Well,
here it is. The grand finale itself...I
do hope it lives up to expectations. All that's left now is to tie up a few loose ends. (And sorry for taking so long to get this
out...the end of the semester completely flatlined my brain...anyways. On with the fic.) Oh, and thanks to everybody who's given me feedback on this so
far! This one's for you!
NIOBE'S
VIOLETS
by
Ashura Nagisa
DISCLAIMERS: The usual. I don't own any of the characters, names or places from GW, I've just
warped them.
WARNINGS:
Yaoi (3x4, 1x2), Yuri (HxC, RxD)
ARCHIVE: Desolation Angels
(http://www.dreamwater.net/ashura)
**************
Chapter Fifteen: Tears
May Drown the Wind
**************
The sodden grass squished under Duo's bare feet. It squelched with a thick liquid too warm
for water, coating his skin to the ankles in blood like warpaint. The hem of the burgundy cloak trailed in it,
the colour of dark dried blood itself, and he wrapped it tighter around his
body.
Heero's arms wrapped around him firmly from behind, pinning
his arms against his sides and bearing him up off the ground. There was a curious catch in the sigh that
escaped his cracked lips, and his lover's breath warmed the side of his
neck.
"I need my hands free," he said reluctantly, and he
could feel Heero's nod against his cheek.
"I know, so will I, but let's get closer first," the
angel answered, holding them just enough aloft to skim along the ground, to
keep Duo's feet free of the blood-soaked grass and speed their progress through
the battlefield. Short bursts of light
showed Une's slower progress toward Sylvia and the demon, though Hilde was
doing her best to clear the Lady a path. Her machete twisted out of a golem body and even as the creature fell it
found another, slicing mercilessly through the animated things. They were sickly, hollow-eyed, their
strength in numbers but not in strategy, for they were unintelligent puppets of
the madman who had built them.
Duo watched Quatre lift into the air, though he didn't bother
to question how, and float toward the only remaining balcony--the school itself
was in shambles; his own burst of Power had left a pile of rubble where the
east wing had once been.
"Treize is coming! He's on his way!"
The voice called Duo's attention backward--Noin's voice, as
she pounded into the field, clearing her way with the revolver in her
hands. But unlike the rest, she wasn't
aiming for Sylvia--she made her way to where Dorothy had pulled a shaken Relena
to her feet and now stood in front of her protectively, lightning crackling in
her spread fingers.
"Relena," said Noin, "get to the garden if you
can. You're needed there. Zechs needs you."
Dorothy looked about to protest as Relena slid her hand free,
but a whisper from the watersprite forced a grim nod as she transferred
protection of her lover. Noin's fingers
wrapped loosely around Relena's arm as she fired again and led the girl away.
****
Gentle as Catherine was making an effort to be, Quatre decided
he did not like floating through the air. He sunk his weight into his heels the moment his feet touched down on
stone, reveling for a heartbeat or two in the security of solid floor beneath
him--flimsy as that safety was, with the ancient walls still trembling from the
force Duo had let loose on them.
Tsuberov did not seem to be aware of him. The necromancer stood proud and defiant on
the ramparts, long blue robes billowing about his gaunt form, his arms crossed
triumphantly across his chest. Stringy
grey hair fell in matted clumps past his chin, blown into his face by the wind,
his icy laughter echoing in the chill air like brittle glass.
Quatre wanted to push him.
"Aren't my darlings beautiful?" the old man asked
querulously, and the Siren started--so he had been noticed, after all. "My lovely, lovely children." He turned slowly, beaming at Quatre with a
broad, beatific smile and a mad, wild gleam in his colourless eyes.
"Are you crazy?" Quatre demanded. "Your 'children' aren't even
alive!"
Tsuberov shrugged, nonchalant. "Maybe I am crazy," he agreed, almost bemused. "But oh, they are alive! Every drop of blood they consume, my
beautiful boy, makes them more aware! They live, oh yes, because of the life they take--"
"Enough!!" Quatre launched himself at the mage before he could think better of it,
before he could consider the consequences of an accident or misjudgment of
distance that could send them both plummeting from the balcony. He slammed into Tsuberov, toppling them both
onto the floor, digging his feet into the stone as they skittered toward the
edge. He landed on top of the old man,
but winded, and his advantage of position didn't last long--gaunt fingers
seized a clump of his hair and yanked his head back. Oh, but it was difficult to concentrate--not only because his
neck was bent at an angle that barely allowed him to breathe, but because of
the thick whirl of the necromancer's emotions threatening to smother his sixth
sense completely.
Tsuberov was very proud of his creations. He was also very, very mad.
"The blood is the life," he chanted seductively in
Quatre's ear. "My children are
immortal, beautiful boy, and when you and all the Prophet's kin have fed us, I
will be as well."
In the end he was only an old man after all. Through the fog in his brain Quatre jerked
his elbow back into Tsuberov's rib and twisted out of his grasp, gasping
desperately for breath. He had refused
Une's request to awaken his older memory--all he had were /moments/, nightmarish
glimpses into a past in which the only certain thing was that he had somehow
failed. He had let Trowa down and
destroyed him. He had let /himself/
down.
He would not--"I will NOT fail again!" The words burst forth, independent of his
will and yet an extension of it--and Power came with it, flooding him,
trembling in the air before him and crackling in the breeze that licked the
necromancer's skin.
"You think that you're immortal, old man?" he
demanded harshly. Anger fueled his
voice; the old man flinched as the Siren's power raised boils on his skin and
then burst them, blood and fluid lubricating his dry, crackled skin.
The Siren stalked forward, his fingers clenched, his pulse
throbbing in his temple, the Power in his voice almost too thick to be
controlled. "Prove it," he continued,
and Tsuberov shrank back in the face of his onslaught.
Quatre paused, far past the point of reason, or the strategy
he was known for. Fury roared through
his blood, coursed through his brain, rose with every heartbeat. He summoned it, called it from within the
depths of his being, wrapped it in his tongue and then shot it--precisely
directed, aimed like a bullet in a single spoken command:
"Fly."
****
Urgency flooded Relena's body as soon as she stepped into the
garden--it sang through her feet, infiltrated her blood, exhorted her to run
faster, /faster/. She'd always been
able to feel it, but not like this--the heart and soul of nature, alive but in
a world that never quite touched her own. But now the air was singing with it, and calling her, and she found
herself compelled to answer.
She pounded down the path, through the trees, not questioning
how she /knew/ somehow that Zechs would be at the pond, under the willow. She was just as unsurprised to see Sally
there, her hand on the shaman's shoulder, both their faces pale and drawn and
unfathomably tired.
"You need me," she panted as she skidded to a halt
near them. "Miss Noin says you
need me."
Sally's blue eyes flickered open, and she nodded--slowly,
wearily, as if she had no energy for anything else. Relena sank to her knees next to Zechs, closing her fingers over
his hand where it was pressed into the dirt. She felt queasy, at first, then /changed/, as if she had been just a
little out of sync with the universe and quite suddenly had been popped back
into place.
A trickle of Power bled into her hand. It was unlike anything she'd ever felt--her
Talent was a physical one, and while she'd felt the effects of others' mental
manipulations before, she'd never been so intimately connected with it, or had
it such a part of her. It was cool,
refreshing, like spring water, but spring water so mineral-thick that it
tingles the skin it touches.
And as Relena sank into the Power, the world around her faded
away.
//A flash of blue eyes. The silky caress of long golden hair, and the gentle touch of fingers
softer than anyone's fingers should have a right to be. Blue eyes, half-closed and shimmering with
tears, droplets of water clinging to pale lashes like dewdrops on a blade of
grass.
"It's stupid." A soft voice, feminine and smooth and self-deprecating, thick with
bitterness all directed at the speaker herself. "I knew he was engaged, Cyane, I /knew/--but I couldn't help
myself, I swear I couldn't. I loved him
anyway. I knew it would come to
nothing, and yet--"
"It hurts anyway," she heard herself say--soothing,
comforting, possessed by the need to watch those clinging tears evaporate into
insubstantial mist. "I know, it
hurts anyway."
Those graceful fingers lacing limply into hers. "I'm sorry. You're supposed to be celebrating your brother's wedding and here
I am crying all over you."
"No, it's all right." Cyane lifted those fingers to her face, pressing them gently to
her cheek. "I'd rather--I'd rather
be with you."
The startled widening of vivid blue eyes--the catch of tears
thick in the voice that replied. "I--"
"Someday," Cyane offered softly, "if you heal
from loving the brother--perhaps the sister will do?"//
****
Reluctantly, Heero released his hold on Duo. Chaos was no longer adequate to describe the
scene--he had seen the silhouette that was Quatre tackle Tsuberov atop the
balcony, and the golems had lost any semblance of order. Wufei and Sylvia--as well as Hilde, Une and Noin,
a little further off--had their hands to full trying to fend the creatures off
to pay proper heed to the demon Dekim, and they were likely to need all and any
help the others could offer. Catherine,
looking winded, alternated between shielding against the golems and throwing
them backward, but the gestalt's energy was flagging, and Dorothy joined her
with a grim frown and a burst of lightning.
Duo hit the ground running, ignoring the slime of battle
coating his feet and seeping into the ground. He knocked aside two golems with quick spurts of Power, but the
hollowness inside him warned his reserves were almost depleted.
"You again!" Dekim, it seemed, could not decide whether to look pleased or
annoyed. "It seems--" He
broke off, his gaze flickering to some spot high in the air and well behind
Duo's shoulder. Whatever he saw could
not have pleased him--the hiss that escaped his reptilian lips was its own sort
of eloquence. This is all going to be
finished, it said, and it's going to be finished /now/. He raised his hand, almost too quick for Duo
to see, let alone react, and let loose an eruption of Power so heavy he could
/see/ it--and yet Time had decided not to follow its own rules, because for all
that he could watch it slam toward him he couldn't seem to move fast enough out
of the way--
Something warm and solid crashed into him, knocking him
away. He stumbled, his arms windmilling
as he struggled for equilibrium and failed, tumbling onto the ground. His eyes widened, blurred suddenly by the
suspicious sting of tears, his mouth opened in an O of disbelief as he
identified the thing that had knocked him away: Arms. Legs. Matted, tangled blonde hair and soft pale
skin--and an unhealthy stain of blood blossoming over the white of her robe.
"Oh shit--oh shit--" Duo never quite noticed Wufei's scream of rage as the firestarter
charged the demon, or Heero landing defiantly in front of Dekim, or the moment
when the golems crashed to the ground in a jumble of inanimate limbs around the
broken body of their creator. He
dropped to his knees, easing Sylvia's head into his lap, tearing viciously at
the burgundy cloak in a vain attempt to stem the flow of blood.
"Idiot! You are
such an idiot!" He pressed the
cloth against her chest, but its only effect was to make him hyperconscious of
the weak, defiant pulse of her heart against his hand. "What the hell was that for, you stupid
stupid girl--" He was no longer
conscious of his own words, any more than he was of the scene around him or the
crimson-tinted tears blazing trails down his cheeks.
Her fingers pressed warm and wet against his cheek, bringing
him back into himself. "Because
otherwise he would have hit you, and you would have died," she murmured,
her voice strong for all she could force it no louder than a whisper. "I told you I would help
you...." He didn't understand how
she could be so calm--her breath was too ragged now, her pulse barely more than
a flicker beneath Duo's desperate hands. She traced a slow line down his cheek--her fingers faltered, and dropped
to her chest, and he watched in morbid fascination as she slid her hand
downward, coating her fingertips in blood. Her eyes closed--it was a visible effort when she lifted her hand again,
feebly drawing a pattern onto his cheek.
"Bin--remember--"
And in that single moment he /did/ remember--all the images
that had remained hidden away in the deeper recesses of his memory with only
the scent of rosemary to draw them out, all contained in a single smooth face,
a single name. It was a sudden, acutely
painful realisation--he /knew/ her, a relationship so deep it had to be a
repressed remembrance or else an eternal ache, and a void no-one in his current
lifetime had ever been able to fulfill.
He felt the exact moment when her hands dropped limply to her
sides, when her glassy eyes unfocused and her head lolled against his chest,
when the frail tremour of her heartbeat faded entirely away. He thought he felt the soft warmth of her
last breath against his wrist, and he choked the words past the lump in his
throat.
"Good-bye, Mother...."
He couldn't bring himself to let her go. He didn't need to--the others, freed from
fighting golems, had fallen into a protective arc between him and Dekim. Pain was tangible, the air was thick with
it, and the demon fed on it--no, was drunk with it, his laughter echoing in the
courtyard and grating along sensitised nerves. The battlefield was ablaze, ringed with flames reaching into a sky thick
with smoke and the stench of death.
Then through the smoke, a shadow appeared. It was a flicker at first, nothing more than
a phantom of the senses, a trick of eyes determined to see aid where there was
none. But it grew, and as it grew it
took man's form, striding determined forward until even the spectres of steam
around it, frightened, cleared away.
And Treize Khushrenada stepped onto the battlefield.
Power suffused him, surrounded him--it pooled in his hands,
danced in his hair--he /glowed/ with it, its light cutting through the dust and
fog and smoke that filled the air. The
demon sensed a challenge and almost reluctantly turned to face him, bony digits
clawing at the air. But when Treize
spoke, it was not defiance that coloured his voice but a profound, ancient
exhaustion.
"Enough," he said simply. "This has to end."
He didn't even give the demon a chance to respond. He brought his hands together and light
exploded from them, radiating outward in a blinding halo. The light was everywhere--the very air sang
with it, the skin hummed with it, it rained from the sky and burst from the
ground, it infused everything and burnt everything away--
And slowly, at last, it faded, leaving another charred place
on the battlefield and a small collection of survivors, blinking as they waited
for their vision to return, and shaking their heads from the ringing of their
ears.
They began to move again at last. Lady Une, her cheeks as streaked with tears as Duo's, lifted
Sylvia's limp body from his lap and into her arms; Wufei followed her as she
bore it away, his eyes fixed firmly on the ground at his feet. Catherine-Trowa seemed torn between throwing
its arms around Hilde and racing immediately to comfort Quatre, who huddled
against the shattered wall hiding his face in his knees, but somehow they all three
finally ended up holding onto each other desperately. Noin sprinted for the garden, with Dorothy close on her heels.
And Duo, stunned, just buried his head in Heero's shoulder,
gasping for ragged breath, as his lover's arms and wings enfolded him.
****
No, we're not /quite/ done yet...!
