The boring, 'read the label' bit:
Genre: Slash/Romance/Mystery/Abstract/Dark/Horror
Pairing: Murtagh x Tornac
Rating: T - for slash and implied death themes.
Warnings: Slash – nothing graphic. Implied death themes. Rated VERY overcautiously.
Disclaimer: I do not own Murtagh - copyright to C. Paolini, who I do not know and am not associated with. Tornac in name is copyright to Paolini, but characterisation is my own. The title comes from a Nightwish song, and is copyright to aforementioned amazing band. Not making any money from this.
PLEASE R N R
It's wonderful to be able to walk here, without people's eyes judging us. Judging us for who we are, how we are. There's a bliss in being ignored for once, in being able to walk past everybody without once receiving a funny look, or a glance of suspicion. I smile at my beautiful lover, who still even now, reminds me of an over-excited child. Look at him - he can hardly contain his joy at being here with me, silver eyes full of exhilarated joy. It's our anniversary , making him even more playful than usual. If I should ever need reminding why I love this man, all I have to do is watch him now, watch the way the life comes into his eyes, at how his seriousness disappears so readily when I suggest going out into the world a little while, just for a change, just to see how it is turning on without us, just to see how every stone and every person is aging, just to see…
The wind is whipping ghostly tendrils through chinks and gaping empty wounds in the walls of the icy corridor, and I frown slightly. I don't ever remember it being in this state of destruction. There are stones missing now. It's falling into disrepair faster than I thought it would. And it's saddening, because I used to spend so many long hours prowling this place, but, like me, it seems to have started to be forgotten about. I think sometimes that it is because-
"Having fun?" I laugh, and he nods, grinning, rushing into my embrace and throwing his arms around my neck, eyes shining. I could be sure he gets younger with every day that passes. His black hair is hanging in his eyes, and I brush it back gently, making him smile. It's hard to think about the misery of this place when he's this happy, hard to imagine the truth that once, everything around us seemed such a hell instead of the heaven it should have been. But it's easy to forget it, seeing him like this. It's so wonderfully blissfully easy to forget the fact that we-
"Can we go?" he begs. "Can we go… you know…Please?" his big beautiful silver eyes search mine imploringly. "Please?" Blatantly, he's trying his hardest to win me over by pure charm, eyes large and filled with such a mournful sweetness that it's irresistible - and he knows it all too well. He smiles as he notices how it's working on me. Sometimes I wonder if I could ever say no to him. My darling's just too irrecusably adorable, with his wonderfully romantic accent and his gorgeous eyes and his smile.
"Maybe." I kiss his nose lightly, playfully. "But no promises… after all…" I smile mysteriously "It's supposed to be haunted." His fleeting laughter fills the corridor, a sweet laugh of pure amusement, one that's soon joined by my laugh. He snuggles closer into my arms, rubbing his face against my neck softly, tracing along my ear with his finger absently. I shiver, and know that it isn't cause by the cold.
"What demon haunts it?" his other hand moves instinctively around my wrist softly, with such affectionate emotion, sending shivers down my back. "What is it that's so terrifying that we can't go there… tell me about the ghost." His fingers are stroking my neck; light, loving, teasing.
"It's the ghost of a lover" I tell him quietly, playing to his expectations, repeating something he knows better than me I am sure. "A lover who took their own life…to be with who they loved… and sometimes, just sometimes… they say you can see his lover too… a pair of them haunting the room."
"That's so romantic." he breathes, one hand now toying with my hair and the other stroking along my wrist delicately. "What a beautiful story." he pulls away slightly to look into my eyes, silver ones reflecting the brown of my own, a strange dangerous mischief coming over his features. "I want to visit it even more now… I want to see this… ghost…" he kisses me gently, knowing that I'm loving this moment as much as he is. "I want to see this tragic little phantom."
"You're sure?" I brush his hair back, out of his eyes again, enjoying the feeling of it through my fingers. "Sure you won't be scared by the ghost?" he slips one hand into mine, the only confirmation I need, an excited assurance. He nods slightly, making a small almost inaudible laugh. As he unwraps himself from my arms, he's smiling, with such innocent childish excitement masking the wicked little intentions he no doubt has.
"As long as the ghost isn't scared of me." he whispers, tracing his finger down my back which makes me shiver, and makes him smile even more.
We continue down the corridor, his fingers caressing mine all the while, positively buzzing with energy as we reach the stone stairway. The one I used to know so well, the one I must have used hundreds of times without ever even imagining that, years on, it would be falling into ruin because of the haunting memories attached to it. It almost serves to make it more attractive though, the scars covering the stones seeming somehow darkly wonderful. The wearing on the walls strangely charming. He can feel it too, I know he can, because his eyes are fixed on me, full of expectation and sparking dangerously. Silently, I open the door, painstakingly slowly to prolong the atmosphere, to draw out this gloriously toxic potion of emotions in the air. I glance back at him with a dark smile.
"Would you rather not?" I squeeze his hand softly.
"I think you're scared of the ghost." he eyes me, his eyes so deeply playful that I know he's enjoying teasing me, just as he did all that time ago when we first met. "I think that you're reluctant to go because…" he's closer to me now, against my back, right next to my ear. "I think you're scared." he whispers, smiling with me as I shrug him off and step into the room. He always has loved teasing me, the one time he truly seems his actual age, the one time he really seems a little older than me. And, though I'd never tell him, sometimes the teasing is almost enjoyable.
The room we stand in is cold, like the corridor, nothing remaining of where there once was a fire save for mere unlit embers . Aside from that, there is very little to betray the fact that this room is not used anymore. It is almost as if this preservation is a frozen wish that the events that are supposed to have happened here had not. Every candle remains, still standing briskly to attention, the wicks half burned, never finished. The bed is still made in preparation for a man who never did return to it. There is no sign that this was where somebody took his own life. Not the slightest sign, but there is still a deep foreboding atmosphere, that I know my darling is adoring, and an almost gothic feel of aging, the way that the shutters hang off their hinges, leaving the window permanently open so that leaves have drifted inside.
"Don't you think it's romantic here?" he beams, turning to me in search of an embrace - which, needless to say, he gets and joyfully snuggles into. "It's so perfect… so tragically beautiful don't you think?" I have to agree - there is something oddly dark and yet wonderful about spending our anniversary in a room supposedly haunted by ghosts of love. Something so special that, although I have few words for it, sends wonderful shivers through me, shivers that intensify as I feel his fingers touching my back, slipping inside my shirt and gently stroking the scar tissue on my right shoulder. "Don't you think it's lovely?" he whispers.
"mmm." My eyes start to drift over our surroundings, taking it in in more detail, and noticing more and more the little things that show that things are not quite as they should be. A patchy crimson memorial staining the floor. A colour that I can only possibly associate with one thing. Flowers laid out in remembrance, that give me an odd uneasy feeling , a feeling that starts to churn at my insides, a feeling that I know-
-a feeling that is soon completely erased by his fingers exploring further down my scar. And a warm rush of memories that roar up inside of me of our first kiss, of the first time we ever stood like this, only it was so wet. So rainy, torrential, which for some reason didn't matter to us. And I'm no longer interested in the feelings of foreboding, because he's more important than any of that. "I'm wondering if this ghost will ever grace us with his presence." He touches my wrist lightly. "It is taking him a dreadfully long time…"
"Stop being such a tease." I scold him, "You'll make him angry with you…" I smile at the dark little glimmer appearing in his eyes. "Don't tell me you're trying to make him angry?" He is pensive for a moment, considering, before he shakes his head slightly.
"No…at least, not exactly…" he kisses me. He tastes of danger, of excitement, and most of all, of pure wonderful love, love that I know is for me - because I feel exactly the same for him. I adore every bit of attention he's giving me, and I'm sure he's enjoying my affections too. He pulls away, and touches my nose with his finger, teasing. "think of it more as… I'm trying to attract his attention…" beaming playfully, he drapes himself around my neck, so that we can stare into each others eyes. He really has the most beautiful eyes. I know that nobody has more beautiful eyes, because his are just so wonderful, they steal absolutely all sense from me, with their breath-taking silver colour, so terrifyingly perfect. Mine are just a dull muddy hazel brown, nothing nearly as exciting as his are. His eyes are probably the thing that I missed most, the thing that drove me to-
"the ghost's taking his time…" He jokes. He's kissing me again, unexpectedly, his arms tight around my waist, hugging me closer against him. I pull him even tighter to me, and, like it is every time, it's perfect, as if our bodies were moulded exactly to fit one another, so that everything just feels so brilliant about our embrace, everything feels right. Teasingly, he pushes his hands up under the fabric of my shirt. I make a tiny little mewl of pleasure which translates perfectly for the pair of us.
"Hmm?" he whispers, still teasing.
"Your hands are warm…" I smile, still kissing him, my fingers stroking up and down his sides softly. His hands ghost over my stomach lightly, making me laugh and shiver at the same time. I let him touch my bare skin, loving the undivided attention I am receiving, and try to show him as much appreciation as possible, kissing his neck, caressing his back under my fingers, loving the wonderful heat of having him pressed against me, loving the feeling as I am pushed against the wall, allowing my eyes to open for a minute.
I glance at the flowers again, and now I notice that there are candles too. In a remembrance that gives me a horrible sinking feeling which
- which I forget as Tornac presses his hands lightly against my stomach, sending pleasure down my spine. There's a sound from outside the window. An odd sound, that is disturbingly familiar as the sound of somebody crying. At first I ignore it to give my full attention to the beautiful man in my arms… giving everything into our love, our fragile yet unbreakable romance. I kiss him, my mind in a tempest confusion over what the noises are. Slowly slowly I find myself becoming desperately distracted by the wailing noise. I run my fingers through his hair, trying hard not to think about the sound that is wavering at the edges of my thoughts and instead concentrate on this wonderful warmth between us. I force myself to think only of his hands wondering over my skin, and try to relax, just enjoy our moment. But, as hard as I try not to let it breach on my consciousness too far, I must be tensing up, because he's stopped to look at me, faint concern in his face.
"Alright?"
I don't reply, just lead him over to the source of my distraction. Slowly, together, we venture towards the window and peer out of it, unsure of what we might see. But there are too many people, and we are left, curious and clueless as to what the commotion is all about. I look to him, my eyes pleading, but never managing to achieve the same irresistible effect that his have over me.
"Please?" I look straight into his eyes. "Please?"
"Are you sure?" he kisses my wrist gently "Are you sure you want to go down there?" I tense, unsure, apprehension creating an odd tickling sensation down my spine. Finally, I manage to look into his eyes, and tell him quietly;
"I'm sure."
When we finally reach the outside courtyard, we shuffle through the quite significant crowd., somehow managing to pass completely unnoticed - odd for us, but a welcome difference from the brutal insults and hurt we had used to receive. Tornac's hold on my hand tightens as we reach the front of the grieving crowd, and his arms come around me as I stare blankly at the huge memorial paying respect to a man who had died too soon to be with somebody he loved. I stare at it, a guilt churning in my stomach as I stare, unable to look away, from my safe recluse in his arms. Everything in me screams to look away, but, somehow… I can't. I'm drawn to this grief, to this remembrance, and slowly go over to stand on the graves. Two lovers, buried alongside one another. One grave has been there for a long time- the moss creeping up the headstone betraying the fact. The one beside it is newer. It's maybe only been there a year at most. Still people are grieving for the person who lies entombed in it.
I look back at the small crowd. Every tear from their eyes cuts into me, because it's undeserved. Completely undeserved. They continue to look through me, to the stone header of this burial. I read the inscription carefully, and find it to be more than satisfactory. Short. I always have loved short things - the three words that meant the most to me have always been some of the shortest; 'I love you.' And so as I read over the words again, it makes such sense in my mind that it breaks my heart. I look at the people again, and feel such a rush of emotions that I just turn to Tornac. With such understanding, he pulls me into his arms and lets me stay there, stunned, rocking me gently.
"Love is eternal and death is nothing but a horizon." he reads quietly into my ear, seeming to like the words too. "That's beautiful… really beautiful…" It brings little comfort as I'm forced to listen to people mourning, and bury my head in his shoulder, relying on his arms around me and feeling like a child all over again, needing to be held because I can't quite comprehend the situation I am in. My mind runs numb, unable to work out why this is all happening, unable to know why there is such grief.
Finally, when I feel more ready, I chance a brief look at the graves again. Tornac's fingers gently caress the cut across my wrist that will never heal, the scar I inflicted on myself, carefully, with such care and understanding that it crushes me even more.
"Alright?" he whispers. I nod slowly, unable to find the right words. Eventually, they come.
"I just never knew I'd be missed this much…"
Lupine requiem, 2008.