Everything he did, she responded to, reacted to, and then gave more. Her hands on his body, her mouth warm and responding to his gently, yearningly. It was more powerful than anything the gypsy had ever known, and in that moment he never wished to know anything else.
"We have found each other."
His flickering half-grin solidified then, a soft laugh escaping in a single exhale. How could he have known he should have been searching for this years ago? But he couldn't have- the movement was now, not then.
“Nothing more than was already yours…”
And what is mine? Was this his, this feeling that was going to explode out of his chest, or had she given that to him? Or did it only come from both of them, connected, dancing together.
He had dipped through the space again, at the last second slightly diverted and kissing her cheek next to her mouth, lightly caressing her face with his lips and cheek to feel her there, feeling him.
Her fingers moved across his back and he tuned in to the touch, moving so that his forehead came to rest against hers, eyes closed but smiling with her, knowing nothing but her breath, her scent, her touch. But then he felt the nature of the touch change as the came to the burn scars, felt her face change as the touch explored, and he drew back his head to open his eyes at her.
She wore the concern of before, and he had wanted to laugh and tell her it did not hurt. Nothing could hurt here, now. But then she spoke.
"There is a mark underneath the burns, Lucian. I don't know what it is, but it seems familiar to me."
Lucian's face very slowly changed, his eyebrows creasing together slightly in a questioning expression. What did she mean, a mark?
Grudging in every sense of the word, he turned his head and broke away from her a little, but with his right hand sliding down her arm to find her hand and enfold it, unwilling to break contact. He stepped to the mirror and turned his head sharply with his back facing it, craning to see what she spoke of.
At first, he could not see it, only looking on the cruel red scars that they had laid across his back and he felt that dangerous anger kindle a moment, but he pushed it away and squeezed Metarie's hand a little tighter. And then, it was there- indistinct amidst the burns, but there- vaguely like a triangle enclosed in a circle, but more than that was obscured by the over-laying burns.
He stared a moment longer and then turned to her, no fear in his sharp eyes, but unfeigned ignorance and questioning, undergirded by doubt.
"What is it?"
A bard in time saves...
Re: A bard in time saves...
Yar, says I.
Re: A bard in time saves...
Lucian ducked his head as if to place another benediction of a kiss upon her lips, but instead, like butterfly wings his lips and face brushed across her cheek. Metarie’s eyelids fluttered closed and she lifted her head slightly. A deep sigh of an exhale slipped through her lips. The feeling was awareness and bone deep. But, the ridged and puffy burns distracted her, changed the tone of the music she felt.
"There is a mark underneath the burns, Lucian. I don't know what it is, but it seems familiar to me."
Metarie felt Lucian’s nose brush across her cheek as he turned away from her, peering over his shoulder with an awkward twist of his torso to look as the marks on his back. Metarie winced, knowing the movement must pull and hurt as he did so. Her gaze sought out the mark beneath the burns. His hand felt tight to her, as if loathe to break the connection they had found. Metaire squeezed his hand in reply. A triangle within a circle… why was it so familiar? Metarie lifted her hand and pushed her fingers through her hair.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I will have to look in my books to see if I can find a reference or cross-reference to it.” Her mouth thinned a little into a compressed line as she continued to look upon the ugly burns. She resented the loss of the moment, but knew that understanding this and giving him further rest was the key.
"There is a mark underneath the burns, Lucian. I don't know what it is, but it seems familiar to me."
Metarie felt Lucian’s nose brush across her cheek as he turned away from her, peering over his shoulder with an awkward twist of his torso to look as the marks on his back. Metarie winced, knowing the movement must pull and hurt as he did so. Her gaze sought out the mark beneath the burns. His hand felt tight to her, as if loathe to break the connection they had found. Metaire squeezed his hand in reply. A triangle within a circle… why was it so familiar? Metarie lifted her hand and pushed her fingers through her hair.
She shook her head. “I don’t know. I will have to look in my books to see if I can find a reference or cross-reference to it.” Her mouth thinned a little into a compressed line as she continued to look upon the ugly burns. She resented the loss of the moment, but knew that understanding this and giving him further rest was the key.
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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Re: A bard in time saves...
Her fingers pushed through her hair as she shook her head, and even in light of the moment he caught himself wishing those were his fingers. “I don’t know. I will have to look in my books to see if I can find a reference or cross-reference to it.” She took up the burden to carry the question to its answer, and he inexplicably found it pull on him more.
He raised the hand that he held to his lips and kissed it, resisting the urge to ignore all of this and simply take her there, surrendered to one another in the giving of themselves. But he placed another delicate kiss on her hand and looked into her eyes instead.
"I trust you." The words were simple from others, but their meaning coming from Lucian went far deeper than the syllables and the feeling generally attached to them. He carried her hand to his chest and placed it against his heart, holding it there with both of his hands for a moment.
"There will be time for this." He could not keep the emotion from his voice, neither did he try, his eyes searching hers and the smile pulling at his face. And then slowly his expression became a little more solemn, a little more focused. New wheels were turning in his head, cogs meeting together as he pondered what the mark meant- what it was for- but he was not willing to leave the moment, just yet.
"The movement here," slowly, one of his hands moved from where he held her palm against his chest, settling over her heart with gentle pressure, just above her left breast, sliding the fabric of the tanktop slightly so that skin met skin, and then his eyes came back up to hers, "has just begun."
Her heartbeat was light but strong, warm and full of life. He felt his awareness climb outside of his body, trickling through the aura that surrounded her, wrapped up and intertwining with it as he held the moment, held her eyes-
And experienced her. As no other language would describe it, he did not try. But he experienced her.
Only after a moment did he let this end.
He raised the hand that he held to his lips and kissed it, resisting the urge to ignore all of this and simply take her there, surrendered to one another in the giving of themselves. But he placed another delicate kiss on her hand and looked into her eyes instead.
"I trust you." The words were simple from others, but their meaning coming from Lucian went far deeper than the syllables and the feeling generally attached to them. He carried her hand to his chest and placed it against his heart, holding it there with both of his hands for a moment.
"There will be time for this." He could not keep the emotion from his voice, neither did he try, his eyes searching hers and the smile pulling at his face. And then slowly his expression became a little more solemn, a little more focused. New wheels were turning in his head, cogs meeting together as he pondered what the mark meant- what it was for- but he was not willing to leave the moment, just yet.
"The movement here," slowly, one of his hands moved from where he held her palm against his chest, settling over her heart with gentle pressure, just above her left breast, sliding the fabric of the tanktop slightly so that skin met skin, and then his eyes came back up to hers, "has just begun."
Her heartbeat was light but strong, warm and full of life. He felt his awareness climb outside of his body, trickling through the aura that surrounded her, wrapped up and intertwining with it as he held the moment, held her eyes-
And experienced her. As no other language would describe it, he did not try. But he experienced her.
Only after a moment did he let this end.
Yar, says I.
Re: A bard in time saves...
Metarie smiled, bemused, as Lucian kissed her fingers.
"I trust you." There was a weight to the words that reverberated through the air, emphasized when Lucian placed her hand over his heart. His hands felt warm and steady. So did the beating of his heart. The bare skin of his chest, indescribable.
"There will be time for this." Metarie nodded slowly. Her smile echoed his. With everything she was, she hoped so. Watching him, Metarie wondered at the gravity in his expression and guessed the mark pricked at his thoughts, too.
Under the warmth of his palm, her heart skipped a beat jumping to the nearness of his touch. A reply was unnecessary. Metarie opened herself up to him as she had done during the healing of him and reached out for him. Golden-green minimized as dark pupils expanded. What he had said was Truth. Dark eyes looked into her. Golden white seemed to spark and flash in the air around them and then blended in a music they could feel; the rythym dictated by the beating of their hearts. Unlike before, this was not a call and an answer, but a blending that was changing them both.
When the moment ended, something wrenched in her chest and gut. Hesitantly, reluctantly, she let her hand drop. Where their hands had been, imprints remained, slowly fading from view. Metarie blinked. She had read of this in the records of her kin, but she did not know such things could happen between not-kin and kin. Metarie was humbled and changed. Through the Dreaming, they would always be able to find one another – for good or ill – they were Myr-tasaer … soul-marked. Now, more than ever the need to understand the brand upon Lucian’s back was important.
“Come. We will make time for this dance later, but for now we must find answers.”
"I trust you." There was a weight to the words that reverberated through the air, emphasized when Lucian placed her hand over his heart. His hands felt warm and steady. So did the beating of his heart. The bare skin of his chest, indescribable.
"There will be time for this." Metarie nodded slowly. Her smile echoed his. With everything she was, she hoped so. Watching him, Metarie wondered at the gravity in his expression and guessed the mark pricked at his thoughts, too.
Under the warmth of his palm, her heart skipped a beat jumping to the nearness of his touch. A reply was unnecessary. Metarie opened herself up to him as she had done during the healing of him and reached out for him. Golden-green minimized as dark pupils expanded. What he had said was Truth. Dark eyes looked into her. Golden white seemed to spark and flash in the air around them and then blended in a music they could feel; the rythym dictated by the beating of their hearts. Unlike before, this was not a call and an answer, but a blending that was changing them both.
When the moment ended, something wrenched in her chest and gut. Hesitantly, reluctantly, she let her hand drop. Where their hands had been, imprints remained, slowly fading from view. Metarie blinked. She had read of this in the records of her kin, but she did not know such things could happen between not-kin and kin. Metarie was humbled and changed. Through the Dreaming, they would always be able to find one another – for good or ill – they were Myr-tasaer … soul-marked. Now, more than ever the need to understand the brand upon Lucian’s back was important.
“Come. We will make time for this dance later, but for now we must find answers.”
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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Re: A bard in time saves...
Her eyes moved, opened- and he felt pieces of her connect into him, meld with him. She sang to him without singing and he danced for her without moving, in a realm where neither action was experienced with the five natural senses. He could hear her heartbeat, in his head, and in his chest he could hear her breathing.
In a world were they existed in part, they met in wholeness, and pushed into one another, cocooned around one another- and when they dropped their hands, Lucian could only stare at her for a moment, feeling imprints of her as he pulled within himself, feeling her proximity within himself.
How was it possible? What did it mean?
“Come. We will make time for this dance later, but for now we must find answers.”
He nodded, still looking at her in wonder a moment before he turned, took up the shirt from where it lay on the chest and pulled it over his head, the motion a little strained from the tightness of the burns on his back, but he winced through it and turned back to her, more completely dressed now than when he arrived, his hair awry and still damp, but his posture was stronger than when he had stepped from the tub, and his eyes took her in again.
She was still beautiful, and he still felt the glow within him every time he looked at her. Lucian smiled at her, simple but emanating the glow, and he reached out to touch the side of her face once more before this moment passed and feel her under his fingers.
"Let us find them, then."
He reluctantly dropped his hand, stepped to the side slightly, and gestured to her, his eyes bright with life and sharp with focus.
"Lead the way."
In a world were they existed in part, they met in wholeness, and pushed into one another, cocooned around one another- and when they dropped their hands, Lucian could only stare at her for a moment, feeling imprints of her as he pulled within himself, feeling her proximity within himself.
How was it possible? What did it mean?
“Come. We will make time for this dance later, but for now we must find answers.”
He nodded, still looking at her in wonder a moment before he turned, took up the shirt from where it lay on the chest and pulled it over his head, the motion a little strained from the tightness of the burns on his back, but he winced through it and turned back to her, more completely dressed now than when he arrived, his hair awry and still damp, but his posture was stronger than when he had stepped from the tub, and his eyes took her in again.
She was still beautiful, and he still felt the glow within him every time he looked at her. Lucian smiled at her, simple but emanating the glow, and he reached out to touch the side of her face once more before this moment passed and feel her under his fingers.
"Let us find them, then."
He reluctantly dropped his hand, stepped to the side slightly, and gestured to her, his eyes bright with life and sharp with focus.
"Lead the way."
Last edited by Lucian on Mon May 12, 2008 3:44 am, edited 1 time in total.
Yar, says I.
Re: A bard in time saves...
Metarie watched Lucian pull the shirt on, saw the brief hesitation as the skin across his back stretched and pulled, causing him pain. When he turned, though, the lines of his body were straighter. His eyes were clear and focused. Another smile granted was taken, savored, and returned. Lucian’s fingers brushed her cheek and Metarie caught his hand in hers. She pressed her cheek against his palm, then followed by turning her face into his palm and placing a kiss upon it.
She felt the slight movement as he reluctantly dropped his hand. So, she freed his hand from her grasp. “Alright.”
With one last look, Metarie turned and opened the bathroom door that led into the hallway. She could hear Kona’s claws click as he lifted himself to sit and stare expectantly in the direction from which she would arrive.
From the direction of the kitchen, Metarie could hear Everett’s voice.
"My general opinion of the elven race? Personally, they can be the haughtiest sonuvabitches you can ever come across, especially the ones that have government jobs. Gods, those are the most annoying ones. They're like, 'Ha ha! We're innately smarter, prettier, and better built and that makes us just that much cooler than you!’ Of course, you do have the elves like Metarie. They're about as humble as the next guy and they just mill around in the woodwork just like every other person on the streets."
Metarie smiled to herself. Apparently she was as bland as wood. She raised her eyebrows as she mused to herself. She did not feel as bland as that. In fact, she felt as if she shone from the inside out. Perhaps, that was because before Lucian she had been two-dimensional and incomplete.
Metarie led the way from the bathroom into the den/livingroom area. "Lucian is doing better Lanya." Metarie paused to look at the woman and gave her a smile.
"Would you please warm some of the soup you had earlier for him? I need to look up something."
Heading to a shelf she began to run her fingers over the spines of books before pulling one down. This she took to the desk and pulled out the chair. Sitting down, Metarie opened the book to the table of figures. Tilting her head over the page, she hovered her finger over the page reading each description quickly.
Kona stood up and stretched out, tail wagging. Clicking toenails heralded the large dogs approach toward Lucian and Metarie. Kona stopped and cocked his head from one side and then to the other, studying Lucian. The dog's tail moved in broader strokes and his ears perked up. Approaching Lucian, Kona sniffed and then nosed Lucian's hand, looking to be petted.
She felt the slight movement as he reluctantly dropped his hand. So, she freed his hand from her grasp. “Alright.”
With one last look, Metarie turned and opened the bathroom door that led into the hallway. She could hear Kona’s claws click as he lifted himself to sit and stare expectantly in the direction from which she would arrive.
From the direction of the kitchen, Metarie could hear Everett’s voice.
"My general opinion of the elven race? Personally, they can be the haughtiest sonuvabitches you can ever come across, especially the ones that have government jobs. Gods, those are the most annoying ones. They're like, 'Ha ha! We're innately smarter, prettier, and better built and that makes us just that much cooler than you!’ Of course, you do have the elves like Metarie. They're about as humble as the next guy and they just mill around in the woodwork just like every other person on the streets."
Metarie smiled to herself. Apparently she was as bland as wood. She raised her eyebrows as she mused to herself. She did not feel as bland as that. In fact, she felt as if she shone from the inside out. Perhaps, that was because before Lucian she had been two-dimensional and incomplete.
Metarie led the way from the bathroom into the den/livingroom area. "Lucian is doing better Lanya." Metarie paused to look at the woman and gave her a smile.
"Would you please warm some of the soup you had earlier for him? I need to look up something."
Heading to a shelf she began to run her fingers over the spines of books before pulling one down. This she took to the desk and pulled out the chair. Sitting down, Metarie opened the book to the table of figures. Tilting her head over the page, she hovered her finger over the page reading each description quickly.
Kona stood up and stretched out, tail wagging. Clicking toenails heralded the large dogs approach toward Lucian and Metarie. Kona stopped and cocked his head from one side and then to the other, studying Lucian. The dog's tail moved in broader strokes and his ears perked up. Approaching Lucian, Kona sniffed and then nosed Lucian's hand, looking to be petted.
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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Re: A bard in time saves...
Lucian followed Metarie out of the bathroom, allowing himself to watch her form as he did so, unable to suppress a grin as the crossed the hall and passed through another doorway, entering a dwelling area with shelves and a desk and furniture, and at the other end of the room was a table where Lanya and the other man sat.
He smiled a little sheepishly at Lanya as Metarie scanned the books on her shelves. He wanted to tell her what had happened, what was happening, but he was checked both by the presence of Metarie and the man with the mechanical arm. It would have to wait. But she came over to him and wrapped him in a hug, like she had on the road, only now he returned it clear-headed and with a fierceness like a brother. She kissed him on the cheek like she was his sister, and when he looked at her, she was. Trial had made them more than friends.
He let her look over his hands and returned her smile when she gave him hers. He would tell her what had happened, soon.
A large dog approached him then, sniffing at his hand, and Lucian bent over a little to pet it, grinning a little. Few were the animals that did not get along with the gypsy, but this one acted like it knew him, and it gave Lucian a moment of pause.
By then Metarie had selected a book from the shelf and was pouring over it, seated at the desk. Lucian walked up next to her, looking down at the page filled with characters he did not know, but as Metarie's head tilted forward and her hair fell away from the back of her neck, his eyes were diverted to a mark thereon.
It was like a tattoo, faded with age. The mark was a triangle within a circle, with little sigils etched at points around it.
Lucian reached out and touched it with his fingertips, mouth slightly open.
"Metarie. What is this mark?" He rasped, his voice hushed in questioning astonishment.
He smiled a little sheepishly at Lanya as Metarie scanned the books on her shelves. He wanted to tell her what had happened, what was happening, but he was checked both by the presence of Metarie and the man with the mechanical arm. It would have to wait. But she came over to him and wrapped him in a hug, like she had on the road, only now he returned it clear-headed and with a fierceness like a brother. She kissed him on the cheek like she was his sister, and when he looked at her, she was. Trial had made them more than friends.
He let her look over his hands and returned her smile when she gave him hers. He would tell her what had happened, soon.
A large dog approached him then, sniffing at his hand, and Lucian bent over a little to pet it, grinning a little. Few were the animals that did not get along with the gypsy, but this one acted like it knew him, and it gave Lucian a moment of pause.
By then Metarie had selected a book from the shelf and was pouring over it, seated at the desk. Lucian walked up next to her, looking down at the page filled with characters he did not know, but as Metarie's head tilted forward and her hair fell away from the back of her neck, his eyes were diverted to a mark thereon.
It was like a tattoo, faded with age. The mark was a triangle within a circle, with little sigils etched at points around it.
Lucian reached out and touched it with his fingertips, mouth slightly open.
"Metarie. What is this mark?" He rasped, his voice hushed in questioning astonishment.
Last edited by Lucian on Tue May 13, 2008 3:02 am, edited 1 time in total.
Yar, says I.
Re: A bard in time saves...
Kona happily submitted to being petted, even leaning his great bulk against Lucian. One big paw landed on Lucian’s foot in the process. Kona’s long tail swayed back and forth slowly. The man extricated himself from him, so Kona followed, curious as to what the two were doing. Kona sat on his haunches near to Metarie. As she flipped through pages, he lifted up from the floor slightly and scooted closer. This little movement was repeated again and again until Kona was able to insert his head under her arm and toss it upwards a little.
“Oh, Kona!” Metarie said softly to the dog, before letting her hand drop to the dog’s neck, scratching absentmindedly while she scanned through the words.
Lucian stepped closer, casting a slight shadow over the page as he looked at the book as well. The shadow paused, though, as Lucian’s fingers touched the sensitive nape of her neck. Metarie shivered, but then stilled as an icy cold ran through her veins. She had only been 6 at the time. Metarie reached back and touched the spot. She remembered the pain of it - lying face down in an angled chair and her mother holding her hand, crying and pleading voicelessly with her mother to make it stop.
Metarie turned slowly in the chair to look up at Lucian. The stark reminder was naked in her eyes. Memories of a past she considered shameful and had spent many years working to rectify. “Describe it to me…” No voice-sound came out, just the words. Her face was drained of color, except bright pricks of red on her forehead and cheeks. Metarie closed her eyes to listen to Lucian describe the mark. She had a sinking feeling in her gut that made her feel nauseous.
“Oh, Kona!” Metarie said softly to the dog, before letting her hand drop to the dog’s neck, scratching absentmindedly while she scanned through the words.
Lucian stepped closer, casting a slight shadow over the page as he looked at the book as well. The shadow paused, though, as Lucian’s fingers touched the sensitive nape of her neck. Metarie shivered, but then stilled as an icy cold ran through her veins. She had only been 6 at the time. Metarie reached back and touched the spot. She remembered the pain of it - lying face down in an angled chair and her mother holding her hand, crying and pleading voicelessly with her mother to make it stop.
Metarie turned slowly in the chair to look up at Lucian. The stark reminder was naked in her eyes. Memories of a past she considered shameful and had spent many years working to rectify. “Describe it to me…” No voice-sound came out, just the words. Her face was drained of color, except bright pricks of red on her forehead and cheeks. Metarie closed her eyes to listen to Lucian describe the mark. She had a sinking feeling in her gut that made her feel nauseous.
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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Re: A bard in time saves...
When a chill feeling washed through him, Lucian had no idea what was happening as Metarie reached back with her own hand and touched the mark. Then as she turned and looked up at him, a kind of blank dread in her eyes, the beautiful color draining away from her face, it dawned on him that he felt as she felt, and in his gut grew a kind of dark despair.
And the gypsy felt a flare of anger, like he would fight what he saw gripping her.
Lucian knelt in front of her, taking one of her hands in both of his, locking on to her eyes, and he spoke in a level and calm rasp. "It is a circle- within it is a triangle, and on the points around it are small markings like writing."
He searched her eyes for a moment, seeing pain and regret that he vaguely felt in himself, and he squeezed her hand, willing her to rediscover her strength in this moment.
His voice was gentle but deliberate, to draw her out of the memories he saw her submerged in. "Metarie. What is it?"
And the gypsy felt a flare of anger, like he would fight what he saw gripping her.
Lucian knelt in front of her, taking one of her hands in both of his, locking on to her eyes, and he spoke in a level and calm rasp. "It is a circle- within it is a triangle, and on the points around it are small markings like writing."
He searched her eyes for a moment, seeing pain and regret that he vaguely felt in himself, and he squeezed her hand, willing her to rediscover her strength in this moment.
His voice was gentle but deliberate, to draw her out of the memories he saw her submerged in. "Metarie. What is it?"
Yar, says I.
Re: A bard in time saves...
Metarie’s gaze followed Lucian as he took her hands and knelt before her. At first, she was mute again. Metarie stared at Lucian. The spark of his anger jolted her. Her voice was frozen in her throat, but that did not matter. Lucian was deaf. Her lips moved.
“Si Kes’m Pyl.” A wry, self-depricating smile followed the words accompanied by a look of self-dislike. She whispered. “My parents were among the First Settlers of Marn. I am sensitive to magic, very sensitive.” Metarie looked away and swallowed against the dry of her throat and the stones in her gut. When she looked back, her gaze was flatter than before, muted. “Those who are highly sensitve are used to find magic-users. Today, there are the Scryers – mindless automatons who answer to none but the Judges and the Porter. Before, there was … me,” Metarie resisted the urge to touch the spot again, “…and others like me. Most died early on. I... did not. I was their success. For a time…”
Metarie sucked in a heavy breath and exhaled it, looking away. She was ashamed, so ashamed.
“The mark is… was… a means to keep track of the government’s possessions, to spy on the spies. The magic was imperfect then. Those that attempted to mark and control failed to take into account the nature of those they wanted to track and control. Most died because they fought it or fell into despair. I learned how to.. block it. Blocking it has become second nature for me. I’m not even sure if they could anymore…” Metarie drifted off into her thoughts. She couldn’t bring herself to look Lucian in the eye. “Those like me worked with the guard – Si Kes’m Pyl – the Guard’s Dogs… used to search out those that broke the laws.” Still not looking him in the eye, she said, “I understand if this changes what has happened.”
Metarie felt suddenly tired and suddenly old. Bleakness filled her. She did not deserve a Myr-taeser. Now he would know she was not so generous or giving, but a murderer. Everything wonderous they had shared would be made ugly by this knowledge. Could one be unmarked? Could she set him free? Certainly, he did not know what had happened. She would have to explain it to him. He was not-Kin. Perhaps it was not the same for not-Kin. The thought of losing him made her hurt deeply inside.
The implication of the similarity between the mark on her neck and the mark on his back did not escape her. Something clicked then in her memory. The triangle in a circle was etched in the Justice Hall. She remembered seeing it, once, as she was leaving the building; small and inconsequential, innocuous, just a symbol above the lintel. But was it? Was it really that innocuous now?
“Si Kes’m Pyl.” A wry, self-depricating smile followed the words accompanied by a look of self-dislike. She whispered. “My parents were among the First Settlers of Marn. I am sensitive to magic, very sensitive.” Metarie looked away and swallowed against the dry of her throat and the stones in her gut. When she looked back, her gaze was flatter than before, muted. “Those who are highly sensitve are used to find magic-users. Today, there are the Scryers – mindless automatons who answer to none but the Judges and the Porter. Before, there was … me,” Metarie resisted the urge to touch the spot again, “…and others like me. Most died early on. I... did not. I was their success. For a time…”
Metarie sucked in a heavy breath and exhaled it, looking away. She was ashamed, so ashamed.
“The mark is… was… a means to keep track of the government’s possessions, to spy on the spies. The magic was imperfect then. Those that attempted to mark and control failed to take into account the nature of those they wanted to track and control. Most died because they fought it or fell into despair. I learned how to.. block it. Blocking it has become second nature for me. I’m not even sure if they could anymore…” Metarie drifted off into her thoughts. She couldn’t bring herself to look Lucian in the eye. “Those like me worked with the guard – Si Kes’m Pyl – the Guard’s Dogs… used to search out those that broke the laws.” Still not looking him in the eye, she said, “I understand if this changes what has happened.”
Metarie felt suddenly tired and suddenly old. Bleakness filled her. She did not deserve a Myr-taeser. Now he would know she was not so generous or giving, but a murderer. Everything wonderous they had shared would be made ugly by this knowledge. Could one be unmarked? Could she set him free? Certainly, he did not know what had happened. She would have to explain it to him. He was not-Kin. Perhaps it was not the same for not-Kin. The thought of losing him made her hurt deeply inside.
The implication of the similarity between the mark on her neck and the mark on his back did not escape her. Something clicked then in her memory. The triangle in a circle was etched in the Justice Hall. She remembered seeing it, once, as she was leaving the building; small and inconsequential, innocuous, just a symbol above the lintel. But was it? Was it really that innocuous now?
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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Re: A bard in time saves...
Lucian watched with total focus, discerning quickly that she only moved her lips and her voice did not come with it. But every word he read he also felt the emotion that was carried with it, and it told a story far more powerful than a voice alone could have.
As she relived the memories, he experienced the emotions that they carried. He felt himself breaking into pieces as she looked at him, her eyes as empty and full of nothing as the existence she spoke of. He had known she was an elf, but only now he recognized, as she spoke, the burden was one she had carried for a lifetime. Guilt and shame racked him like he had never felt before in his life, and he could not stop tears that climbed into his eyes as she could not look at him. The brokenness that came from her while she told him what she had been- what she had done.
And as he watched, the wheels in his head turned, processing what it meant. A mark of ownership. A mark of property.
A mark by which they had controlled.
Why had he been released? Why not just kill him?
He hated them, hated what they had done to him, what they had done to her, pieces of the puzzle began to draw together-
And then she said something and the gears turning inside him binded harshly, bringing all of it to a halt.
“I understand if this changes what has happened.”
He did not move. Did not speak. Tears stood unshed in his eyes and he stared at her, his mouth pressed into a tight white line as he sought to understand. But he did understand, he couldn't not understand what she meant, what she felt. She was within him and he felt what she meant sharply.
It hurt, far beyond physical aches, it hurt. To see her unsure of him, and how it filled her with a crushing despair. Despair that something that was hers, that she was a part of, so beautiful a moment ago it had been the very essence of life- that it was about to be destroyed by this thing that was wrapped around a shattered part of her like deadly poison.
"How can you say that?" His words came in a rasped whisper, a tear trailing out of his eye then. He could not keep some spark of anger out of his voice, but it was a spark wrapped in shocked incredulity.
"Metaire. Look at me." He leaned into her and lifted a trembling hand to her face to turn it to him, gentle but insistent, not continuing until her eyes came to his.
"I choose you." His eyes were bright, and the light within them fierce behind the tears. "Not because of what men tried to make you-" his quiet voice shook with vehemence at the syllable, the tears still flowing, "because I have seen what hides within your eyes. Because I have felt what lives within your chest. And it has ruined me-" then his voice broke, and he could not finish it. But his eyes did not fall from hers. Neither did his hand fall from her face.
A moment passed and he swallowed, sniffing back on the tears, and found his voice once more.
"Do not pretend that it could be destroyed so simply." He shook his head slightly, without breaking eye contact, and lowered the hand from her face, still close to her, leaning against her legs as she sat in the chair. His voice was quiet and still rasped, but it was steady now.
"Do not pretend it's so weak."
As she relived the memories, he experienced the emotions that they carried. He felt himself breaking into pieces as she looked at him, her eyes as empty and full of nothing as the existence she spoke of. He had known she was an elf, but only now he recognized, as she spoke, the burden was one she had carried for a lifetime. Guilt and shame racked him like he had never felt before in his life, and he could not stop tears that climbed into his eyes as she could not look at him. The brokenness that came from her while she told him what she had been- what she had done.
And as he watched, the wheels in his head turned, processing what it meant. A mark of ownership. A mark of property.
A mark by which they had controlled.
Why had he been released? Why not just kill him?
He hated them, hated what they had done to him, what they had done to her, pieces of the puzzle began to draw together-
And then she said something and the gears turning inside him binded harshly, bringing all of it to a halt.
“I understand if this changes what has happened.”
He did not move. Did not speak. Tears stood unshed in his eyes and he stared at her, his mouth pressed into a tight white line as he sought to understand. But he did understand, he couldn't not understand what she meant, what she felt. She was within him and he felt what she meant sharply.
It hurt, far beyond physical aches, it hurt. To see her unsure of him, and how it filled her with a crushing despair. Despair that something that was hers, that she was a part of, so beautiful a moment ago it had been the very essence of life- that it was about to be destroyed by this thing that was wrapped around a shattered part of her like deadly poison.
"How can you say that?" His words came in a rasped whisper, a tear trailing out of his eye then. He could not keep some spark of anger out of his voice, but it was a spark wrapped in shocked incredulity.
"Metaire. Look at me." He leaned into her and lifted a trembling hand to her face to turn it to him, gentle but insistent, not continuing until her eyes came to his.
"I choose you." His eyes were bright, and the light within them fierce behind the tears. "Not because of what men tried to make you-" his quiet voice shook with vehemence at the syllable, the tears still flowing, "because I have seen what hides within your eyes. Because I have felt what lives within your chest. And it has ruined me-" then his voice broke, and he could not finish it. But his eyes did not fall from hers. Neither did his hand fall from her face.
A moment passed and he swallowed, sniffing back on the tears, and found his voice once more.
"Do not pretend that it could be destroyed so simply." He shook his head slightly, without breaking eye contact, and lowered the hand from her face, still close to her, leaning against her legs as she sat in the chair. His voice was quiet and still rasped, but it was steady now.
"Do not pretend it's so weak."
Yar, says I.
Re: A bard in time saves...
The color of grief tinged the air around him as did the color of hate and anger. So, too, was the mixed color of affront. She felt them. Metarie did not want to look at him. She had hurt him and she could feel the echoes of that hurt.
"How can you say that?" Metarie’s face paled again and she closed her eyes. He was angry with her and astonished at her. Here, she thought, it comes.
"Metaire. Look at me." There was a tone in his voice. Calloused fingers touched her face, pressing insistently until she should turn her head, which she did easily. Denying him anything would be hard to do. Despite the fear and sadness, she opened her eyes and saw fire. The light within him gleamed brightly, shone and emphasizing the tears like diamonds.
He chose her. He chose her because he saw that she did choose the steps of her own dance now. She might not have, then, but he saw that even then she fought against the patterns pushed upon her so that she might place her feet as she chose – steps that brought her, almost 100 years later, to him. Ahh, beautiful hope… like a flame stirred from the embers his words and the feelings behind them loosed it. The feel of him leaning against her made it brighter and brighter by the passing of every heartbeat.
"Do not pretend that it could be destroyed so simply. Do not pretend it's so weak." Metarie wanted to look down then, chastised, but instead she kept his gaze with hers. A smile wavered, but then solidified, curling her lips up at the corners. Metarie lifted her fingers and brushed away the tears.
I’m sorry, she felt. She also felt his certainty and the knowing again that he spoke Truth.
“I choose you, as well, Lucian.” The clouds parted and the sun shone through in the form of another smile - one that only he could draw from her.
"How can you say that?" Metarie’s face paled again and she closed her eyes. He was angry with her and astonished at her. Here, she thought, it comes.
"Metaire. Look at me." There was a tone in his voice. Calloused fingers touched her face, pressing insistently until she should turn her head, which she did easily. Denying him anything would be hard to do. Despite the fear and sadness, she opened her eyes and saw fire. The light within him gleamed brightly, shone and emphasizing the tears like diamonds.
He chose her. He chose her because he saw that she did choose the steps of her own dance now. She might not have, then, but he saw that even then she fought against the patterns pushed upon her so that she might place her feet as she chose – steps that brought her, almost 100 years later, to him. Ahh, beautiful hope… like a flame stirred from the embers his words and the feelings behind them loosed it. The feel of him leaning against her made it brighter and brighter by the passing of every heartbeat.
"Do not pretend that it could be destroyed so simply. Do not pretend it's so weak." Metarie wanted to look down then, chastised, but instead she kept his gaze with hers. A smile wavered, but then solidified, curling her lips up at the corners. Metarie lifted her fingers and brushed away the tears.
I’m sorry, she felt. She also felt his certainty and the knowing again that he spoke Truth.
“I choose you, as well, Lucian.” The clouds parted and the sun shone through in the form of another smile - one that only he could draw from her.
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
Re: A bard in time saves...
Something had changed in the very air around them, when they emerged from Metarie's room. Lanya's attention shot to the two as they moved into her sight, and her interest sharpened when she saw how they moved.
Always near each other. Moving as one unit with two separate entities which orbited around each other. A sort of team.
She stood, her eyes sloping along Lucian's form to examine what she could see past the clothing, trying to make out how he might be feeling beyond the pleasure emanating from him in waves and directed at the elf. She wrapped her arms around him in a companionable hug, trying to find Metarie's gaze over his shoulder and raise one knowing eyebrow. The more amused part of her wondered what exactly the elf had seen while giving Lucian a bath, to have impressed her so.
She couldn't say she disapproved of the match, after all. Metarie was a kind soul who would take care of Lucian to the best of her ability. And if Lucian had found this connection with another being, something strong and whole and gentle at its core...she could only be happy for him. He needed this more than he'd been willing to show before, and the volumes of joy now radiating from both of their figures was enough to convince the bard that this was for the best.
She drew away, pausing to kiss his cheek with a smile and then taking his hands to inspect them for damages left over. The bandage was gone from one wrist; the blood and dirt were all gone. His eyes were not clouded by pain and fever as they'd been before, and now he stood with a connection deeper than any he might've dreamed of before.
The smile she gave him was genuine and happy. She didn't bother to thank Metarie for what she'd done; the elf had clearly taken something from this meeting as well. They had spoken of choosing each other. It was enough to satisfy the bard.
And it seemed there was something more important happening. Despite the joy swirling in the air between them, something had taken Metarie's attention and drawn her to those books of hers. The last topic which had drawn her attention in such a way was the identity of the judge who'd ordered Lanya executed. Lanya couldn't help but think something bad was happening once more.
"What are you researching?"
As she spoke, she moved to the stove once more to begin re-heating the soup as ordered. She became an automaton, moving quickly to stir the soup on the stove eye as the metal heated. Once the order was fulfilled, her motions became more natural as she turned to watch the two of them, waiting for a reply. Her face was genial and curious, though her brow wrinkled a bit with anticipatory worry.
Always near each other. Moving as one unit with two separate entities which orbited around each other. A sort of team.
She stood, her eyes sloping along Lucian's form to examine what she could see past the clothing, trying to make out how he might be feeling beyond the pleasure emanating from him in waves and directed at the elf. She wrapped her arms around him in a companionable hug, trying to find Metarie's gaze over his shoulder and raise one knowing eyebrow. The more amused part of her wondered what exactly the elf had seen while giving Lucian a bath, to have impressed her so.
She couldn't say she disapproved of the match, after all. Metarie was a kind soul who would take care of Lucian to the best of her ability. And if Lucian had found this connection with another being, something strong and whole and gentle at its core...she could only be happy for him. He needed this more than he'd been willing to show before, and the volumes of joy now radiating from both of their figures was enough to convince the bard that this was for the best.
She drew away, pausing to kiss his cheek with a smile and then taking his hands to inspect them for damages left over. The bandage was gone from one wrist; the blood and dirt were all gone. His eyes were not clouded by pain and fever as they'd been before, and now he stood with a connection deeper than any he might've dreamed of before.
The smile she gave him was genuine and happy. She didn't bother to thank Metarie for what she'd done; the elf had clearly taken something from this meeting as well. They had spoken of choosing each other. It was enough to satisfy the bard.
And it seemed there was something more important happening. Despite the joy swirling in the air between them, something had taken Metarie's attention and drawn her to those books of hers. The last topic which had drawn her attention in such a way was the identity of the judge who'd ordered Lanya executed. Lanya couldn't help but think something bad was happening once more.
"What are you researching?"
As she spoke, she moved to the stove once more to begin re-heating the soup as ordered. She became an automaton, moving quickly to stir the soup on the stove eye as the metal heated. Once the order was fulfilled, her motions became more natural as she turned to watch the two of them, waiting for a reply. Her face was genial and curious, though her brow wrinkled a bit with anticipatory worry.
You're wearing your anguish again.
Re: A bard in time saves...
When she reconnected with him, it felt like cool streams pouring in through his skin and coursing through his veins. He exhaled a brief laugh at her smile and wiped the tears out of his eyes with a sleeve, grinning back as he felt her experience his acceptance, and then return it.
She choose him, too.
Lucian felt an expansion in his chest like he was growing bigger on the inside, to house more than just himself anymore.
He looked to Lanya at the stove, but did not see her question, and smiled at her. She was in no small part why he was here, and he wanted her to see what had come of it. He remembered her apologizing to him, in that dungeon, and how she hadn't understood why he refused it.
Perhaps now she saw in some small part.
He turned his eyes back to Metarie, giving a long exhale as he gathered himself back into a state of focus, reorienting his thoughts before he spoke in at conversation-level rasp, somewhat louder than he had been previously.
"So. What can be done?"
She choose him, too.
Lucian felt an expansion in his chest like he was growing bigger on the inside, to house more than just himself anymore.
He looked to Lanya at the stove, but did not see her question, and smiled at her. She was in no small part why he was here, and he wanted her to see what had come of it. He remembered her apologizing to him, in that dungeon, and how she hadn't understood why he refused it.
Perhaps now she saw in some small part.
He turned his eyes back to Metarie, giving a long exhale as he gathered himself back into a state of focus, reorienting his thoughts before he spoke in at conversation-level rasp, somewhat louder than he had been previously.
"So. What can be done?"
Yar, says I.
Re: A bard in time saves...
Lucian turned and asked her what could be done only to find Metarie’s head turned toward Lanya. Metarie’s hands tightened on Lucian’s as if she would not let him go. She looked down at their hands and then back up to Lanya. The expression on her face was grave.
“There is a mark upon Lucian’s back. The symbol seemed familiar and… it is. The same symbol can found throughout the Justice Hall. I think… I think it is a means to keep track of Lucian. What I do not understand is why…” Metarie’s voice drifted off. Looking back to Lucian she said,
“You must strengthen your will against it. This may take time, but I know steps you can take to work on negating the influence.” Metarie smiled at Lucian and squeezed his hands again, gently. “I will show you how.”
“There is a mark upon Lucian’s back. The symbol seemed familiar and… it is. The same symbol can found throughout the Justice Hall. I think… I think it is a means to keep track of Lucian. What I do not understand is why…” Metarie’s voice drifted off. Looking back to Lucian she said,
“You must strengthen your will against it. This may take time, but I know steps you can take to work on negating the influence.” Metarie smiled at Lucian and squeezed his hands again, gently. “I will show you how.”
A story is like a tapestry; it is never finished until the final thread is sewn.
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