Title: Candle in the Wind
Summary: He waited, but the person he waited for was late to the chase. It was time to go home.
Notes: Inspired by the video of See-Saw's "Kimi wa Boku ni Niteiru". Title taken from Elton John's song.
Disclaimer: I do not own D. Gray-man and its characters.
The grass on the field was overgrown. It reached to his knees, and it was dry in the early autumn. He stood at the edge of the field, leaning against a tree, waiting. He had been waiting a long time. The wind rustled the grass and he leaned forward, the pendent around his neck swinging forth as he did so. It shone, wine red, in the dying sunlight. He wondered if he had imagined somebody coming. But when the wind died down there was no sound except for the bark scratching against his clothes as he leaned back.
He's not coming, he thought. He shook his head, the white strands of hair pulling free from the tree bark as he did so. When he opened his eyes once more it was still a sea of yellowing grass before him and, further away, the outlines of a small town. If he tried hard he could imagine the bells tolling, but here it was silent. There weren't any birds to keep him company.
The pendent seemed to pulse. He closed a hand around it and pulled it out, taking a closer look. It still glimmered a dark red – only the edges were beginning to lighten. He still had time.
He would wait. Until he couldn't wait any longer.
.
In the town the man listened to the bells toll. The sound could be heard even at the edge, where he was seated. One green eye watched the church tower as the bells announced the time. There was only an hour of daylight left, he thought as he counted up to five. When the deep gong died down he stood up from the bench.
Years ago, he would have drawn more than second glances with his dark red hair. It was the colour of the devil, the townspeople had believed. Now he could go about his business without mothers muttering prayers. The end of the war had brought change. Not peace, he thought. The peace they had fought so hard for, yes. But not the peace he had sought.
Today was the anniversary of the end of the war. For the townspeople, it was a Tuesday. They bought their groceries, sent their kids to school, drank at the pubs. Five days later they would be dressed in their Sunday best and going to church. For Lavi it was another day.
He stopped in his footsteps. He was no longer Lavi. It was only today he would allow himself to remember his past name. He turned around and looked back at the spot he had vacated. Just a street away was the gate that led out of town, to the field and, beyond it, a small forest. He knew the field, the forest, and what lay there.
There was no reason for him to be here. No war, no conflict, nothing of significance about this town. No doubt he would remember its name and the layout, and even the number of people. But there was nothing for him here.
He started walking to the gate.
.
The sun was fierce even as it started its descent among gathering clouds. When he held out the pendent again it was blood red in the sunlight. He sighed and glanced at the town again, before placing down a few stalks of rosemary.
Turning around, he started walking through the trees.
In the shade the sunlight was filtered, but it was still enough to move by. There was a path he knew, though it could not be easily seen. The leaves caught at his clothes, and some even at his skin, but he didn't bleed or feel pain. He wound through bushes and stepped over roots, pausing for a moment only to glance in a small pool of still water.
He crouched down on the bank of the pool, staring into the perfect mirror. He traced the mark over his left eye; it was still a dark, angry red. He dipped a hand into the water, sending ripples through it, distorting his features. When he smiled it was crooked in the reflection. But the pendent could still be seen in the water. It was the colour of fire, an orange hearth on a winter's night, a fiery snake chasing nightmares away. He closed a hand around it again and stood up, making his way back through the forest.
.
At the edge of the field there was a forest. The grass rustled in the wind as he strode to the forest. He wondered what he was doing. There was nothing in the town, but there certainly was nothing here for him either. As he approached the edge he caught a scent carried over by the wind.
Rosemary, his mind said. It wasn't a plant native to this area.
He quickened his steps, the fragrance growing stronger as he neared the trees. He stopped at the tree nearest the grass and crouched down. The pale blue flowers were tiny in his hand, and the leaves were dark green. He brought them to his nose and inhaled, almost overwhelmed by the smell.
There was something for him here.
He had made a promise to somebody.
Holding the stalks tight, he stood up and ran into the forest.
.
The boy's steps faltered as he neared the other edge of the forest. It was darker here, and the sun was close to setting. Clouds had gathered, threatening to storm. When he looked at the pendent in the faint light it shone a raspberry red.
He tucked it back under his shirt and stepped past the final line of trees. In the distance there was a flash of lightning and a boom of thunder. In front of him was another small field, and a cottage in the middle of the field. The cottage was rundown and abandoned. But at this distance he could hear music, the clear sound of a piano.
He paused and looked back. The sun had almost disappeared beneath the trees, and soon it would be night. Dark clouds were moving in, bringing the scent of rain. When the wind picked up it was harsher, worming its way under his clothes.
Still the music beckoned. The raspberry red of the pendent had faded into pink. He could feel himself being drawn towards the cottage. The last of his yearnings lay beyond the trees, but he could no longer return. He no longer had time.
He took slow steps towards the cottage, the tall grass offering no resistance to him.
.
Lavi panted, running through the forest. He knew the path. His body remembered it, even if he wasn't consciously thinking of it. Several times tree roots threatened to trip him, and he kicked a loose stone into a still pool of water. The sound made him look at the water rippling away, reflecting his face. He looked as breathless as he felt.
He had to keep running. The forest was almost completely dark, and soon he would not be able to move without endangering himself, photographic memory or not. He pushed himself forward, still clinging onto the rosemary. The scent taunted him. It made his heart ache, made him recall feelings long buried.
The other edge of the forest was near. The thunder boomed overhead, and he picked up his pace.
.
There was only a small candle to offer light inside the cottage. When he pressed against the door it swung inward. He could hear the music now – it was a lullaby he remembered from so long ago. It was in its final verse. He held out the pendent, watching it become so faint that there was only a tint of pink left. The flame of the candle flickered in the wind blowing through the open door. The wax was a short stump on top of the piano.
The music quieted as he stepped around the piano. He first saw legs hanging from the bench, then the curve of a back covered in a checkered coat, and then brown hair, the head of the player bent over the piano. The small boy's fingers danced across the keyboard like those of a seasoned musician. The final refrain was played over and over, the same four notes that had started the piece.
When the boy allowed the music to fade he looked up. Allen was looking into his own face, only the boy didn't have the scar that marked him. He smiled and shook his head at the boy's questioning gaze.
The boy frowned and said, "I'm sorry, Allen."
Allen sat down on the bench next to the boy, lifting a hand to tousle the boy's hair. "No, it's alright. You gave me as much time as you could, to say goodbye. I – he wouldn't have come. He no longer can."
The boy reached under his shirt and drew out a pendent, similar to the one around Allen's neck. It was nearly transparent by then. "I didn't think…I thought he would have come," the boy said. He hopped down onto the floor, looking up at Allen. "This is it, you know. Once we leave, we can never…"
"I know," Allen whispered. "I know. I have to rest now. I'm weary."
The boy nodded, his eyes solemn as he held out his hand. Allen took it with his right and, with his left, he removed the pendent. In the light of the candle it shone crystal clear.
"Thank you. Thank you for coming for me," he said to the boy. He had a smile on, though it felt like his chest was hurting. His form started to flicker as he let the pendent fall to the ground with a dull thud.
The boy smiled and said, "Let's go home." Reaching out the other hand, he grabbed hold of Allen, and they closed their eyes, their bodies becoming indistinct in the light thrown by the flame.
.
He had reached the small field before the cottage, and in the wind he thought he had heard music. There was a flash of lightning, illuminating the swinging door. He stepped forward, almost afraid of what he would find. Afraid of what he wouldn't find. There was a small light in the cottage, but no sound at all.
He held the door open and stepped in. The light was only a stump of candle sat on top of the piano. He looked around, swallowing hard. There was nothing in the cottage except the piano, pristine and untouched by age. At its feet there was a pendent, crystal clear. He dropped the rosemary at the entrance – the wind continued to bring its scent in.
"Allen?" he said softly. He stepped forward. "Allen, I'm here. I'm sorry, I didn't forget, I just – "
I just didn't want to remember.
"Please," he whispered. In answer the thunder boomed, seeming to shake the cottage. His eye wandered, searching the corners of the house. It stopped at the piano once more.
He crouched down, picking up the pendent. In the candle flame he could see the pendent shine. But when the candle flickered and died, the pendent was just a smooth, dark stone in his hand.
Notes:
Rosemary: Remembrance