and the Priest shouted again. His challenging hail went unanswered, but the figure rose to its full height, taller even than the Priest, towering over the boy in the cage. He was robed head to foot in dark cloth not dissimilar to the Priest's, but unadorned save for the silver blades hanging loosely in each hand. One was as long as an arm, the other not much more than a hand's length; they caught the light and drew the eye in a way that the bows and spears of the villagers never could.
Lightning split the sky, joining earth and heavens for one searing instant and in that moment the creature moved. A whirl of darkness, a streak of silver and the spurt of red as the first warrior fell, unprepared for the savagery of the unexpected attack.
The boy watched, open-mouthed, unable to tear his eyes from the suddenly joined battle, for though outnumbered, the creature was more than holding its own. He watched avidly, willing it on against the villagers who had brought him nothing but pain, silently cheering every one cut down and catching his breath every time a spear or arrow found its elusive mark.
At the edge of his awareness he became aware of a change in the tone of the battle; out of the corner of his eye he could see women urging children from their huts and the desperation of the remaining warriors as the creature still failed to fall. He watched with something like glee as the Priest shoved the last warrior towards the creature and turned to run. The warrior, caught off guard by the shove, was dead in moments and the boy was on his feet, wordlessly shouting his exultation as he watched the short blade rip into the back of the fleeing Priest even as the second blade swung in a wide arc.
A hush descended as the Priest's head landed in a muddy pool and the boy watched in undisguised awe as the creature began to drink down the escaping soul. He fell back in sudden terror as the Priest's power sought some last vengeance for his wilful disobedience, striking at his cage like a snake, shattering bars and charring the ground, until it was dragged back and swallowed whole.
The boy looked up to see the strange creature towering over him as he lay in the ruins of the only home he had ever known. He met the luminescent eyes, unafraid, seeing again that sorrow and trying to convey by eyes alone his gratitude. Then the creature was gone in a flurry of rain and darkness.
The boy didn't wait, but followed as carefully as he was able, not wanting to startle the creature that had freed him. It was sheer determination that kept him going through the night, his body not used to such freedom, and even as he struggled to draw breath he revelled in the ache of muscle and sinew that meant he had run far and fast from that place.
The sun had barely risen when the creature finally stopped by a shallow stream and the boy sagged against a tree, gulping air as if there would never be enough. He watched the creature kneel at the water's edge and saw a hand disappear into the dark robe only to reappear with broken shards of stone from the villagers' spears and arrows. The boy felt his back ache in sympathy; he knew how sharp those shards felt beneath the skin. A wince flickered over the sharp-featured face and it was odd to see human expression there after the strangeness of the night.
There was a soft splash as an arrowhead was dropped into the stream, a cloud of red billowing up around it before being swept away by the current. Then a shudder and a pained sound and the boy watched as the creature fell forward onto its hands, back arching, robes moving strangely then parting like water as a deeper darkness shrugged free or tried to. As the heavy cloth fell away he saw the reason - a spear, broken off just beneath the head, protruded, ugly and foreign, pinning cloth and wing and flesh.
A long arm stretched back, but the reaching fingers fell short of the splintered stump. A low hiss of pain and frustration and he saw the muscles bunch and flex, but before they could rip themselves free the boy wrapped his hand around the haft, getting a good grip on the blood-slippery wood.
A swift turn of the head and he froze as a sharp eye pinned him unblinkingly, more green than gold now that the light was better. Just as his fear began to overwhelm his courage the gaze broke and the creature turned away once more. The boy waited for his heart to slow, then pulled as he had seen the village warriors do. There was resistance and he pulled as hard as he could, biting his lip with the effort, then suddenly he was flying backwards, jarring as he fell and biting his tongue painfully, but the remains of the spear were still clutched tightly in his hand.
Free now the creature twisted and rose, looming over him, and he held as still as he could, barely breathing. Then it dropped into a crouch, eyes level with his. He stopped breathing altogether as a long-fingered hand reached out, stained with blood, and rested over the heart that pummelled so fiercely. The green-gold eyes flickered downwards and it took a moment for his own eyes to follow. The hand was warm against his skin, too warm, it made his skin itch and tingle, but when it receded it took the ache from his back. He blinked, surprised at the sudden absence of old pain, and the creature stood again, retreating back to the stream to rinse away the blood. The boy still didn't move, just watched, admiring the sleek grace of the creature.
Apparently finished its grooming, the creature stilled and turned back. It looked almost human now, fair of skin like himself, but dark haired like the villagers; save for the glossy darkness at its back it could have passed as any one of them. Briefly the boy wondered if the creature really was an animal at all or if it was human, the doubt leaving him uncertain of his place. The dark head cocked to the side, returning his scrutiny and the boy felt pinned beneath that gaze, pierced right through, but painlessly. It stirred a memory so old it could have been a dream, of falling into an icy pool, submerging completely in the clear water and feeling its chill sweep through him, leaving him cold but clean.
He blinked, almost surprised to find himself still on the banks of the stream. The gaze was still sharp when he dared to glance up again, but there was a gentleness to it now as well, an affection that had never before been directed towards him.
A hand reached out cautiously and it seemed strange that a creature that had proved so deadly could now be so wary of a mere child. Not sure whether to offer the greeting he had seen the warriors use, the boy fell back on instinct and the only thing he knew that worked. Reaching into his tunic he drew out the last of his food; after two days the small heel of bread was dry and hard, but neither rats nor dogs had ever seemed to mind.
He watched the fascinating eyes grow wide and wondered for a moment if the creature would flee, knowing, tired as he was, that he would not be able to follow this time. Then the wariness faded, replaced by that unfamiliar gentleness as the man dropped into a crouch, his hand reaching out to gently stroke the boy's dirty blonde hair. He shivered involuntarily in something halfway between pleasure and fear and watched it reflected in his new friend's eyes.
"Silas." The word was softly spoken, the tone one of statement rather than greeting and the boy felt a pang of near-disappointment - it was a man then, though perhaps not wholly so and the thought comforted him. His expression must have reflected his confusion because the man smiled, "It is an old name, from a people long gone. It means strength."
The boy understood and his heart leapt with a kind of incredulous joy - he had a name, he'd seen what that meant to the villagers - it meant family, love, belonging. A laugh, soft and pleased, but there was an undercurrent of sadness to it. "Everyone should have a name. And you are strong aren't you? To have survived for so long - strong in body and heart and mind."
Long fingers brushed shoulder and chest and forehead. Silas, and he felt another thrill of pleasure at the name, shook his head in denial, but the man's smile only broadened into something reassuring.
"There are more types of strength in this world than that which those people used. There is strength in simplicity, Silas. Courage should never be undervalued and sometimes speed of thought only means the mind is quicker to break." The stranger paused, head tilting again curiously. "Strength of heart you have already shown; strength of body - well I think you will have that in time too, with proper feeding." A thoughtful look, "There is a pool nearby with fish in abundance, I think perhaps we should pay it a visit."
He didn't know all the words the man used, but Silas understood what he needed to - he would do his best to live up to his new friend's belief in him and be as strong as his gifted name promised. As his strange saviour turned and began to lead the way from the stream, it never occurred to Silas not to follow.
FIN
26th April 2006
Anyway, this is sort of for
![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
This is part of the epic, but it's a flashback fic and doesn't really tie to any particular part of the story, so it can be read as a standalone... although obviously if you've read at least as far as The First Regret you'll have much more of a clue and not be going WTF all the time ;-)
Disclaimer: Not my characters sadly, but I do have fun playing with them. No profit made, no harm meant.
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Implied child abuse (physical)
Pairing: None
Notes: Part of Building a Mystery - FB fic. For Layna who's probably forgotten she asked for this, it was that long ago ;-)
Summary: What a piece of work is man - well, that's a matter of perspective.
The Paragon of Animals
Copyright Margaret Turner
30th November 2004
The boy woke reluctantly. He hurt again: sharp, stinging pains in his hands; dull, aching pains in his back that became shooting, stabbing pains if he moved unwarily. It wasn't the pain that had woken him though, it was far too common for that; cautiously the boy looked around, trying to find the source of his unease.
The air was oddly hushed as it had been only a season ago when a fierce storm had ripped trees from the ground and killed so many. It made his skin itch and left him wishing he were small enough, like his friends, to slip between the bars of his cage and leave this place. It wasn't the first time he had wished it, merely a new reason for it.
The boy watched the villagers go by, unconcerned by anything more than the prospect of heavy rain; he wondered at their ignorance, but cared little. Only the Priest seemed to share his restlessness and it made his back ache in remembrance to see the man. Sharp stone slivers beneath his skin, set into the sensitive webbing of fingers and toes, a lattice of scars across his back. It was all he had ever known, but even he knew it wasn't right.
He'd shared his cage with others in the past, but he was the only one now to remain. His last companion had been a girl, younger than himself; she had fed his friends for a week before they had finally removed her body. He didn't know the why of it all; he'd never known - maybe it was simply his fair skin and hair against the darker tones of the villagers. He knew only that the Priest had found him and claimed him as a blessed child of the Gods, but the boy had seen nothing of it.
Every full moon he would be brought to the great stone that smelled of old blood and death; always the Priest would watch with narrowed eyes, waiting for something, some sign that never came and his frustration would mean bruises that lasted for days. He had seen the Priest cut himself and heal with miraculous speed, but no matter how many times he was cut, it led only to pain. He had never yet fallen to the fever and weakness his sometime companions had however and he was still here when they were all long gone, so maybe it was true. Maybe he was as favoured by the Gods as the Priest was, but he could not understand why anyone would want such a blessing if this were the life it meant.
He could remember no other life, no family, the cage and the inevitability of pain were the boundaries of his world, but instinct told him there was more - another kind of life - and he reached blindly for the means to gain it. He had no language, save what he had learned by listening; mostly curses, insults and the rote of their rituals, but without understanding the words were meaningless. Over the seasons he had learned not to try to talk to the villagers, but the rats and the dogs didn't care where the petting or the food came from and rewarded his efforts with the only affection he had ever received.
By the time night finally fell and the moon had risen just past full, the air had grown closer still until the boy was almost shaking with the tension. His friends had hidden away, leaving him alone as night descended, and he wished he too could burrow into the concealing darkness beneath earth and trees. He shrank back against the heavy bars of his cage, almost able to ignore the ache of barely healed wounds on his back. Shivering silently the boy lost himself to the growing fear, staring sightlessly out into the darkness of the forest and its promise of impossible freedom.
He wasn't sure how long the gleam of eyes had been there beyond the torchlight before he finally noticed it, glittering gold like the great beasts he had admired from afar. Fascination overcame fear and he edged forward, wanting to see and know this new creature in his world. He had seen the great cats prowl at a distance, seen the terrible wounds foolish warriors had received for daring to hunt them and he had mourned when a young one had been brought in for its skin, teeth and claws adorning the Priest's dark robes with stolen beauty. The chance to know such a beautiful creature was the only hope he dared have.
There was a low rumble of thunder in the distance and the long-expected rain began, slowly at first but quickly becoming heavy and drenching, making the torches sputter. Mesmerised by the vague shape just beyond the edge of the torchlight, the boy didn't so much as blink when it finally came forward, silent and graceful. Unlike the beasts he had glimpsed in the past though, this one was not wary of man and as it entered the flickering light it became obvious why. For a moment he held the golden eyes of a man, in form if not in truth, and saw something he had never before seen directed at him. He had no name for it, sorrow was part of it, but also... as if it knew him, knew the boy who didn't speak, whose only friends were the animals like whom he was treated.
A cry rose from the village, shattering the odd connection; the Priest was shouting, waving the young warriors that flooded from the central hut towards the edge of the village and the boy's cage. He wanted to speak, to warn this creature away from the fates he had seen and been dealt, but he had no words as the warriors neared.
Unperturbed the golden eyes slid towards the approaching warriors and the Priest shouted again. His challenging hail went unanswered, but the figure rose to its full height, taller even than the Priest, towering over the boy in the cage. He was robed head to foot in dark cloth not dissimilar to the Priest's, but unadorned save for the silver blades hanging loosely in each hand. One was as long as an arm, the other not much more than a hand's length; they caught the light and drew the eye in a way that the bows and spears of the villagers never could.
Lightning split the sky, joining earth and heavens for one searing instant and in that moment the creature moved. A whirl of darkness, a streak of silver and the spurt of red as the first warrior fell, unprepared for the savagery of the unexpected attack.
The boy watched, open-mouthed, unable to tear his eyes from the suddenly joined battle, for though outnumbered, the creature was more than holding its own. He watched avidly, willing it on against the villagers who had brought him nothing but pain, silently cheering every one cut down and catching his breath every time a spear or arrow found its elusive mark.
At the edge of his awareness he became aware of a change in the tone of the battle; out of the corner of his eye he could see women urging children from their huts and the desperation of the remaining warriors as the creature still failed to fall. He watched with something like glee as the Priest shoved the last warrior towards the creature and turned to run. The warrior, caught off guard by the shove, was dead in moments and the boy was on his feet, wordlessly shouting his exultation as he watched the short blade rip into the back of the fleeing Priest even as the second blade swung in a wide arc.
A hush descended as the Priest's head landed in a muddy pool and the boy watched in undisguised awe as the creature began to drink down the escaping soul. He fell back in sudden terror as the Priest's power sought some last vengeance for his wilful disobedience, striking at his cage like a snake, shattering bars and charring the ground, until it was dragged back and swallowed whole.
The boy looked up to see the strange creature towering over him as he lay in the ruins of the only home he had ever known. He met the luminescent eyes, unafraid, seeing again that sorrow and trying to convey by eyes alone his gratitude. Then the creature was gone in a flurry of rain and darkness.
The boy didn't wait, but followed as carefully as he was able, not wanting to startle the creature that had freed him. It was sheer determination that kept him going through the night, his body not used to such freedom, and even as he struggled to draw breath he revelled in the ache of muscle and sinew that meant he had run far and fast from that place.
The sun had barely risen when the creature finally stopped by a shallow stream and the boy sagged against a tree, gulping air as if there would never be enough. He watched the creature kneel at the water's edge and saw a hand disappear into the dark robe only to reappear with broken shards of stone from the villagers' spears and arrows. The boy felt his back ache in sympathy; he knew how sharp those shards felt beneath the skin. A wince flickered over the sharp-featured face and it was odd to see human expression there after the strangeness of the night.
There was a soft splash as an arrowhead was dropped into the stream, a cloud of red billowing up around it before being swept away by the current. Then a shudder and a pained sound and the boy watched as the creature fell forward onto its hands, back arching, robes moving strangely then parting like water as a deeper darkness shrugged free or tried to. As the heavy cloth fell away he saw the reason - a spear, broken off just beneath the head, protruded, ugly and foreign, pinning cloth and wing and flesh.
A long arm stretched back, but the reaching fingers fell short of the splintered stump. A low hiss of pain and frustration and he saw the muscles bunch and flex, but before they could rip themselves free the boy wrapped his hand around the haft, getting a good grip on the blood-slippery wood.
A swift turn of the head and he froze as a sharp eye pinned him unblinkingly, more green than gold now that the light was better. Just as his fear began to overwhelm his courage the gaze broke and the creature turned away once more. The boy waited for his heart to slow, then pulled as he had seen the village warriors do. There was resistance and he pulled as hard as he could, biting his lip with the effort, then suddenly he was flying backwards, jarring as he fell and biting his tongue painfully, but the remains of the spear were still clutched tightly in his hand.
Free now the creature twisted and rose, looming over him, and he held as still as he could, barely breathing. Then it dropped into a crouch, eyes level with his. He stopped breathing altogether as a long-fingered hand reached out, stained with blood, and rested over the heart that pummelled so fiercely. The green-gold eyes flickered downwards and it took a moment for his own eyes to follow. The hand was warm against his skin, too warm, it made his skin itch and tingle, but when it receded it took the ache from his back. He blinked, surprised at the sudden absence of old pain, and the creature stood again, retreating back to the stream to rinse away the blood. The boy still didn't move, just watched, admiring the sleek grace of the creature.
Apparently finished its grooming, the creature stilled and turned back. It looked almost human now, fair of skin like himself, but dark haired like the villagers; save for the glossy darkness at its back it could have passed as any one of them. Briefly the boy wondered if the creature really was an animal at all or if it was human, the doubt leaving him uncertain of his place. The dark head cocked to the side, returning his scrutiny and the boy felt pinned beneath that gaze, pierced right through, but painlessly. It stirred a memory so old it could have been a dream, of falling into an icy pool, submerging completely in the clear water and feeling its chill sweep through him, leaving him cold but clean.
He blinked, almost surprised to find himself still on the banks of the stream. The gaze was still sharp when he dared to glance up again, but there was a gentleness to it now as well, an affection that had never before been directed towards him.
A hand reached out cautiously and it seemed strange that a creature that had proved so deadly could now be so wary of a mere child. Not sure whether to offer the greeting he had seen the warriors use, the boy fell back on instinct and the only thing he knew that worked. Reaching into his tunic he drew out the last of his food; after two days the small heel of bread was dry and hard, but neither rats nor dogs had ever seemed to mind.
He watched the fascinating eyes grow wide and wondered for a moment if the creature would flee, knowing, tired as he was, that he would not be able to follow this time. Then the wariness faded, replaced by that unfamiliar gentleness as the man dropped into a crouch, his hand reaching out to gently stroke the boy's dirty blonde hair. He shivered involuntarily in something halfway between pleasure and fear and watched it reflected in his new friend's eyes.
"Silas." The word was softly spoken, the tone one of statement rather than greeting and the boy felt a pang of near-disappointment - it was a man then, though perhaps not wholly so and the thought comforted him. His expression must have reflected his confusion because the man smiled, "It is an old name, from a people long gone. It means strength."
The boy understood and his heart leapt with a kind of incredulous joy - he had a name, he'd seen what that meant to the villagers - it meant family, love, belonging. A laugh, soft and pleased, but there was an undercurrent of sadness to it. "Everyone should have a name. And you are strong aren't you? To have survived for so long - strong in body and heart and mind."
Long fingers brushed shoulder and chest and forehead. Silas, and he felt another thrill of pleasure at the name, shook his head in denial, but the man's smile only broadened into something reassuring.
"There are more types of strength in this world than that which those people used. There is strength in simplicity, Silas. Courage should never be undervalued and sometimes speed of thought only means the mind is quicker to break." The stranger paused, head tilting again curiously. "Strength of heart you have already shown; strength of body - well I think you will have that in time too, with proper feeding." A thoughtful look, "There is a pool nearby with fish in abundance, I think perhaps we should pay it a visit."
He didn't know all the words the man used, but Silas understood what he needed to - he would do his best to live up to his new friend's belief in him and be as strong as his gifted name promised. As his strange saviour turned and began to lead the way from the stream, it never occurred to Silas not to follow.
FIN
26th April 2006