Hi out there, this is just a little Oneshot I wrote after listening to ‚The Highwayman' by Loreena McKennitt, the musical version of a poem of the same title by Alfred Noyes. So, I do not own the wonderful poem, the song or any characters from INCEPTION. Listen to the song, it really touches the heart.
The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,
The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,
The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,
And the highwayman came riding, riding, riding -
The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door
He waited nervously at the stop light, checking the digital clock every few seconds. Usual time, usual room – they met at the Grand Hotel regularly whenever they were in town, 8 p.m., Room 342, President Suite. Arthur revved the engine as the light turned green. He was only three blocks away from the hotel.
He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,
A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;
They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh!
And he rode with a jewelled twinkle,
His pistol butts a-twinkle,
His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jewelled sky
He had bought the suit especially for her, as Ariadne had mentioned last week that she had found the first picture taken of them together, and he remembered that he had worn a light brown suit that day, chocolate coloured tie and off-white shirt. Just the same as today. He was only two blocks away from the hotel.
Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,
And he tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;
He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there
But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Bess, the landlord's daughter,
Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair
Arthur stopped the car, ready to give the keys to the valet, when his Blackberry buzzed. Sighing, he pulled over to the green corridor and dialled her number. Looking up he saw her at the window. She was beautiful, her long her falling over her bare shoulders, the red dress caressing her curves. Although he couldn't see her eyes he knew they sparkled with anticipation.
"One kiss, my bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize to-night,
But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;
Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,
Then look for me by moonlight,
Watch for me by moonlight,
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way."
"Hello?"
"Hey love, it's me. The alarm went off at the warehouse. I'll be back in a few minutes."
"Can't that wait?" She sounded annoyed.
"I'm sorry, no. It's probably nothing serious. But I want to make sure."
She sighed.
"Pour yourself a glass of Champagne, will you? Ten minutes, not longer."
"Alright. Ten minutes…"
"I love you, Ariadne."
"I know, Arthur. I love you too."
He rose upright in the stirrups; he scarce could reach her hand,
But she loosened her hair i' the casement! His face burnt like a brand
As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;
And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,
(Oh, sweet, black waves in the moonlight!)
Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West
Arthur put down the Blackberry and stared at her slender figure opening the picture window, the wind bloating her red dress as she stepped out onto the balcony. Her hair floated behind her like a dark halo, encasing her white face. How beautiful she was. He blew a kiss in her direction and sped off the drive way.
He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;
And out o' the tawny sunset, before the rise o' the moon,
When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,
A red-coat troop came marching, marching, marching -
King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door
She still stood there long after he had gone, watching the City of Lights put on her star-spangled coat of velvet. Little did she know that the men entering the hotel through the rear staff entrance were not part of the hotel security, although their name tags said so. Ariadne took another sip of Champagne. He'd be back in a few minutes.
They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,
But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;
Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side!
There was death at every window;
And hell at one dark window;
For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride
She dropped her glass the second that the door burst open. It hit the carpet silently, just as quietly as she stared at the men in their dark suits coming towards her. They wound her arms behind her back, clasping a rough hand over her mouth and dragged Ariadne towards the window. One of them crouched on the balcony, assault rifle ready. She had a clear view of the main road and the drive way below.
They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest;
They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast!
"Now, keep good watch!" and they kissed her.
She heard the dead man say -
"Look for me by moonlight;
Watch for me by moonlight;
I'll come to thee by moonlight, though Hell should bar the way!"
One of the men pressed his lips to her neck, gripping her even harder. Her heart raced, what if Arthur came back? And slowly it dawned upon her – she struggled against the tight bonds, but it didn't help. Arthur… Arthur! She screamed silently.
She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good!
She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood!
They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,
Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,
Cold, on the stroke of midnight,
The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!
There had to be a way she could warn him! But how? She frantically, desperately searched for the solution. The cold metal of the gun between her shoulder blades made her panic. Again, she struggled, kicking at one of the men's legs. "Not a very nice thing to do." He whispered in her ear. "You try that again, you're dead." Even colder than the metal was the dormancy that suddenly overcame her – she stood perfectly still, her plan ready to be put into action. Silent tears streamed down Ariadne's cheeks as she started a last prayer.
Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;
Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?
Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,
The highwayman came riding, riding, riding!
The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!
She could hear the sound of his engine. Even in noisy Paris Ariadne could distinguish it from any other car, that certain purr, that exquisite roar. It was him. Then his headlights came into sight as he waited at the traffic lights, only a few meters from the drive way.
Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!
Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!
Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,
Then her finger moved in the moonlight,
Her musket shattered the moonlight,
Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him - with her death
The traffic lights changed to green, Arthur turned the wheel and headed towards the hotel. Ariadne's heart hammered inside her chest. Now. It was now or never. And with all the power she had she bit into the hand that cupper her mouth, kicked at her hostage-taker and tried a muffled scream. The last thought crossing her mind was that of his beautiful face before she went limp in the arms of the man who had shot her dead.
He turned; he spurred to the West; he did not know who stood
Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood!
Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew grey to hear
How Bess, the landlord's daughter,
The landlord's black-eyed daughter,
Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there
Arthur pushed the accelerator as he heard the shot, speeding over the junction and onto the cross road. Ariadne was safe, he knew that. He just had to get rid of whoever was trying to shoot his tyres. He pulled up to a parking space and waited. Waited. But there was no follower. And then he realised where the shot had come from. Getting out of his car he ran across the road, the Grand Hotel coming into sight. People were running away from the drive way. Arthur grabbed the valet by his jacket. "What happened?" The valet stammered a lot, but Arthur could make out the major part. "Woman – shot dead – balcony – President Suite."
He let go of the young man. Ariadne… ?
Back, he spurred like a madman, shrieking a curse to the sky,
With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!
Blood-red were his spurs i' the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,
When they shot him down on the highway,
Down like a dog on the highway,
And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.
The police found Arthur face-down at the bottom of the drive way. It was easy to reconstruct where the bullet had come from - the balcony of the President Suite. 'Tragic', they said, 'Young couple murdered' the newspapers titled. And while they waited for the hearse to take him away the blood clotted in his shirt, taking on the colour of her dress.
Sorry for writing angsty stuff again… perhaps my uni work is rubbing off on my writing, as I'm dealing with torture and inquisition at the moment. I don't think this is nicely written, I guess I'll redo it sometime next week. But thanks for reading anyways, leave a review if you feel like it :-)