Laurent of Vere (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
cast_iron_bitch) wrote2016-07-25 01:24 pm
cast_iron_bitch) wrote2016-07-25 01:24 pm
(no subject)
The odds were not favorable.
The floor was cool marble. His sandals were wet with Damen's blood. His arms were tired, the tremors of his back even worse, but the hand Laurent curled around the hilt of Damen's sword was steady.
The blade glinted as he lifted it to stare down Kastor on the other side.
As Laurent leapt gracefully into motion, his heart pounded. Even with all his plans and machinations, it was almost dizzying to be so close. In the next few moments so many fates would be decided - either Laurent would kill Kastor and Akielos would be restored to Damen's rule, and Vere to Laurent's, or Kastor would kill Laurent, Damen would bleed out, and all their struggles would be for naught.
The stakes were so high, but Laurent could not allow himself to be distracted.
He fought.
Kastor was larger and stronger than him, but Laurent was as slender and resilient as a willow, evading each thrust of Kastor's blade only to spring back for more. Kastor had fifteen years' fighting experience on him, but his attacks followed the lines Laurent had studied since he was fourteen, and he shifted, and he parried, and he forced Kastor's brutal strokes back.
Steel rang between them again and again, and still Laurent remained alive, and when the fight brought them to the stairs he made a choice.
Laurent feinted, and with a stumble of feet brought his body within Kastor's range. From this distance, Kastor could run him through, could take his head, could cleave his body in half with the might of his own. Laurent was only a boy, an arrogant, untested prince where Kastor was a king, and in that moment, Laurent was counting on it.
Kastor took the opening and moved in without mercy.
Laurent drove his sword up and through Kastor's chest.
In the next moment he was beside Damen on the floor, his hands pressed to staunch the wound in Damen's side.
The physician was coming. Their enemies were dead. It was over.
There was so much to be said, but when Laurent's mouth opened his heart threatened to follow, and he found himself in a rare moment of speechlessness as he looked down at Damen's flushed face.
You hold Akielos, he thought. I hold Vere. We hold the centre. His chest was full with it. It was one kingdom, once.
He said, 'There's a lot of blood.'
Beneath him, Damen's mouth opened to speak, but Laurent couldn't hear his answer.
The world was turning, not with poison or a wound, not with shock or sleep or earthquake, but with something Laurent had never felt before. Beneath his hands, Damen's form had already begun to pale and fade.
'No,' said Laurent, grasping down for what he could no longer hold. It made no sense, and an alien, agonized sound escaped his throat. 'No!'
Beneath his knees were the wooden slats of a floor, and Laurent looked away from the space where Damen had been.
'Where am I?'
The explanation, when it came, was not satisfactory.
And yet, no matter who Laurent asked or how he asked it, the explanation remained the same. The tall, thunderous city he had found himself in was called Darrow, and it could not be escaped. What was more, and even more unsettling, the place saw fit to bring people to it, and it had a strange notion of time.
Laurent learned that there were others like him here. Laurent learned that Damen was here. Laurent learned where Damen lived, and it was very easy once he found the building to coax his way inside, even dressed as he was in little more than bloodied rags.
Damen's 'landlady' was sympathetic to his plight - he was Damen's friend, a young actor dressed in costume who'd been foolish enough to lose track of his other clothes. She let him into Damen's rooms and left him be, and Laurent made good use of his time. He bathed with cloth from Damen's washroom, and clothed himself in the strange garments he found in Damen's drawers. The bloodied chiton, Laurent did not know what to do with, so he simply left it on the floor near the chaise he arranged himself upon, a glass of cool water in his hands as he waited.
Time passed, but not enough that Laurent had time to grow any more anxious at their reunion. Either Damen would remember their time together, or he would not. If it was the latter, Laurent would simply have to remind him. A key rattled. The lock turned. The door opened, and Damen stepped inside.
Laurent greeted him from the chaise. "Hello, lover."
The floor was cool marble. His sandals were wet with Damen's blood. His arms were tired, the tremors of his back even worse, but the hand Laurent curled around the hilt of Damen's sword was steady.
The blade glinted as he lifted it to stare down Kastor on the other side.
As Laurent leapt gracefully into motion, his heart pounded. Even with all his plans and machinations, it was almost dizzying to be so close. In the next few moments so many fates would be decided - either Laurent would kill Kastor and Akielos would be restored to Damen's rule, and Vere to Laurent's, or Kastor would kill Laurent, Damen would bleed out, and all their struggles would be for naught.
The stakes were so high, but Laurent could not allow himself to be distracted.
He fought.
Kastor was larger and stronger than him, but Laurent was as slender and resilient as a willow, evading each thrust of Kastor's blade only to spring back for more. Kastor had fifteen years' fighting experience on him, but his attacks followed the lines Laurent had studied since he was fourteen, and he shifted, and he parried, and he forced Kastor's brutal strokes back.
Steel rang between them again and again, and still Laurent remained alive, and when the fight brought them to the stairs he made a choice.
Laurent feinted, and with a stumble of feet brought his body within Kastor's range. From this distance, Kastor could run him through, could take his head, could cleave his body in half with the might of his own. Laurent was only a boy, an arrogant, untested prince where Kastor was a king, and in that moment, Laurent was counting on it.
Kastor took the opening and moved in without mercy.
Laurent drove his sword up and through Kastor's chest.
In the next moment he was beside Damen on the floor, his hands pressed to staunch the wound in Damen's side.
The physician was coming. Their enemies were dead. It was over.
There was so much to be said, but when Laurent's mouth opened his heart threatened to follow, and he found himself in a rare moment of speechlessness as he looked down at Damen's flushed face.
You hold Akielos, he thought. I hold Vere. We hold the centre. His chest was full with it. It was one kingdom, once.
He said, 'There's a lot of blood.'
Beneath him, Damen's mouth opened to speak, but Laurent couldn't hear his answer.
The world was turning, not with poison or a wound, not with shock or sleep or earthquake, but with something Laurent had never felt before. Beneath his hands, Damen's form had already begun to pale and fade.
'No,' said Laurent, grasping down for what he could no longer hold. It made no sense, and an alien, agonized sound escaped his throat. 'No!'
Beneath his knees were the wooden slats of a floor, and Laurent looked away from the space where Damen had been.
'Where am I?'
The explanation, when it came, was not satisfactory.
And yet, no matter who Laurent asked or how he asked it, the explanation remained the same. The tall, thunderous city he had found himself in was called Darrow, and it could not be escaped. What was more, and even more unsettling, the place saw fit to bring people to it, and it had a strange notion of time.
Laurent learned that there were others like him here. Laurent learned that Damen was here. Laurent learned where Damen lived, and it was very easy once he found the building to coax his way inside, even dressed as he was in little more than bloodied rags.
Damen's 'landlady' was sympathetic to his plight - he was Damen's friend, a young actor dressed in costume who'd been foolish enough to lose track of his other clothes. She let him into Damen's rooms and left him be, and Laurent made good use of his time. He bathed with cloth from Damen's washroom, and clothed himself in the strange garments he found in Damen's drawers. The bloodied chiton, Laurent did not know what to do with, so he simply left it on the floor near the chaise he arranged himself upon, a glass of cool water in his hands as he waited.
Time passed, but not enough that Laurent had time to grow any more anxious at their reunion. Either Damen would remember their time together, or he would not. If it was the latter, Laurent would simply have to remind him. A key rattled. The lock turned. The door opened, and Damen stepped inside.
Laurent greeted him from the chaise. "Hello, lover."