AN This story was based on a song, called 'Wedding night'. Originally a traditional Scottish song, it has been translated and adapted by Laïs, a Belgian singing group of three girls. I don't know the original text and so I didn't put any in. The melody is intoxicating, though, and the first time I heard it, I knew I had to write it into a story. And I knew it had to feature Trowa and Quatre. It could have been Yami/Yugi, or something along those lines, I suppose, but I decided to go by my gut feeling and I think it turned out alright. This is all the author's note you'll get, because it ends too perfect - modesty? What's that- so I will asks here if you would like to leave a review. I hope the dialogue in italics in the second part is clear. It's between Trowa and Quatre.
Summary: The immortal waits, longing for the right one to be called by the waves. The summoned stands, announcing his presence. The stars, the only witnesses of the meeting, stand ready and wait.
The stars sparkled over head, waiting. The waves lapped softly at the shore, trying to eat the sand, then retreating again. The dunes were dark, the grass plumes indistinct sweeping forms.
A tiny figure stood just out of reach from the salty water. The white garment, tugged this way and that by the nightly wind, shone like a beacon in the darkness of the night. Blond hair was ruffled around a bowed head.
Soft tones rose from the figure. A hauntingly sweet melody, melancholy and pleading, calling out for something, anything.
The Wise Woman threw her bones and peered at them, murmuring soft words under her breath. The woman crouching in front of looked from the old woman to the spread signs between them. The soft curve of her belly placed her at six months pregnant.
"What does it say?" she whispered fearfully.
The old woman didn't answer. Instead she reached for the bowl of red sand, filled her hand with it and drew a circle around the bones. Murmuring more words she studies the result. Then she sighed.
"Your child will be called."
The gentle notes of the song died away and the figure remained silent. Nervous fingers fiddled with the white sash around the slim waist. Clear blue eyes remained fixed on the dark sand. Toes dug in the loose footing.
"What are you doing here alone?" a soft voice inquired.
The small figure looked up, blue eyes quickly tracing the speaker. A young man stood, not far away. Green eyes sparkled under lush brown bangs. Taller than the white clad stranger, he wore simple brown pants and a dark tunic held only by a belt.
"I was called."
Whisper followed him wherever he went. Everyone knew of the words spoken by the wise women before his birth. He had asked his mother why people always whispered about him like that. She had answered with a sad smile.
"Because you will be called to the waves, my sweet Quatre, and it's unheard that something like that would happen to a boy."
He hadn't asked more. Like any child he had grown up with stories about the offerings to the sea. Every generation someone, a girl, would be born to be called to the sea. None knew when this tradition had started or why they had to send someone when the next day the village found their offering sleeping peacefully in the sand, waking with the words, "I'm not the one he's waiting for."
"Who were you called by?" the young man asked gently.
"I don't know."
The waves lapped at the shore. The stars stood guard overhead. The wind rustled in the dune grass.
"What is your name?"
"Quatre," the smaller one whispered almost breathlessly. The scent of the sea swirled around him, permeated his senses. It made him slightly dizzy.
The green eyed young man smiled. "That's a lovely name."
"Who are you?"
Quatre angrily threw his head back. "I don't want to learn it. Why do I have to?"
The Wise Woman seemed unperturbed by his attitude. "Everyone called by the waves has to learn the song. So it has been since the beginning of time. All that went, sang to announce their coming.
"I don't even want to go," he muttered rebelliously. "Everyone looks at me strangely because I was called and I'm a boy. I didn't ask for it!"
The Wise Woman sighed and togged at her shawl. "Only fools ask for Fate to give them something. Yet we have no choice bit live with what has been given to us. Now, learn the words, boy. I will not have you disrupt our traditions any further."
The young man didn't answer. He slowly stepped forward until he was right in front of Quatre. Reaching up with his hand, Quatre stiffened when a finger touched his face. Nervously he stood frozen as the finger slowly traced down the side of his face.
"Don't be afraid," the stranger murmured. "I won't hurt you." Quatre's shoulders relaxed minutely.
The young man leaned forward a bit. At least a head taller, he seemed to be looming over Quatre, the smaller one noted. That scent of the ocean was stronger now. It invaded his mind and made him dizzy. His eyelids drooped and he swayed on the spot.
Arms came up around him, pulling him to a warm uneven surface. "Sh," a voice whispered. "It's alright. You'll get used to it."
The square before the inn was filled, people jammed together to catch a glimpse of the happenings in the middle.
The Wise Woman calmly tied the white sash around his waist, then adjusted the collar of the robe. Quatre felt uncomfortable underneath the double layer of white cloth. It was the only garment he was allowed to wear.
All eyes were rivetted on them. He fidgeted under the attention. Tonight he would be 'called to the waves', as was predicted before he was born. He was nervous. He didn't know what awaited him at the dark shore or if he was the one who was waited for by whatever.
Nervously he went through the ceremony, the sun lowering behind his back. When the last pinkish hues had faded from the sky, he was bodily turned to the west and given a light shove.
Trembling he placed one foot before the other and walked unsteadily to the beach.
A hand was moving through his hair, massaging his scalp. Quatre sighed softly. Nobody had ever touched him like that, not even his mother.
"Feel better?" a voice murmured above him.
Quatre made a soft noise in the back of his throat. He wasn't even sure himself what he meant with it. The slight sense of disorientation wasn't gone yet, but something was growing in its place.
A sense of belonging.
"You feel it too, don't you?" the stranger whispered. He moved his head, brushing lips across Quatre's temple. "You are the one I have been waiting for."
The stars sparkled over head, waiting. The waves lapped softly at the shore, trying to eat the sand, then retreating again. The dunes were dark, the grass plumes indistinct sweeping forms.
Two figures stood close together, just out of reach from the salty water. In the changing, shifting light from the stars they seemed to melt into one. White robes fluttered in the wind, lapping at dark clad legs. Gently hands ran over a slender back, brushing the soft white fabric.
So long. So long I waited.
Hesitant fingers traced unfamiliar features, familiarizing themselves. Bangs were swept aside, gaining unobstructed view to two sparkling emerald eyes. Soft lips parted on a sigh when a finger traced them. A white sash fluttered away on the wind to land in the sand a bit further away.
I am here now.
Eyes devoured the other's appearance. Hands caressed and searched. A belt was dropped at their feet, quickly followed by a heavy tunic. A bronzed chest shone lightly in the dark. Blond hair moved closer, lips pressing just over the steady heartbeat.
Never leave.
Arms moved up, pale to the torso they surrounded. Lips brushed a collarbone, moved further, chasing an unseen line. A head bowed, meeting those lips.
Slow, soft movements, soothing caresses.
Never.
Joy, blinding in its intensity. Hands, arms, lips, moved with more certainty. Aqua eyes closed in gentle bliss as the lids were softly caressed. Finger founds hidden knots, unravelling them. White cloth fell, revealing pale skin, slender limbs.
Undiluted beauty.
The last garment was shed. Bodies touched, skin on skin, melting together. Arms reached, hands traced, legs tangled. The pale, slender body was lifted. Hands and knees gripped, surprised but trusting.
All yours.
Warmth. A pool of warmth. Swirling around them, sinking in their bones. Excitement, longing, impatience. Hesitance soothed away. Pain overpowered by desire. Gasping mouth, racing pulse.
Green eyes sparkled with pleasure, contentment, gratitude, observing the pale youth.
All mine.
Soft sighs of nothing. Hands and knees clenched. Aqua eyes wide and blind, the stars reflected in them. Arms crushed the slim waist. Moans uttered against a pale throat. Heat surged.
Two beings together. Force exchanged. Eternal existence.
The wait is over.
In the rising sun a lone white sash fluttered against the sand.