For Love of Light and Shadow 4
He knelt with the rain still dripping off the leaves, a shimmering dew upon them both, and the golden Man lay very still and pale beneath the mortal moon. Iron tainted him, and yet he tore through the Sidhe's forest, if only for a moment; brought iron there and Death. He was stirred to a small bit of fear, but no anger. Trowa was filled with the longing he had felt since last seeing the fair Man before him. To have entered his Eald, to have found the very heart of it and to have stolen an elvish sword... he was no common Man, Quatre, and it was no common need that he faced. Perhaps his mortal eyes were affected by the terrible wound he bore, or maybe his eyes saw with truer sight than most, for never in many a hunt had Lord Death failed.
Trowa's eyes softened as he looked upon Quatre's drawn but fair face. Eald had stretched far before the coming of Men, and once, before his kind knew much of Men there had been a few of halflings kind, for elvish loves and dalliances among these fatal strangers. Still, he thought, there might be elvish blood drawn very thin in some, halflings who never felt the call of the sea and faded away. In hope, he tried to draw the golden haired Man with him into the fairer Eald, but iron weighed him and he could not stay.
Gingerly, patiently, the Sidhe endured the handling of it, undoing the buckles, pulling it off of him piece by piece. So Trowa uncovered the terrible wound in his side and drew on his power to begin its mending, healing the tiny scratches with light touches. And when he rested a moment, it was not hard to bear Quatre away with him, simply a holding of the fair head in his lap, and a thinking of elvish things. Then the trees became what they truly were, straight and beautiful, and the sun of his day shown down with kindly warmth on that grove.
The fair Man slept long, while the wound healed itself, while the lines of mortality faded from his face and left it beautiful with that beauty that might be elven heritage. The tall Sidhe did not leave his side in all that time, waiting with all his heart for the awakening.
And at last Quatre did stir and looked about him with wide, sky colored eyes and looked into Trowa's own, seeming young, and lost again. He began to be in his own mind again and at once faded into the Mortal world, into darkness, but the Sidhe took his hand and drew him back before he could slip away. "Beware of going back," he said softly. "Death has a part of you. Too easy for him to call you into his arms as you are now. You are much safer here."
Quatre peered into the moss colored eyes, seeing another vision of another memory. 'You said you would lead me to safety...' He tried to rise, still holding the other's hand, maintaining that delicate hold on *here*. Trowa lent him strength, the green force which sustained the trees themselves, and after a moment he was able to stand and look about him. Wind whispered through the leaves and the sun cast its own glamour while the deer stared at them both wise-eyed from the green shadow, in the grove of swords and jewels.
" I was dead," he said, enthralled by the beauty around him.
"Never," Trowa assured him, gripping his hand slightly.
"My..." Quatre vaguely placed a free hand on his chest, now devoid of armor. "My heart hurts..."
"So it may," the Sidhe replied, "for it was torn. And that healing is beyond me." Then, he stepped closer to the gold haired Man, nearly closing the gap between them. "Do you remember me, Man?"
Quatre's bright eyes were clouded as his minds eye was flooded with remembrance, harp notes strung high in the fair night air, silver leaves and this soft voice. He looked into the other's eyes and sighed "You are he..."
And with the swiftness of a hawk his heart was filled with another pain, the delicious pain of longing and a measure of despair. Blue eyes glimmered with the shine of tears and the Sidhe whispered "What is my name, Quatre?"
A fair hand lifted and gently touched the pale, trembling face. At the touch, a single tear fell, looking as the jewels hung on the branches about them, and Quatre knew the name of the beautiful specter that had haunted his mind and heart for all those years. 'Trowa!' he called with all his heart, but his voice could not speak it. His own hand reached out to touch the other, yearning to feel his dreams made real. Trowa understood, and he at once felt arms fold around in a sweet embrace; he did not resist, but let his tears run freely on the tall one's warm chest.
Trowa's own heart warmed and ached at the same instant, and the stone at his breast felt the young Man's relief and tears so close to it. He briefly pressed his lips onto the golden hair, and whispered again, feeling hope and despair. "Stay with me, beautiful Quatre, fair Man. Stay with me, and never hear them calling."
Quatre was at once made and broken again by the plea, remembering his family and his home. He closed his eyes and clung to Trowa, wishing with all his heart that he could stay. But-- "I cannot!" came the wretched answer.
He felt a gentle hand smooth through his hair and Quatre raised his head to look into sadness when he looked into the moss colored eyes of the Sidhe, and his heart broke further. But Trowa lightly caressed his cheek, then reached up and chose a jewel from those hanging from the silver branches above them. He drew it down and placed around Quatre's neck, so the stone hung where his heart was.
Quatre began to protest at the gift, but was silenced by a soft finger on his lips. "The stone was the heart of a Sidhe," Trowa said, touching the stone. It warmed at the touch, and warmed Quatre's heart as well. "It belonged to one of my closest companions. He was kind, and gentle." The tall Sidhe smiled at the remembering of it. "You mind me of him, Quatre. He would like you having it."
He touched the pale stone at his own breast as the fair Man looked on with wonder. "The stones call to each other, Quatre. And it will ward off the chill of Death's kiss."
Then, swiftly, Trowa covered Quatre's lips with his own, and they were joined together in a warmth that lasted even after they parted. Quatre saddened anew when Trowa released him and stepped a bit away. "I will show you the way back," he said, and then took Quatre's hand again, though there was no fear of him slipping into Mortal Eald with the stone about him. "You must mind how I take you, but do not go the way without guide."
Quatre wanted to speak as the Sidhe drew him into the forest, speak of how he filled Quatre, made him complete, how he loved him, but he did not. He only said "Trowa," and was happy when the other turned to him, and smiled.
Unseen by the both of them, two dark figures watched their passage through the blackness of Mortal Eald and then through the elvish shadow ways. Hard, cobalt eyes glittered and scowled.
"He is of no consequence," the dark Sidhe said, his eyes never leaving the golden Man, now part Sidhe with the stone."But a passing interest. Easily dealt with."
The other figure, cloaked in darkness, turned his head and grinned incredulously at the first. "Why, Heero," Lord Death exclaimed. "You're jealous!"
"Hn."
He knelt with the rain still dripping off the leaves, a shimmering dew upon them both, and the golden Man lay very still and pale beneath the mortal moon. Iron tainted him, and yet he tore through the Sidhe's forest, if only for a moment; brought iron there and Death. He was stirred to a small bit of fear, but no anger. Trowa was filled with the longing he had felt since last seeing the fair Man before him. To have entered his Eald, to have found the very heart of it and to have stolen an elvish sword... he was no common Man, Quatre, and it was no common need that he faced. Perhaps his mortal eyes were affected by the terrible wound he bore, or maybe his eyes saw with truer sight than most, for never in many a hunt had Lord Death failed.
Trowa's eyes softened as he looked upon Quatre's drawn but fair face. Eald had stretched far before the coming of Men, and once, before his kind knew much of Men there had been a few of halflings kind, for elvish loves and dalliances among these fatal strangers. Still, he thought, there might be elvish blood drawn very thin in some, halflings who never felt the call of the sea and faded away. In hope, he tried to draw the golden haired Man with him into the fairer Eald, but iron weighed him and he could not stay.
Gingerly, patiently, the Sidhe endured the handling of it, undoing the buckles, pulling it off of him piece by piece. So Trowa uncovered the terrible wound in his side and drew on his power to begin its mending, healing the tiny scratches with light touches. And when he rested a moment, it was not hard to bear Quatre away with him, simply a holding of the fair head in his lap, and a thinking of elvish things. Then the trees became what they truly were, straight and beautiful, and the sun of his day shown down with kindly warmth on that grove.
The fair Man slept long, while the wound healed itself, while the lines of mortality faded from his face and left it beautiful with that beauty that might be elven heritage. The tall Sidhe did not leave his side in all that time, waiting with all his heart for the awakening.
And at last Quatre did stir and looked about him with wide, sky colored eyes and looked into Trowa's own, seeming young, and lost again. He began to be in his own mind again and at once faded into the Mortal world, into darkness, but the Sidhe took his hand and drew him back before he could slip away. "Beware of going back," he said softly. "Death has a part of you. Too easy for him to call you into his arms as you are now. You are much safer here."
Quatre peered into the moss colored eyes, seeing another vision of another memory. 'You said you would lead me to safety...' He tried to rise, still holding the other's hand, maintaining that delicate hold on *here*. Trowa lent him strength, the green force which sustained the trees themselves, and after a moment he was able to stand and look about him. Wind whispered through the leaves and the sun cast its own glamour while the deer stared at them both wise-eyed from the green shadow, in the grove of swords and jewels.
" I was dead," he said, enthralled by the beauty around him.
"Never," Trowa assured him, gripping his hand slightly.
"My..." Quatre vaguely placed a free hand on his chest, now devoid of armor. "My heart hurts..."
"So it may," the Sidhe replied, "for it was torn. And that healing is beyond me." Then, he stepped closer to the gold haired Man, nearly closing the gap between them. "Do you remember me, Man?"
Quatre's bright eyes were clouded as his minds eye was flooded with remembrance, harp notes strung high in the fair night air, silver leaves and this soft voice. He looked into the other's eyes and sighed "You are he..."
And with the swiftness of a hawk his heart was filled with another pain, the delicious pain of longing and a measure of despair. Blue eyes glimmered with the shine of tears and the Sidhe whispered "What is my name, Quatre?"
A fair hand lifted and gently touched the pale, trembling face. At the touch, a single tear fell, looking as the jewels hung on the branches about them, and Quatre knew the name of the beautiful specter that had haunted his mind and heart for all those years. 'Trowa!' he called with all his heart, but his voice could not speak it. His own hand reached out to touch the other, yearning to feel his dreams made real. Trowa understood, and he at once felt arms fold around in a sweet embrace; he did not resist, but let his tears run freely on the tall one's warm chest.
Trowa's own heart warmed and ached at the same instant, and the stone at his breast felt the young Man's relief and tears so close to it. He briefly pressed his lips onto the golden hair, and whispered again, feeling hope and despair. "Stay with me, beautiful Quatre, fair Man. Stay with me, and never hear them calling."
Quatre was at once made and broken again by the plea, remembering his family and his home. He closed his eyes and clung to Trowa, wishing with all his heart that he could stay. But-- "I cannot!" came the wretched answer.
He felt a gentle hand smooth through his hair and Quatre raised his head to look into sadness when he looked into the moss colored eyes of the Sidhe, and his heart broke further. But Trowa lightly caressed his cheek, then reached up and chose a jewel from those hanging from the silver branches above them. He drew it down and placed around Quatre's neck, so the stone hung where his heart was.
Quatre began to protest at the gift, but was silenced by a soft finger on his lips. "The stone was the heart of a Sidhe," Trowa said, touching the stone. It warmed at the touch, and warmed Quatre's heart as well. "It belonged to one of my closest companions. He was kind, and gentle." The tall Sidhe smiled at the remembering of it. "You mind me of him, Quatre. He would like you having it."
He touched the pale stone at his own breast as the fair Man looked on with wonder. "The stones call to each other, Quatre. And it will ward off the chill of Death's kiss."
Then, swiftly, Trowa covered Quatre's lips with his own, and they were joined together in a warmth that lasted even after they parted. Quatre saddened anew when Trowa released him and stepped a bit away. "I will show you the way back," he said, and then took Quatre's hand again, though there was no fear of him slipping into Mortal Eald with the stone about him. "You must mind how I take you, but do not go the way without guide."
Quatre wanted to speak as the Sidhe drew him into the forest, speak of how he filled Quatre, made him complete, how he loved him, but he did not. He only said "Trowa," and was happy when the other turned to him, and smiled.
Unseen by the both of them, two dark figures watched their passage through the blackness of Mortal Eald and then through the elvish shadow ways. Hard, cobalt eyes glittered and scowled.
"He is of no consequence," the dark Sidhe said, his eyes never leaving the golden Man, now part Sidhe with the stone."But a passing interest. Easily dealt with."
The other figure, cloaked in darkness, turned his head and grinned incredulously at the first. "Why, Heero," Lord Death exclaimed. "You're jealous!"
"Hn."
