Disclaimer: Gankutsuou: The Count of Monte Cristo is copyright Mahiro Maeda, GONZO / Media Factory, GDH, Geneon, and Funimation. No infringement or disrespect of owners of existing copyrights in Gankutsuou or its derivative works is intended by this non-profit, noncommercial amateur fan fiction..
Description: In the House of Monte Cristo, there are many wonders. A elaboration of certain scenes from episode 14 and 15.
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Mainspring
by silverr
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He had told Franz that he didn't know what was true anymore and what was a lie – but that itself was a lie.
It was true that Franz had become secretive, that Eugenie had become engaged to Cavalcanti without speaking to him at all, that someone had poisoned Valentine and likely deprived her of Maximilien's kind, solid love. The very ground beneath his feet was disappearing, but in all the chaos there was an island of sanity, of stability, of truth.
The metal horses thunder past him across the rain-silvered bridge, and then stop; the window of the carriage irises open; and then all else is unimportant, because the only one he can trust is there.
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"I wanted to show you the river of heaven."
Is the story about the tragic separation of the lovers, or the joy of their once-a-year reunion?
The faint glow from the cosmic river, unfathomably vast and sad, brings tears to Albert's eyes. "I used to think that we are all like stars, that everyone dies alone. But for some reason, the thought of living that way now seems the saddest thing in the world to me." He jumps to his feet. "Our friendship can be the exception! I'll show them all, that you're the one person that I can trust!"
"Do you still have my pocketwatch?"
Albert nods, takes the timepiece from his pocket, holds it out, but his friend does not look at him.
"I hope that you will always think of me when you look on it. The sun is setting on my time here; soon I must set sail across the river of stars."
This approaching pain pierces Albert. "We can go together! I don't want to be separated from you!"
The Count turns to him, surprised. "Do you really think so much of me, Albert?"
"Yes!" He clenchs the pocket watch in his fist.
"You are young, Albert. You have not yet learned that passion is like the mayfly, that lives but a day. Next year someone new will live in your heart."
"No! That won't happen! I – to me, you're – " He aches with the enormity of his feelings.
"One day I will ask you again what you think of me. I wonder what your answer will be then?"
The Count's servant enters then, and through his shimmering misery Albert hears the Count excuse himself.
He huddles on the bench beneath the viewing window, opening the pocket watch, filling it with a river of stars.
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He hears screams. They come from all around him, from every direction of the featureless pale sky that arches above the featureless horizon.
The river is frozen. He slips often as he runs, but the man's agony makes him frantic.
At first he pays no attention to the darkness beneath the ice, but then he sees movement. He kneels, and cups his hands, and sees a vast metal arc, moving and stopping, moving and stopping.
The screams seem to be coming from its epicenter.
He runs, and as he runs he realizes that the screams are the Count's, that the Count is being tortured, and he needs to call out Have hope, I am coming! but he has no breath. The screaming is constant now, a drawn out howl of rage, coiling around and around on itself, winding tighter and tighter, and just when Albert feels he can stand no more he falls through the ice.
He is blind and mostly numb but not deaf. He is naked, spreadeagled, his legs stretched wide, swinging back and forth. Something pushes into him, over and over, but each time it does the Count's pain is less, the screaming is less, and so Albert welcomes it. Is this not what love is? To do whatever one can to ease the beloved's pain? He openes his mouth, tries to speak, offer comfort, but now another mouth is on his, their teeth scraping together as Albert wis ratcheted back and forth. Each iteration is a different mouth, different teeth … and yet the Count's pain is lessening, second by second, minute by minute, hour by hour, so Albert is happy to be used, happy knowing that he is just one piece of a complex mechanism, precisely calibrated cause and effect, coincidences and circumstances intersecting like pinions and gears. He is the key component of the escapement, and this certainty fills him with hot wild joy, the pallet engaging him over and over again, amor certa, hora incerta …
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He wakes, face down on the bench. When he turns his head he sees the Count standing in the doorway.
"Oh such a strange dream I had," Albert says, rubbing his eyes as he sits up. "I was on some ice, and then … well, I think there was … there were gears and then … " he suddenly stops, blushing, "… and then, er, I was one too, or something. Just part of some huge machine." He sees the watch on the bench next to him. "Dreams can be so strange sometimes."
"Indeed," the Count says with a smile.
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~ The end ~
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Written for Kink Bingo round 3, card 1, kink 4,5: mechanical/technological
AN: I hope that the Latin at the end of the dream sequence is correct: as the inscription in the pocket watch reads Mors certa, Hora incerta – "Death is certain, its hour unknown" – I was hoping to twist that to Love is certain, its hour uncertain.
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(04) 4 September 2010 ~ change tense