Oubliette

by Raletha


Notes: A scene taken from my horribly neglected Meridian outline. Part of the Postscript Arc. Written for a challenge on the livejournal community gw500 -


Two pairs of footsteps scuffed over the dew-sodden, dead grass, bearing their owners up a gentle slope to a hill upon which had once lived a forest. The white bones of the trees reached like claws toward the opaque sky. Patches of scabrous black bark still clung to the skeletal forms.

No wind stirred the mists veiling the horizon, and no sound rent the damp silence--none but the muted trudging of the two young men. Eventually its rhythm halted, and all fell still.

Trowa glanced at the compass in his hand, its antique aid more trustworthy now than the cantankerous GPS unit Quatre carried. "This is it," he said and squinted at the barren wood before them.

Beside him, Quatre jerked at his jacket lapels, pulling smooth the leather that had gathered under the straps of his backpack, and tilted his head back. "I hope the fog lifts. Can you believe it's midday already?"

"Maybe we should go back," Trowa responded. His words faded quickly into the humid air.

"No. This is why we came."

"I know." Trowa sighed but made no further move--nor did his companion.

In pensive stillness they stood for a time.

"Hm, well," said Quatre slowly, "why don't you see if you can get this thing working again," he offered Trowa the GPS unit with a shallow, hopeful smile, "and I'll look for the right tree."

"Sure." Trowa let his pack drop from one shoulder and swung it to the ground. He fell to a squat beside it and rummaged in an outer pocket for the photograph. It was of a dead tree, with freshly turned earth before it. On the back of the thick paper coordinates had been scrawled in fat blue ink.

"This landscape's surreal," Quatre said and exchanged his electronic gadget for the photograph. He didn't comment on the tremble that seized Trowa's outstretched hand.

With a nod and a hard swallow, Trowa withdrew his hand, making a fist, and replied. "In dreams, I see it--or things like it--often." It felt like a confession, though he'd already told Quatre of this place.

"So this is where...?"

"Yeah," Trowa said and glanced over the plain they had recently traversed. "Some things even I don't forget." This was where his life on Earth had ended. Even after the intervening years, he could imagine the broken metal giants lying in a smoky haze on the burnt grass. "I don't think I'll ever forget this place."

"But you still don't remember what you buried here?" The question was asked gently, with no intoned expectation of response, or even acknowledgement.

And Trowa felt gratitude, that Quatre had accompanied him on this bizarre treasure hunt--insisted on coming--though Trowa had been adamant he go alone. If not for Quatre, he'd probably not have left his hotel room this morning.

He looked up at his partner and smiled. "Let's find out," he said at last, stuffed the GPS unit in the top of his pack, and stood.