"Get up."
The command is followed by another violent kick. Once again, it lands on his ribs, making him wince. He can't take a breath without burning pain tearing his chest apart, yet breathe he must. He bites his lip to prevent himself from whimpering and stares at the darkness behind his eyelids, already wet from tears that have against his will formed in his eyes.
"Get up, or I'll gut you where you lie." Lord Tristan's cold voice, deprived of any care or compassion, threatens forcefully.
They are around the same age, the young lord having entered his seventeenth year less than two moons ago. He is very much like his father in cruelty and vindictiveness, but more cunning than the old drunkard. He knows he cannot be harmed, not here at the heart of de Martel estate, and he never hesitates to use that to his advantage.
Lucien takes hold of the hilt of his sword again and runs the blade into dirt, using it to help himself onto his knees. He wishes that a cherry tree nearby was just a bit closer so he could use it as a support, but it is, like everything else in life, out of his reach. He fights his tired and broken body, trying to make it straighten up, but his legs remain numb, as do his arms, and he is left helpless at the mercy of a merciless man.
When he finally finds the strength to raise his head and meets Tristan's blue eyes, his sight blurs and his head starts to spin. The contents of his stomach reach his throat; he barely swallows them down at the cost of having his own broken ribs run into the flesh of his chest. Pain tears its way through him wild and fast like lighting. He barely manages to keep his balance, holding tightly onto the sword as if it is the last remaining thread that ties him to life.
"Get on your feet right now or I'll…"
"Tristan!"
A voice calls the young lord's name. A voice Lucien cannot remember having heard before in the few months he has spent in de Martel home. Young and light-hearted – the voice of an angel. What is an angel doing in a house filled with demons? Has she come to free him from this miserable life?
He wills his eyes to open, waiting for another treacherous wave of pain to grip his body. It never comes. God grants him this small mercy and allows him to behold the sight in front of him – to behold her.
He watches wide-eyed as Tristan hugs a young girl – a year or two younger than himself – and even the merciless and cruel Tristan de Martel looks a kind and selfless man as his arms curl around the girl's back, pulling her closer.
Her hair, red as cherries (and surely of a scent just as sweet) that swing on the branchees above their heads, falls down her back in long soft locks, dancing about her as Tristan lifts her off the ground and spins around in an embrace so devoted and loving Lucien can scarcely believe it is the same man who was beating him senseless just a few moments ago. Her skin is the colour of an early spring's morning, when one can still feel the chilling touch of a winter's night, but her cheeks flush as she laughs in Tristan's arms. Her eyes are green fields in early summer, with a touch of golden rays of the sun reflected in them.
Is this Tristan's betrothed? After all, the young lord is coming to an age when he is supposed to start looking for a possible bride. If this girl is indeed the future Lady de Martel, then this world is a crueller place than Lucien has ever known. Tristan, who has everything and takes it all for granted, will receive yet another piece of heaven, while Lucien will always remain a poor servant in a household that makes hell seem like a lovable, warm home.
Still, there is no time to think about the unfairness of life as his eyes fall onto the lady's face once again. What would he give for one gaze in return, to bathe in the light of two suns that are her eyes…
For the briefest of moments, their gazes collide.
He looks away instantly, ashamed of being covered in dirt, weak and pathetic before this angel. He wishes he could stand up and place a tender kiss on her delicate hand, but he barely has the strength to keep himself on his knees. His heart pounds wildly against his ribcage, as if she has come on her invisible wings to deliver his judgement and he is outrageously unprepared.
"Aurora, what are you…"
He senses her touch before he hears her voice.
"Are you hurt?" she asks softly, her quiet tone besting Tristan's loud demand in Lucien's ears.
He knows he shouldn't, but he dares still. His eyes find hers – worried and kind.
He cannot think of an answer for the life of him. Not while she is staring at him as if he is the only thing that matters in this world right now, care and concern filling her lovely features. Never has anyone in this castle looked at him that way, as if he is worth of compassion, of care, of love.
"Tristan, he is unwell." She looks at the young lord, who is all but pleased with this development. "Look how pale he is. We must help him."
"He is but a servant, and not a good one." Tristan remarks cruelly, approaching them in a way that reminds Lucien of a cat hunting its prey. "Come, Aurora. We must return. You are not well enough yet to stay in the open for long."
"No!" she avoids his hand when he reaches for hers. She stands up and even though she is at least a head shorter than Tristan, there is a fire burning bright in her eyes that makes even the young lord de Martel back away. "I am not going anywhere until his wounds are tended to properly. If it means I have to spend a night in the open, then so be it."
"Be rational, Aurora." Tristan's eyes darken, but he does not reach for her again. "Your welfare is much more important than his. Leave him here. I'll send someone to take him to the healer's room."
Lucien holds his breath, fully aware his fate rests in lady Aurora's gentle hands. It is highly doubtful Tristan will send anyone to look for him once they disappear behind the walls of de Martel home and he has no strength to return on his own. He will remain here through the night, an easy prey for the chill and any beast that hunts under the stars. He swallows hard in terror, sensing his hand shiver around the hilt.
"You go fetch a servant." He hears Aurora say. "I will stay here and look after him until your return."
His heart beats faster still, but instead of fear, it is joy that now courses through his veins. He can barely believe his own ears. If death should take him now, he would die a happy man.
"You can't stay here with him alone." Tristan argues fiercely, snarling the last word like a curse.
"And why not? He cannot harm me; he can barely stand."
A long silence lingers between them as Tristan tries to come up with an excuse.
"It is not proper." He says at last, his tone cold and firm. "It is not your place as our father's daughter to take care of lowly servants."
"It is my place as me to take care of anyone in need of help." Aurora retorts sharply, using the same cold tone. "I will not leave his side until I see that through."
"Aurora, you can catch a cold…"
"If you value my welfare so much, my brother," she interrupts him steadily, yet with strength to her words no-one can deny, "You will run as fast as your legs can carry you and bring the healer here."
Another silence emerges, even longer than the last one. Lucien does not dare even to breathe, afraid one breath – one heartbeat – might cost him more than he could bare to lose. He would do anything to keep the lady Aurora by his side, even fall into darkness of unconsciousness if need be.
He hears sounds of steps approaching him. A single moment after a pair of black boots enters his vision, he senses cold kiss of a blade on his throat, forcing him to raise his head.
"If a single hair falls off my sister's head while I'm gone," Tristan's eyes are ice, both in coldness and colour, "I will make you suffer so much you'll beg for death to take you. Do you understand?"
"Yes, my lord." Lucien breathes, but not too deeply, wary of the blade that is still lying on his pulse.
After another moment, he can no longer feel the touch of Tristan's blade. A breath of relief escapes his lips, but at the same time his knees give in beneath him. The pain is back in his chest as his body meets the ground and he lets out a cry.
A pair of hands catches his shoulders a split of a second before his face can meet the dirt. Then they move onto his head and place it gently on something soft.
It takes a moment for him to realize in absolute horror and purest delight that his right cheek is pressed against her lap.
"Please forgive my brother." she says softly before he can utter a word. "Our father is not the best teacher in the ways of kindness and compassion."
For her, he would forgive the devil all of his sins, but he knows better than to speak to her so bluntly. He should not…
Her hand caresses his forehead, removing a few locks of his hear from his face one by one, as if it is a game she alone understands. He can feel his skin tingle in places where it was touched by hers.
"Lady Aurora…" he starts in protesting tone, but pain chokes the words in his throat.
"Hush now. Do not tire yourself out." It is a kind command, but a command nonetheless.
He cannot argue with lady de Martel any more than he can argue with an angel (it happens so that she is one and the same), so he falls silent and closes his eyes, letting himself enjoy her touches and drifting into thoughts.
She is still very ill. Poor girl. It is a true injustice that someone as lively and joyful as her is tied to a bed day and night. A girl of her age and beauty should be singing and dancing all day long.
Her maids say she is as pale as a ghost, as if her blood stopped running through her veins. Her eyes spark no more. She doesn't eat, she barely sleeps. How long can she last?
I haven't seen the young lord smile since his sister fell ill. It is as if his heart turns darker with each day she remains sick. He loves no-one like he loves her.
So this is the mysterious sister of Tristan's he has heard so much about. Servants' whisperings were nothing if not completely lacking details. They spoke nothing of her true beauty, of her kind heart, of her feisty mind. He never even got to hear her name.
Aurora.
"Yes?"
He stiffens. Did he just utter her name out loud?
"Forgive me, my lady." He feels a drop of cold sweat fall down his forehead as he tries to mutter an apology. "I… I…"
"What do I have to forgive?" she asks lightly. "It is my name. What is yours?"
He knows he should argue her intentional overlooking of his disrespectful use of her given name, but he has no strength nor will to do it.
"It is Lucien, my lady." he answers with hope. Hardly anyone ever asks for his name. They have other names for him in de Martel household, none really flattering.
"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Lucien." Aurora says.
And she means it. He might not see her smile, but he can hear it.
"You are new here?" she keeps inquiring, making his heart skip a beat. What about him could possibly have sparked her interest?
She is just being kind. It is not as if she actually cares for me. He rebukes his way too optimistic heart.
"I do not remember seeing you before."
"I came here three moons ago." He admits, though unwillingly, because he feels he will soon have to mention the debt his father owes to hers, thus lowering himself even more in her eyes.
"I was ill for almost as long." Her voice falters and he can sense her shiver slightly, as if speaking of her illness still makes her uneasy. "That must be why we haven't met before."
"I am grateful that we met today." he confesses. "Had you not arrived, I think your brother would have…"
He hesitates, fearing she might find his honesty offensive. After all, Tristan is her family and his master. He does not have the right to cast a bad light on him, especially not in front of her.
"Tristan is my brother and I do love him, but I am not blind to his faults, as he is not to mine." Her voice reaches his ears, calm and gentle. She does not hold his words against him and for that he is thankful. "I also wish he were not so cold and cruel to others. I do not wish him to turn into our father."
I fear it is too late for that, my lady. He knows better than to say that out loud. Who is he to destroy her hope that her brother could still turn out a decent man?
"Is he also cruel to you?" He dares to wonder. "Your father?"
"Sometimes." She nods solemnly, but does not elaborate.
He cannot blame her for refusing to speak of Lord de Martel, even if he is her father. Lucien's own father gave his all to pay his debts to Lord de Martel, but in the end it was not enough. Lucien, as his father's only son, was forced into servitude to de Martel family until he paid off his family's debt. Sometimes it seems that ten lifetimes of servitude would not please Lord de Martel's greed, so Lucien has already accepted that his fate is forever bound to this household. If only the circumstances were different and his bond to de Martel family that of marriage…
"But when you marry, you will be free of him." he says in attempt to raise her spirits, though the thought of her being tied to someone else for life… pains him. More deeply than it should.
She laughs, a sad, mirthless laugh.
"I do not possess your bravery to hope for a kind, loving husband for myself, Lucien." The sorrow in her voice could make heavens cry. "Every nobleman I have ever met is a drunkard or a tyrant or both. They love their money and their wine far more than their wives. If they have children, it is only sons that matter to them. And if a wife fails to give birth to a son… she is forever held in disgrace."
He cannot deny the truth in her words. The noblemen are indeed beasts masquerading as humans, evil as they are rich. It is unfair that they get to live a life of luxury and leisure, while good men, like Lucien's father, fight every day for bare survival and kind women like Aurora are treated like breeding mares that are thrown away the moment they run out of their use.
"Were you mine, I would never lay a hand on you." he swears passionately, fire burning in his blood. "I would give you the world if you asked me for it. If you gave me a child, I would love it because it would be yours."
His fervent ramblings rob him of every last bit of strength, his defences falling before the cold embrace of darkness. He feels his own consciousness slipping through his numb fingers like sand – or maybe it is his life?
In the last moment of awareness, he feels cold. As if sun has removed its warm hands off him and left him to die.
"He may never wake up, Aurora. Why do you even care? He is just a servant."
"It does not mean his life is worthless, Tristan. Besides, nobody is forcing you to be here."
"You are forcing me. I will not leave you alone with another man again."
"I was alone with him before and he was nothing but kind to me."
"Why do you think that was? He wanted to get into your good graces so he could rise in station."
"Not everyone has a secret agenda, brother. Besides, even if he turns out to be all the worst you assume of him, I can always call for help. My maids will wait for me right outside the room and they will send for you if anything goes wrong."
"That's not good enough for me. God knows what he could do to you by the time I arrive here."
"Why do you think he will do anything to me? You know nothing of him."
"And you do? You just met him."
Silence.
"Leave me be, Tristan. My decision has been made."
"Aurora…"
"Leave."
A sound of grudging steps leaving the room and of door closing echoes in Lucien's ears. He wishes to open his eyes, to finally see the light again, but his eyelids still feel too heavy. Instead he settles for taking a deep breath that smells of life, but halts in his motions the moment he feels it.
Up and down, again and again, fingers brush against his cheek, warm and soft like feathers. His breath catches as the memory of the conversation he just unintentionally witnessed comes back to his mind.
He does not dare to believe. It cannot be true. His mind has been lost in the darkness and what is left of it is now toying with him. Or he was dreaming.
Nonetheless, he must know; he must.
His eyes snap open in hope, disbelief, desperation – he can't name it himself.
When he gazes into lady Aurora's eyes, he is hopelessly lost.
She stops caressing his face abruptly, as if he has burned her, and he shivers, coldness descending on him again.
"Lucien." Her eyes look black instead of green, his sudden wakening having obviously taken her completely off guard. "You are awake."
It takes a few moments for both of their breathings to calm down. Lucien has no idea what to think, let alone what to say. She could be anywhere else at this moment, yet she is here with him. His heart might just burst from the emotions that are overwhelming him; gratitude, admiration, awe and… something more.
"How are you feeling?" she asks at last, her lips forming a gentle smile.
"I…" he still can't utter a single sentence that would make sense. His body feels weak and numb, his throat sore, his chest hurting, but his mind has never felt more alive. "How long have I…"
"It's been a day and a half since we last spoke." She supplies the answer he asked for, but with a flush to her cheeks that seems very uncharacteristic for her. It wasn't there when she argued with her brother, why would it be there now?
He forces his mind to remember what occurred between them. It takes a few moments, but then his words of two days ago come back to him and he swallows hard again, wishing he had enough common sense to keep his mouth shut in her presence.
"Forgive me, my lady, I didn't mean to…"
"Again, there is nothing for me to forgive." she interrupts him gently. Her hands return to his face and he feels warm again. "Those were beautiful things to hear, Lucien. How could I scorn them?"
Without really intending to, he leans into her touch, relishing in its softness. If it were in his power to stop the time, to freeze the world in this moment, he would do so in a heartbeat.
"My lady, I…"
"Aurora." she says adamantly. "When there is no-one there but us, you must call me Aurora."
He wishes he could do so freely, but he knows it is not possible.
"Lord Tristan…"
"My brother must be kept in the dark, for your safety." She nods sombrely, but doesn't separate her hand from his face. "I know he only wishes to protect me, but he does not see that you are pure of heart."
He does not know what to say to that. She speaks of him as it is he who is an angel. Her eyes are stars in moonless night, fighting to shine brighter than the other. Her lips are blood – red and dark and alive – and he would give anything just to taste them, just to feel them on his…
"My lady, your father…"
They are interrupted by an older woman's voice. Lucien's eyes break away from Aurora's to look at the woman standing at the door. She stares at them with her eyes and mouth wide open, as if beholding a great scandal.
Only then does it dawn on him that this is a scandal of proportions so great he might be drawn and quartered to atone for it. His heart starts beating faster again, his breath chocking any explanation he might have had.
"He seems a bit feverish to me." Aurora says in an even tone, finally separating her hand from his face, and turns to her maid. "Maria, send someone to fetch the healer."
The maid named Maria looks completely taken aback by her mistress' request, even more so than she did when she caught them in an inappropriately close proximity.
"My lady, I…"
"My other maids will escort me to my father." Aurora stands up from the edge of his bed gracefully and approaches the woman calmly, as if nothing unusual has occurred. "I assume that is what you wanted to tell me?"
The woman stares in a baffled silence for a few more moments, but then bows her head and nods.
"Yes, my lady. Your father insists that you speak to him."
"I shall do so at once." Aurora nods briefly, before grabbing the skirts of her red gown and leaving the room without as much as a glance at Lucien. He hears her speaking to her maids: "Come. We must not keep my father waiting."
When she is out of his sight, it seems as if sun's light that is coming through the window does not shine as bright anymore. He wishes to jump onto his feet and follow her, wherever she goes. But his body is still aching and without her healing presence, he is but a man with a few broken ribs. A man who was given hope that is quickly diminishing into dust.
"Lady Aurora was very worried for you." Lucien's gaze turns to the grey-haired old woman, who has still not left the room, but is now eyeing him suspiciously. "I have never seen her so determined to see that someone is nursed back to health through."
"Lady Aurora is the kindest of souls." Lucien forces a smile on his face, hiding his disdain for Maria far better than she masks hers for him. "I am forever grateful that she has decided to bestow her kindness upon me."
"She is kind indeed," Maria's eyes narrow even more at him, as if she thinks he is mocking her, "But not everyone's misfortune is her burden to bear, especially not of those who seek to use the goodness of her heart for their own gain."
Implications of her words infuriate Lucien far beyond any injustice Tristan has ever done to him. To suggest that he would betray lady Aurora's trust in such a horrendous way after everything she did for him? The nerve of her.
"It is a foul world indeed if the simplest kindness is frowned upon." he says coldly.
She is left speechless by his words and turns around to leave the room. He smirks inwardly, but shows no sign of gloating. To preserve lady Aurora's reputation and his own life, he must pretend nothing has happened between them. There must be no doubt of her innocence. He would never forgive himself if her chances for happiness, however small she might think them to be, were ruined by his hand or his misplaced affections. Besides, he might have misinterpreted her earlier intentions. To think he is deserving of love of her – the nerve of him indeed. He is still just a servant and she is a highborn lady. What could she possibly feel for someone so below her but compassion and pity?
"I know you think me a cruel man who would steal her heart and crush it in his hands if it suited him so," he calls out to Maria, who turns to him just as abruptly as she turned away from him a moment ago. Her eyes are spread in surprise, as if she did not expect such sincerity from him after that duel of ambiguous insults they had led. "But I would have to be Lucifer reincarnated if I returned her kindness with treachery and scheming. You cannot possibly believe me to be the devil himself."
Maria stares at him judgingly for a few silent moments, estimating him. He does not take his eyes off hers for a second, determined to prove his words and heart are true.
"I do not think you the devil." she says at last, her features softening a bit. "But I worry for my lady's safety. I do not wish to see her hurt."
"It is a sentiment we share." He nods solemnly.
"Then stay away from her." Her voice is quick to return to its previous firmness, but there is no chilliness in it now. "Do not make it any harder on either her or yourself than it already is. Let her go before it is too late. She will never be yours. She cannot be."
Without halting to wait for an answer, she leaves the room like her mistress, without looking back, only this time he doesn't care. He is too busy wrapping his mind about her parting words.
She saw right through him and his wordplays. She knows of affections he holds for the lady Aurora. How long until his mask falls off again, maybe – God forbid it – in front of Tristan?
Those feelings should not even be there; why, he only met her two days ago. How can it pain him so much to know she can never be his? Will she haunt him until the end of his days? Will she ever give his heart back to him or is he doomed to this hopeless love forever?
Love? It cannot be love, can it? On the outside, he is as still as a statue, but on the inside, his reason wages war with his heart and the outcome is absolutely unpredictable. Even if it is, it might fade in time. And even if it doesn't, it won't torment me forever. I do not think I could bare that misfortune for that long. Thank God we don't live forever.
This started as an idea of how Lucien and Aurora first met, but after 3x18, I think it'll turn into a fix-it fic, because I was absolutely enraged when the show destroyed yet another couple that I wanted really badly to be happy together (I'd been stuck between Klaurora and Aurora/Lucien (Lurora?) since the beginning, but when Klaurora was ruined, Lucien/Aurora bench scene in 3x09 gave me hope that they could have their chance. But nope). In my opinion, it felt like the writers wanted to get rid of Aurora and shut her fans up by making her a total bitch in 3x18, but I'll always love her. Anyway, at the moment, my plans are to make this a three-shot, but if inspiration strikes, maybe there will be more, because these two deserve it.
Untill the next time :)
