There was no point in telling Silk that he was grinning like a child -- in
essence, he was a child -- as he bounced into the room. Noin merely set
aside the book he'd been reading, dog-earing the page so that he wouldn't
lose his place and setting the leather-bound book upon a nearby table. Silk
would tell him what had provoked the bright smile in exhaustive detail, he
was sure, as soon as he calmed down.
Indeed, it took only a moment for the bouncing to cease and the boy to
start babbling. Noin held up a hand, and the stream of words slowed to a
more intelligible pace. "Maron-san. She had her baby -- it's a girl -- and
they named her Natsuki, and she's /Fin/! Maron-san showed her to me, and
she's so small! Even though Nagoya-san didn't want me to see her (he threw
me out after a little while), and nor did the angel-" Noin assumed he meant
Access Time. "-Maron-san still let me see her."
A wrench of mingled loss and a bittersweet happiness flickered in what was
left of his soul at the news. Jeanne's happiness, what she'd been looking
for, was complete. And he wasn't a part of it. He'd often considered fading
back into the shadows to brood and be alone in his contemplation, but he'd
spent too much time in the ningenkai, and far too many emotions had
resurfaced for him to truly fit back into the world of the few demons that
still lived.
Silk was staring at him blankly, his words having trailed off. He was
expecting a reaction typical of his master. Very well. "You saw Jeanne?
What was she doing? And why did you go without my permission?"
And the explanations began to roll out of Silk as smoothly as his namesake,
just like a child caught in the middle of mischief.
***
It was another day, just like the days had been for the past several
centuries. Noin, resting comfortably in a well-padded armchair, was staring
at a page in another of his books. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to get
past the first three words, their flowing, elegant French failing to grasp
his attention as they had in the past.
With a sigh, he deposited the book on the table at his elbow, steepling his
hands in front of his face. Five years since the day Silk had brought him
the news, and he'd not felt the restless need to move that had driven him
for so long. The boy's words from so long ago had driven those urges out.
A light wind ruffled the pages of the book he'd set aside, finally settling
upon a page he skipped whenever he read the book. A poem was written
therein, so familiar that it caused him to ache as he had when he had first
read the simple lines.
/O Jeanne, sans scrupule et sans portrait,
toi qui savais que le tombeau des heros
est le coeur des vivants... /
/Oh Jeanne, without scrupule nor portrait,
You who knew that the tombs of heroes
Are the hearts of the living.../
It was, of course, untrue that she had left no portrait -- she had, in many
ways. Literally, she had a large portrait in the church in Rouen, and she
herself was a living portrait in the current day as Nagoya Maron. And yet,
the words still rang true: she had known the hearts of her soldiers and
guards, and had treasured their lives. Their deaths -- for deaths were
inevitable in the battles against the English that had concealed Jeanne's
true intention -- had hurt her, and the then-human Noin Claude had been the
one person she had allowed herself to cry with.
It was that that had driven him to give up everything -- his life, his
faith in God and the pure love he'd had for her -- to see her again. And
the irony was that he wasn't that person anymore; he was not the one she
turned to for love and comfort. And that was both why he stayed and why he
never touched her life.
He snapped the book shut with an abrupt sweep of his hand and stared out at
the clear skies through the open window. God had a sense of humor, and this
had been a badly-timed example of it.
"Very amusing," he growled, adding a few choice curses in French and
several other languages as he stalked away, in search of a shadow to brood
in.
***
God's sense of humor was even more in evidence as he stared, several hours
later, at Maron. She was standing on his doorstep, one hand still poised to
knock at his door, her brown eyes wide and hesitant. He recovered quickly,
moving to the side and gesturing for her to come in.
"Thank you, Noin. Natsuki-chan?" She reached down with one slender hand --
Noin's mind momentarily flashed back to a memory of Jeanne's hands, so much
more callused than this woman's -- for a small, pixieish figure.
"A family visit?" He asked with a touch of wry sarcasm, arching a brow at
her sudden smile. "Silk has been visiting you, then? I hope that he hasn't
eaten all of your food."
It was safer to stick to such topics, he mused as he led them towards a
sitting room. It was used little, but it was still a more gracious room
than his study. Natsuki clung to her mother's hand, her green eyes fixed
upon him in a faintly unnerving stare. It was as though she were measuring
him against some unconscious flicker of memory. Then she smiled, and all
traces of that too-old expression vanished in a delightful burble of
laughter.
He supposed that he'd been measuring her against her former self as well,
in a way. It wasn't a fair comparison, in truth. "Let me get some tea,
Nagoya-san." He ignored the brief, unvocalized protest at his formality,
already on his way to prepare the hospitality.
As his hands automatically set everything out, his mind worried over the
puzzle of her sudden appearance, turning it this way and that, examining
every angle. The boy couldn't know that she was here; he would've been
here, jealously guarding what he considered his. Fin's presence was another
twist. Nothing was simple when one was dealing with Jeanne, he noted as he
retrieved three cups, setting them on a tray beside the steaming teapot and
the sugar.
Natsuki was still sitting next to Maron, though she showed signs of
impatience; her feet were swinging aimlessly over the edge of the chair,
and her eyes lit up with interest at the sight of him. It was lucky, he
supposed, that he was in human guise; what such a young child (even if she
was Fin Fish in essence) would make of a demon was unknown.
They sipped the tea in silence for a moment, the fragrance drifting upwards
in the steam. Maron broke the silence, setting the half-empty teacup down
with a soft clink. "Noin..." She trailed off for a moment, looking down at
her hands. "I wanted to tell you..."
Natsuki took this moment to intervene, slipping her hand out of her
mother's and hopping lightly down to the floor. She watched him for a
moment, then walked over. "Mama wanted to say thank you. An' to say sorry."
She knew, somehow. Noin stared at the child, lips twitching as he spared a
moment to glance at Maron's rather shocked expression. Amusement, an
emotion long forgotten, flickered into life as Fin -- no, she truly wasn't
Fin, she was Natsuki -- put her hands on her hips and stared flatly back at
him with bright green eyes. She was obviously expecting an answer. "You get
your bluntness from your father, I suppose." Some humanly impish part of
him chuckled wickedly at the words. "The ungrateful boy," he added after a
moment's pause.
Maron hadn't so much as flinched. Natsuki, on the other hand, had no such
restraint. "Papa's not 'ngrateful!" she yelled, drawing one slippered foot
back and letting fly. It connected with his shin, sending a minor spark of
pain shooting upwards. He frowned at her, then picked her up, holding her
above him as she struggled.
"Your father has been ungrateful since the beginning of time, little one,"
Noin said, sighing. He couldn't hold her up there forever, some small part
of him noted; it would be pointlessly cruel. Settling her upon his lap, he
arched a brow at her. "And there has been very little to change that in all
the years."
He was surprised that Maron hadn't protested; she simply continued to watch
him, her expression closed. A tug at the ribbon that held his hair back --
and kept him in his present appearance -- drew his attention back to
Natsuki. Somehow, it was impossible not to like the child. The fact that
she was the physical representation of his loss somehow held very little
meaning. "'S pretty," Natsuki said, playing with it. He sighed, then gently
took her hand away from it, forcing himself to frown at her.
She seemed to know the frown for the sham it was, for she reached for the
ribbon again, tugging it almost all the way out. "Little one," he said,
grasping her hand again, "It's not safe to play with that ribbon."
"Natsuki-chan," Maron's voice was admonishing, but there was an almost
gleeful note in the words. "Leave the ribbon alone, please."
"Noin-sama, I-" Silk had padded into the room in human form, halting as he
saw Natsuki and Maron.
Natsuki's delighted laughter broke the silence as she hopped off of Noin's
lap and bolted over to Silk, throwing her arms around his waist.
"Silk-niichan!"
Both Noin and Maron wore pained expressions at the exclamation.
***
'Thank you and sorry'. Such odd sentiments from a child barely old enough
in physical terms to understand the basics of such things.
essence, he was a child -- as he bounced into the room. Noin merely set
aside the book he'd been reading, dog-earing the page so that he wouldn't
lose his place and setting the leather-bound book upon a nearby table. Silk
would tell him what had provoked the bright smile in exhaustive detail, he
was sure, as soon as he calmed down.
Indeed, it took only a moment for the bouncing to cease and the boy to
start babbling. Noin held up a hand, and the stream of words slowed to a
more intelligible pace. "Maron-san. She had her baby -- it's a girl -- and
they named her Natsuki, and she's /Fin/! Maron-san showed her to me, and
she's so small! Even though Nagoya-san didn't want me to see her (he threw
me out after a little while), and nor did the angel-" Noin assumed he meant
Access Time. "-Maron-san still let me see her."
A wrench of mingled loss and a bittersweet happiness flickered in what was
left of his soul at the news. Jeanne's happiness, what she'd been looking
for, was complete. And he wasn't a part of it. He'd often considered fading
back into the shadows to brood and be alone in his contemplation, but he'd
spent too much time in the ningenkai, and far too many emotions had
resurfaced for him to truly fit back into the world of the few demons that
still lived.
Silk was staring at him blankly, his words having trailed off. He was
expecting a reaction typical of his master. Very well. "You saw Jeanne?
What was she doing? And why did you go without my permission?"
And the explanations began to roll out of Silk as smoothly as his namesake,
just like a child caught in the middle of mischief.
***
It was another day, just like the days had been for the past several
centuries. Noin, resting comfortably in a well-padded armchair, was staring
at a page in another of his books. Try as he might, he couldn't seem to get
past the first three words, their flowing, elegant French failing to grasp
his attention as they had in the past.
With a sigh, he deposited the book on the table at his elbow, steepling his
hands in front of his face. Five years since the day Silk had brought him
the news, and he'd not felt the restless need to move that had driven him
for so long. The boy's words from so long ago had driven those urges out.
A light wind ruffled the pages of the book he'd set aside, finally settling
upon a page he skipped whenever he read the book. A poem was written
therein, so familiar that it caused him to ache as he had when he had first
read the simple lines.
/O Jeanne, sans scrupule et sans portrait,
toi qui savais que le tombeau des heros
est le coeur des vivants... /
/Oh Jeanne, without scrupule nor portrait,
You who knew that the tombs of heroes
Are the hearts of the living.../
It was, of course, untrue that she had left no portrait -- she had, in many
ways. Literally, she had a large portrait in the church in Rouen, and she
herself was a living portrait in the current day as Nagoya Maron. And yet,
the words still rang true: she had known the hearts of her soldiers and
guards, and had treasured their lives. Their deaths -- for deaths were
inevitable in the battles against the English that had concealed Jeanne's
true intention -- had hurt her, and the then-human Noin Claude had been the
one person she had allowed herself to cry with.
It was that that had driven him to give up everything -- his life, his
faith in God and the pure love he'd had for her -- to see her again. And
the irony was that he wasn't that person anymore; he was not the one she
turned to for love and comfort. And that was both why he stayed and why he
never touched her life.
He snapped the book shut with an abrupt sweep of his hand and stared out at
the clear skies through the open window. God had a sense of humor, and this
had been a badly-timed example of it.
"Very amusing," he growled, adding a few choice curses in French and
several other languages as he stalked away, in search of a shadow to brood
in.
***
God's sense of humor was even more in evidence as he stared, several hours
later, at Maron. She was standing on his doorstep, one hand still poised to
knock at his door, her brown eyes wide and hesitant. He recovered quickly,
moving to the side and gesturing for her to come in.
"Thank you, Noin. Natsuki-chan?" She reached down with one slender hand --
Noin's mind momentarily flashed back to a memory of Jeanne's hands, so much
more callused than this woman's -- for a small, pixieish figure.
"A family visit?" He asked with a touch of wry sarcasm, arching a brow at
her sudden smile. "Silk has been visiting you, then? I hope that he hasn't
eaten all of your food."
It was safer to stick to such topics, he mused as he led them towards a
sitting room. It was used little, but it was still a more gracious room
than his study. Natsuki clung to her mother's hand, her green eyes fixed
upon him in a faintly unnerving stare. It was as though she were measuring
him against some unconscious flicker of memory. Then she smiled, and all
traces of that too-old expression vanished in a delightful burble of
laughter.
He supposed that he'd been measuring her against her former self as well,
in a way. It wasn't a fair comparison, in truth. "Let me get some tea,
Nagoya-san." He ignored the brief, unvocalized protest at his formality,
already on his way to prepare the hospitality.
As his hands automatically set everything out, his mind worried over the
puzzle of her sudden appearance, turning it this way and that, examining
every angle. The boy couldn't know that she was here; he would've been
here, jealously guarding what he considered his. Fin's presence was another
twist. Nothing was simple when one was dealing with Jeanne, he noted as he
retrieved three cups, setting them on a tray beside the steaming teapot and
the sugar.
Natsuki was still sitting next to Maron, though she showed signs of
impatience; her feet were swinging aimlessly over the edge of the chair,
and her eyes lit up with interest at the sight of him. It was lucky, he
supposed, that he was in human guise; what such a young child (even if she
was Fin Fish in essence) would make of a demon was unknown.
They sipped the tea in silence for a moment, the fragrance drifting upwards
in the steam. Maron broke the silence, setting the half-empty teacup down
with a soft clink. "Noin..." She trailed off for a moment, looking down at
her hands. "I wanted to tell you..."
Natsuki took this moment to intervene, slipping her hand out of her
mother's and hopping lightly down to the floor. She watched him for a
moment, then walked over. "Mama wanted to say thank you. An' to say sorry."
She knew, somehow. Noin stared at the child, lips twitching as he spared a
moment to glance at Maron's rather shocked expression. Amusement, an
emotion long forgotten, flickered into life as Fin -- no, she truly wasn't
Fin, she was Natsuki -- put her hands on her hips and stared flatly back at
him with bright green eyes. She was obviously expecting an answer. "You get
your bluntness from your father, I suppose." Some humanly impish part of
him chuckled wickedly at the words. "The ungrateful boy," he added after a
moment's pause.
Maron hadn't so much as flinched. Natsuki, on the other hand, had no such
restraint. "Papa's not 'ngrateful!" she yelled, drawing one slippered foot
back and letting fly. It connected with his shin, sending a minor spark of
pain shooting upwards. He frowned at her, then picked her up, holding her
above him as she struggled.
"Your father has been ungrateful since the beginning of time, little one,"
Noin said, sighing. He couldn't hold her up there forever, some small part
of him noted; it would be pointlessly cruel. Settling her upon his lap, he
arched a brow at her. "And there has been very little to change that in all
the years."
He was surprised that Maron hadn't protested; she simply continued to watch
him, her expression closed. A tug at the ribbon that held his hair back --
and kept him in his present appearance -- drew his attention back to
Natsuki. Somehow, it was impossible not to like the child. The fact that
she was the physical representation of his loss somehow held very little
meaning. "'S pretty," Natsuki said, playing with it. He sighed, then gently
took her hand away from it, forcing himself to frown at her.
She seemed to know the frown for the sham it was, for she reached for the
ribbon again, tugging it almost all the way out. "Little one," he said,
grasping her hand again, "It's not safe to play with that ribbon."
"Natsuki-chan," Maron's voice was admonishing, but there was an almost
gleeful note in the words. "Leave the ribbon alone, please."
"Noin-sama, I-" Silk had padded into the room in human form, halting as he
saw Natsuki and Maron.
Natsuki's delighted laughter broke the silence as she hopped off of Noin's
lap and bolted over to Silk, throwing her arms around his waist.
"Silk-niichan!"
Both Noin and Maron wore pained expressions at the exclamation.
***
'Thank you and sorry'. Such odd sentiments from a child barely old enough
in physical terms to understand the basics of such things.