Author's note- Well, sorry for the delay! Blame my history teacher with her over-the-weekend 5 page w/ visual aid! I'm really encouraged by the reviews so far ::huggles all the reviewers:: I gave Scott parents in this chapter, just because it makes the story flow smoother. I get an artistic liscence, right? Just a note, if anyone ever wants to chat or email me about absolutely anything, be it fanfic talk, or complaining about your looser boyfriend, the email is umi_watersprite@hotmail.com, and the aim address is cgdragonfly. I love making e pals so feel free, I'd love to hear from you. Maybe swap some fanfic tips??? ^_^ -CG P.S.- Anyone know of a good cure for
writer's block that works faster than 'the eurika phenomena'?
Warning- this chapter gets a little violent. No graphic ripping of guts out though, don't worry. Oh yes, more mushy romantic fluff stuff. If you hate mushy fluff stuff run away. If you especially hate mushy fluff stuff that has to do with Rogue/Remy then run even faster. Oh yes, Jean is rather cliché in this chapter I think. Oh well. You've been warned!!!!!!!!
--Chapter 2: Those Born Different--
Brightly colored market stalls filled with even brighter wares made up the bazaar of the City of Miracles. Even the worldly thief was surprised at the wealth. There were amazing trinkets wherever you looked. There were combs to hold up ladies' hair made of jade and ivory inlaid with mother of pearl, emerald, ruby, sapphire, and other precious gems. Not far was a market stall selling handsome swords and daggers in copper, steal or bronze scabbards plated with gold and silver, studded with an equally impressive mixture of jewels, and the weapons themselves were made of the finest craftsmanship he had ever seen. Next-door lay the stand of an old spinster from the Orient selling skeins of exotic silks and satins in every imaginable shade, along with fine, silken wool threads finer than that of a spider's. In the poultry stall, plump, snow-white and sandy feathered hens and geese squawked in a whining tone to the thief as he walked past, over to the next row of wonders. Ruby, ripe apples dripped with the gooey buttery caramel next to tiny, rich truffles of good, sweet chocolate. The bazaar was truly filled with small miracles - all for the taking of a thief. After passing the apothecary's stall filled with reeking warm root and witch hazel, he felt it was a safe enough distance to bite into his "borrowed" taffy apple. He grinned as the juice trickled down his chin, and wiped it off with the sleeve of his red-brown tunic. "Thank les dieux for miracles!"
After surveying the place, he decided on his plan of attack. He spun on the heal of his worn black boots and without drawing much attention to himself, made the bazaar his own personal playground.
"Fresh cut flowers! Six pence a dozen!" an ancient woman with streaks of white in her already silver-ash hair. She looked like an elderly fairy queen surrounded by fragrant magnolias, crimson roses more precious than the largest rubies, dainty blue bells, fiery, wild snapdragons, strong, pale-hued lavender for sachets, and delicate orchids, all dancing in delight. Make that a desperate fairy queen. He thought of his "lady in waiting". Sighing in defeat, he dropped six pence in the woman's hand and bought a bunch of the pearly white magnolias. He placed them in his sack, with the blossoms sticking out of the top, carefully placing the stems to the side of his newly "found" trinkets which would eventually cost some merchants fortunes. He justified it with the idea that they were rich enough.
Ducking behind one of the numerous stalls, he stopped and opened his sack. Removing his brown tunic, he changed into a brighter, wealthier appearing tunic of scarlet and black embroidered with golden threads. Over that, he slipped a suit of flashing and clanking chain mail of the finest craftsmanship. He replaced his black leather belt, this time slipping a ruby encrusted dagger through the hilt. Proudly, flung a crimson cape over his shoulders and set out back into the main roads of the market. Passing a magician's wagon with a single silver mirror, the handsome thief delighted in his reflection.
"Oui! They don't call me 'Le Beau' for noutin'!" V
He was ready for sunset.
***
Jean had changed into a silken day-gown of a rich emerald green, meant to flatter her eyes, which was trimmed with an even more vibrant satin ribbon that gleamed with the essence of shamrocks. On her head she placed a white, silken headpiece, that encircled her glorious red ringlets like a crown of flowers that had been wrapped with ribbon of the same hue as the trim of the dress, with two streamers hanging off in the back playing in her fiery locks. Scott, dressed in tunic, breeches, cape, and hat of sapphire blue with the ruffled lapels so fashionable at the time and embroidered with silver and gold threading, a complimenting plume arising from the hat, escorted her in to the luncheon to which they were late to the point where it was not fashionably so. They were a beautiful couple; the only thing marring their appearance in the slightest was the steal band Scott wore around his eyes with holes cut out where transparent ruby glass was placed. Lord Scott Summers, like Jean, was one born different, except he was born with a power known as 'the seeing'. Despite the similarity of the names, the seeing was entirely different from the sight. The seeing was a rare and strong power of being able to shoot beams of energy from the eyes. Because of this, Scott was forced to wear this protective headgear at all times. They had no word for it, as glasses had not been invented yet.
"I do apologize for our tardiness," he said, speaking for Jean as well.
It appeared that the disapproving Lords and Ladies from the houses of Cyclops and Phoenix, who were the parents of Scott and Jean, were about to speak, but King Xavier managed to say a word before either house could scold.
"It is no matter, I am just happy my guests of honor could make it!" he smiled knowingly. He was a good king, born with the same power as Jean, the sight. Unlike most of those born different, however, his power had been kept a secret. He had not been publicly shamed like the others. Therefore, he managed to become king without much trouble. He knew, although it hurt him to think so, that Scott would not have a carefree reign. But Scott was strong and with Jean by his side, he would be able to keep the kingdom united and prosperous for many years to come. He did not mind the tardiness, for despite his respect for courtesy, manners and tradition, he knew the need in the lives of young people to have fun.
"We rode to the City of Miracles to pay respects to the Lord and Lady because of the disappearance of their daughter," Jean excused herself.
"Scott escorted you?" Her mother asked warningly, knowing of her daughter's independent tendencies to go off riding without an escort.
"But of course m'lady!" Scott answered.
"What took you both so long?" Jean's Father, Lord Grey asked.
"I tried to take a shortcut and lost my way, it is my fault I'm afraid, my lord," Scott lied through his teeth.
"One would think a future king would know every path in his kingdom," it was Scott's father, Lord Summers', turn to be angry.
"Enough!" King Xavier did not approve of the constant nagging of Lord and Lady Summers and Lord and Lady Grey. They would have enough things to worry about in their lives that were twice as important than any of this escort nonsense. That, of course, the young couple didn't know now, but would find out soon enough. "May I remind you, Lord Summers, that I am not dead yet, and will not be for quite some time. Enough time, might I note, for Scott to learn every inch of the kingdom."
Even the powerful man shrunk back at the word of the king.
*Thank you* Jean spoke in thought speech to King Xavier.
*Next time, watch the position of the sun, so we need not get into such arguments over tardiness* Xavier thought back, noting Jean's creeping blush. She knew he would find out anyway. It was impossible to keep anything from one born different blessed with the sight, even if you were blessed with the sight yourself.
Scott took the place of honor at the left of the king, and Jean, who typically would taken the other seat of honor at the king's right, preferred to sit next to her beloved. "I believe there is an extra seat, your majesty," she said, noticing that the empty setting at the king's right.
"Ah yes, I was hoping that the captain of my guard would be interested in joining us."
Scott grimaced. "You don't mean Sir Logan, do you, your majesty?"
Jean and the king had to restrain themselves from laughing. They both knew of Scott's contempt for the brave captain of the guard.
He walked in, with a step unique to himself, wild yet regal. He was a short, muscular man with nearly as much hair as the animal whose nickname he bore. In battle, his ferociousness earned him the title, "the wolverine". Secretly, he was one born different, processing a power called the heal, which would heal every wound inflicted on himself, a useful skill for a captain of the guards, and also the wild spirit, a sort of animal instinct that included an acute sense of smell and hearing. He nodded at the king, sort of half glared and half bowed his head at Scott, and then bowed before Jean, taking her hand to his mouth.
"Good to see ya again, Darlin' Jean."
Scott was about to speak, but Jean stopped him with a warning in thought speech. She knew that despite Sir Logan's attraction to her, part of the reason he kept up his flirtations was to piss off Scott, or as he was commonly referred to by the gruff captain, "One-eyed King Jr.".
"I believe it is impolite to address a lady of her status in such a common manner, Sir Logan," a warning came from Lord Grey.
Sir Logan took no heed and simply sat in his seat. If the king hadn't been sitting right there, he would have told off the man real good. Royalty Smoilty.
The king ignored the comment as well. "Well, now that we all are here, I suggest that we propose a toast! To our future rulers!"
Glasses were raised but never clanked. A brown-cloaked messenger, whose outfit featured the family crest of Cyclops in the corner, stumbled in with an arrow lodged in his shoulder.
"My Lord, M'lady, please do forgive the intrusion. Protests. Wild ones. With arrows and swords. An torches!"
A panic stricken look and a gasp arose from the diners. They knew that many objected to Scott being the king's successor, simply because he was a known mutant. He often wished that he had decided to somehow keep his powers secret, but that was impossible because he always had to wear protective headgear. There had been threats, yes, but this was an awful, cold-blooded murder attempt on not only Scott and his family, but also the entire family honor.
Scott arose and withdrew his sword.
"Scott!" Lady Summers, his mother protested.
"Mother, I have my honor to defend!"
"Then I'm coming with you!" jaws dropped in shock as Jean arose from the table placing her hand on his hand which held the sword.
"Absolutely no..." Jean's mother, Lady Grey started in protest but it was too late. In a twirl of a full, green skirt and a black, well-polished boot, both Jean and Scott were already out the door of the grand banquet hall and halfway to the stables where their horses awaited. Sir Logan hadn't even waited a moment, and had already mounted and started off on his journey.
In a lightning-fast gallop, Tigue and Star slash had been able to catch up to the Wolverine's gray, dappled stallion, Mariko.
"Since when do you care what happens to me?" Scott asked surprised at the captain's rush.
"Never did. Jus' I feel they got no damn business protesting someone's right to rule when they themselves be asses who've got no betta thing to do then bloody dive into personal matters. The bastards could just as easily be protesting my position. So they have the privilege of tasting adamantium claws!" the wolverine grinned maliciously, unleashing one claw from his pinky.
"A privilege I hope to never have," Scott muttered.
The three continued, speeding up faster and faster until they became blurs streaked through the afternoon toward the nearby city of Monovea, which was the city presided over by the House of Cyclops.
***
The shouts and screams awoke the dark one from slumber. Oh the blessed chaos! Chaos that had returned now only in fleeting moments. He sighed with pleasure at the battle that would soon ensue.
The fifth was thought to have been found, which should have triggered the change by now. But luck was on his side this time. The fifth had fled, leaving the prophesy uncompleted. It was music to his ears.
He smiled thinking that perhaps he should let his "visitor" enjoy this as well.
***
"Looks like the different fled when he heard we were coming," a gruff peasant from the village armed with a sword stood before the awe-inspiring Cyclops mansion. It reached four stories into the sky with tall columns, like something out of the Greek times. It shone with a beautiful light.
The other men with them laughed.
The peasant's laugh was cut short as a huge massive man knocked him over and threatened him with gleaming adamantium claws.
"Y...Y...y...you're a...."
Sir Logan grinned, "A different? Betta believe it bub!"
He picked the man up by the collar and glared at him. "And I think ya otta think twice before messn' with us!"
"Logan! If we fight using our powers, we'll only prove them right!" Jean cried.
"They attacked first!" Sir Logan "the Wolverine" started to fight man to man, blood pulsing and claws flashing. Claw against sword. Metal against metal. Sparks flying into the afternoon air like confused fireflies. Scott charged into the battle armed with sword, shooting several optic blasts in warning. Jean watched in fear, feeling that they were doing the opposite of what they should be doing. She never used her powers when fighting commons who hated those born different. It only proved them right.
A hand clamped over her mouth, and she heard a voice whisper in her ear. "So, do we have the King Different's little whore!"
Jean kicked backward, hitting the protestor where it hurt. While he staggered in pain, she reached into a hilt hidden under the cape that she wore and withdrew a rapier. The thin, light fencing sword was beautiful in craftsmanship. It was sturdy, yet virtually weightless and featured a handle laced with gold and gleaming emeralds.
"Do you care to repeat that, my lord?" she said calmly.
By this time, the man had nearly recovered, as Jean did not kick him very hard, only enough to shock.
"I'm so frightened, m'lady, what are you going to do, scream for your different lover to swing around your sword?"
She thrust the tip of her sword inches from the man's throat. "I do not scream, my lord."
"Then what do you do?"
"Fight a fair fight, my lord."
The man withdrew his sword, and stood 'on guard'. "Then do not think I will go any easier on you."
Rapiers clashed, feet flew, one pair nimble and quick in breeches and boots, the other pair somewhat even nimbler in attempt to avoid tripping over her long green skirt.
Metal against metal. Sword against claws. Sword against sword. Rapier against rapier. Sparks flying as the afternoon sky faded into blood red and tropical pink to match the blood spilled on the field. Three born different against a legion of commons.
Jean winced as the sword grazed her arm and tried to ignore the trickling sensation that ran down her arm. She maintained concentration although it was harder for her than the man she fought. Her dress was hot and sweaty, not at all designed for the heat of battle.
Logan jumped from one to the other, many men raging at him, he fighting them off. Claws flared, and wild-minded. He didn't know what scared the protestors more, his strength, or how whenever they managed to pierce his tough skin with their swords, the cut always healed leaving at first a tiny pink streak, and then nothing. Not even a trace.
"Ya've messed with the wrong different one, bub!" he growled.
Scott's honor was at stake. He fought, rotating between optic blasts and sword. With his strong arms, he managed to handle the humongous, 40-pound weapon with ease. They rushed at him more than wolverine, seeing as he was the one they were trying to kill.
As the sunset, the blood spilled on the field matched the sky.
***
She nearly fell off her horse in exhaustion. The sky turned from pale, calm blue to blood red and orange, and gold.
It was not too far from the City of Miracles to the royal palace, if you were taking the main road. Lady Rogue, however, didn't have this luxury. If she took the main road, they would find her for sure. So she had to take the back roads. But the back roads were uneven, and often dangerous through long grass field, over stream and cliff, through forest. She had been riding for two days, and had not stopped to rest or think. Now she stopped her horse, half fell and half dismounted, then lay in the tall, itching wild grass in utter weakness and exhaustion. She was weak from riding; weak from crying; weak from trying to hold back the tears; weak from thinking too much; weak from hunger, from lack of sleep, and from fear. She looked at the glorious sunset and thought about the two days that had passed.
when you come up to mah room on two nights from now to claim me as yours for once and for always, and take me with you to your kingdom of thieves and assassins, only to find it empty of me
She trembled when she realized that tonight was the night. Sunset. Now he would be making his way to her room. She would not be there. She could picture him perfectly: copper hair and crimson eyes, and a charming smile. She could picture the way he sounded when he spoke, the delicate accent with mixings of French within. Biting her lip, she tried to keep back the tears.
"No!" she told herself, "Ah will not cry! They'll find me for sure if Ah cry! Ah mustn't cry!"
The stinging salt water ran down her face, and she bit her lip so hard that it began to bleed. Slowly, she pushed herself up and grabbed a fistful of grass. She knew that she wouldn't last if she remained in her week, hungry, sleep-deprived state. A stinging voice in her head begged her to lie down and die of weakness in a broken heart.
"No! He wouldn't want me to do that!"
we will meet again, somehow, somewhere, and some place. That's at least a bit of hope Ah can cling to.
She ignored the voice and ate the grass, gagging at the taste, but seeing that there was nothing else of possible nutritional value. She forced more and more fistfuls down her throat, knowing that she had to eat something. She had to survive. She looked at the setting sun defiantly.
"Ah don't give about the odds! We will meet again! We will! Ah gotta hang on! If not for myself, for Remy!"
With this thought, she stood up and removed the saddle from her horse. She took the saddle blanket, trying her best to ignore its filthiness and dingy scent. She knew that she couldn't freeze in the cold. She wrapped herself in the blanket. Secretly, she smiled to herself. She doubted that any other woman in the entire kingdom would have been able to survive this long. The blanket stunk, but at least it was warm. She looked at the blood-stained sky and whispered a prayer.
"Please goddesses, let him find me. I don't care how, where, or when. Just let him find me."
With thoughts of him, she drifted off into a much-needed, dreamless sleep.
***
Now in his new "found" finery, the Gambit Thief crept through the courtyard of the miracle estate.
Reaching the wall right below her window, he grabbed onto the trellis which sweet peas climbed, their heavenly scent adding to the mood. The sun had set and now the sky was a deep blue-black with faint, paint-splatter-like stars.
Climbing higher and higher, he finally reached the window and crept in.
"Bonsoir, ma chère!" he said in a debonair whisper.
The room featured an elegantly carved bed with silver-blue silk sheets and a curtained canopy. A beautiful mahogany writing desk graced the directly opposite wall, along with many tapestries woven with fine colorful reds and gold and silver. They showed scenes of mythical, wild, primitive ancient legends, including one that told the legend of the fifth oracle. A vase of pale, sea-green crystal sat on the desk, filled with fragrant, delicate pink roses. The room was beautiful, but it was missing one thing. Rogue.
His scarlet eyes turned to a piece of parchment lying on the writing desk. He picked it up and began to read.
Dearest thief of my heart...
***
Jean screamed. Blinking rapidly, she awoke completely, realizing where she was. She was in the guest chambers at the mansion of Cyclops. It had been too dark to start out for Embyr, the city which she was from, and Scott had been more than willing to offer her quarters for the night. Despite the warm room, she was still ice cold from the shock of the battle that bloody afternoon. In her head, the thoughts of the man she had killed with her rapier still echoed like a scream in the mountains.
A strong hand rested on her shoulder.
"Are you alright? You were screaming!" obvious worry lay in Scott's eyes.
"I...I...had a vision!" she whispered. It had not been the battle that had haunted Jean's dreams. She was sure of it.
"The sight acting up?"
"Yes." Tears streamed from her eyes and she closed them against the pain.
"Any idea of what it means?"
Jean shook her head, "Only vaguely. I just know that today's battle will not be the last."