Berceuse Lullabye
Kasage Starrunner
Disclaimer: Resident Evil is not mine, it's Capcom's, however I think this fic idea is pretty original for this genre. I could be wrong. Probably, I am. Enjoy, it should be crazy and fun.
Chapter Two
///***\\\
In the shadow of the evening gaze, the sun set down upon the western shore. The lantern light gleamed softly in the eyes of the watchers, and on the glass of the windows, and the stars rose to greet them, as the air grew moist, and heavy with darkness. There was trepidation there—fear for the lurkers in the shadows beyond the circle of glowing embers and amber light. The forests and fields seemed to close in all around, and bury the hearts and souls of the peoples with an anxious beating, a burning in the pulse, and shudders by the fire.
And across the kingdom the doors slammed shut, the locks clicking in place as Alfred's subjects put their weary feet to rest in an uneasy bed. Only the Guard was left awake, and the chosen few brave enough not to believe that there were monsters hidden in the night.
Claire sat at the window and gazed at the setting sun in awe, marveling at the colors it gave to the sky when it fell then rose again. To her, it felt like a phoenix, ever returning from the world of the dead to bring warmth and comfort again. Darkness didn't frighten her, because she knew it did not last forever. Dawn arrived, Chris returned home from his duties, and the monsters faded from vivid illusions back to half-forgotten nightmares.
She touched a hand to her copper hair and loosed it from its braid. The woman wove her fingers through it, pulling the tangles and enjoying the starlight, but feeling alone. Sun and moon, night and day—everyone had someone. Chris was hers for now, but she could feel him slipping. There was a difference between dependence and emptiness. Where was her knight-in-shining armor, or moreover, her "damsel" in distress. Her calloused hand dropped to her lap. He didn't exist. She, Claire Redfield, was no maiden beauty. She was a rough and tumble warrior woman, an orphan with inherited land but no title. Men wanted someone to protect—weak and rich and gorgeous.
The woman was nothing to anyone but herself and Chris.
It was no wonder her brother warned her to begin to act more gentle and feminine. He didn't want her left to her own ends—afraid she would become a spinster. However, it wasn't that Claire didn't have the capacity to love, it was just that she wouldn't change to force it to her.
"I will not be loved for a mask."
The last red drops of sunlight faded from the sky and the red-head turned from the window. She grabbed a stick at the base of the fireplace and began to poke at the embers, feeding the sparks back into flame. Through the walls she could hear crickets chirruping with the high singing cries of tree frogs. There would be no attacks tonight—not here, but where Chris was … His fate was always on a pin.
The woman bit her lip, wishing she were with him. Maybe he had too often rescued her from trouble, but she didn't trust him on his own. After the death of their parents … Chris was left and that was all.
And owl hooted from outside the window. Claire looked over and laughed. The wide-eyed creature was staring in, head turned half-way around with a vole in its talons. She walked to the door and unbolted it cheerily. The owl met her at the stone porch and hooted a soft greeting.
"Yes, yes, Aristotle, now bring your present in."
The owl hopped twice to be inside the door, and the young woman closed and bolted it again behind him. The owl let out another noise, then perched himself on the mantle with his dinner, gobbling it practically whole with his beak. The orange eyes widened further and looked about the room warily as Aristotle turned his head 360 degrees. Claire poked at the fire again and laughed at her companion. She'd been wondering if he'd show up tonight—it was just too quiet without Chris.
Aristotle, of course, came and went as he chose. He was a large owl, with grey-brown feathers barred with black. Claire had found him abandoned when hunting for hairs and begged her brother to allow her to raise him. Chris had been unable to resist those blue eyes long, so the owl had stayed with them. He was now a permanent guest of the residence.
He strutted across the mantle and spread his wings twice, head returning to its normal position. "Yes, you are a gorgeous, special creature," she laughed. The owl bobbed its head then tucked itself down. The mantelpiece had been claimed indefinitely for the night.
"So you're staying until morning this time? Good. It was getting too stifling."
///***\\\
Steve's hands were black from grasping the coated iron bars so many times since his capture. He was tired, weary, and wanting. God, it had been too long without the sun. He didn't know when it was day or night anymore. It was always dim and damp in the dungeons of Alexia's Catacombs. He inclined his head toward the ground and watched the ants scramble across his feet. How they survived so deep in the ground or even came to be there he didn't know. He never asked, either. The boy feared the answer to that question.
The moaning was starting to get to him. He looked around at the dejected soul-less creatures that were no longer human beings and sank to his knees, head in his hands. He wanted to tear his hair out, but knew that the sanity of his mind was all he had left. The boy looked through the cracks between his fingers as the light of the torches blurred in strange patterns from his teary eyes.
"Escape … I have to escape …"
The young man knew this was true, but he felt leaden. Where could he go? These bars were solid, nothing to them. And that Queen: She knew everything that he did or attempted to do and taunted him for it. He was suddenly her prize. Steve decided it was because he was still conscious of his humanity.
A hand reached across the floor at him and he jumped up and back against the wall again. The boy hadn't slept in days or was it weeks? He couldn't tell. Time didn't keep itself in the Catacombs. God, what a place of death.
Who the hell did Alexia think she was?
Steve kicked out at the wall and screamed, sinking back to the floor. He should know better than to attack the cell at this point, yet he kept trying. Perhaps that retained his sanity—the pain. It was a sick thought to entertain. The youth slammed his fist against the wall, grated stone biting into his knuckles.
He watched them bleed, the blood trickling lightly down his fingers. There was a sickening feeling in his stomach as he smiled. "I'm still alive, your Majesty. I'm not your slave yet."
///***\\\
Chris knocked on the door of the small thatched hut. He felt the captain's presence behind him as his fist struck twice. At first there was no answer and he sighed. The people almost refused to answer doors at night, though if no one came to receive himself and Wesker, he would forgive them. This was one of the houses that had lost a family member to the strange deaths. He knocked again and looked back at the blonde man, who stood staring up at the stars.
The door swung open, slightly at first and then the whole way open as a woman hugged the first Guard member she saw, which happened to be Albert. The man gave a startled huff as the woman broke him out of his reverie.
"Thank God, you're here. I though no one would come to see about Eric's death."
The blonde man motioned for Chris to help release him, and the young man did. His hands gently cupped the woman's arms and pulled her away. "Yes, we're here to help? Now could you take us inside and tell us all that happened."
///***\\\
Alfred sat at the harpsichord, playing the one song that he knew. His hands appeared to move over the keys effortlessly. The king wasn't entirely certain of all of the words, but he found the melody beautiful. It was something about a good king and a foul queen—he didn't know. The man didn't care much either, only that it was soothing
He was so in his own world that he didn't here her come in and joined him. Alexia stood behind him and watched his fingers, seemingly hypnotized. When he'd finished the melody again, her voice joined in with the harpsichord, haunting as a siren.
"There was a friendly, but naïve king
Who wed a very nasty queen.
The king was loved
And the queen was feared."
Alfred turned around startled, but smiled when he saw who was standing behind him. "Oh, Alexia, I had forgotten you could sing so unearthly." He stood and took her hands, smiling. "You should sing more often—I had quite forgotten the words to that song."
"Of course you did, Alfred. It was only sung to you as an infant."
"Of course." He offered his arm and she took it. The two began to walk through the hall together, firelight flickering off velvet, hair, and skin. Both were smiling. Alfred's was naïve and childish. He was content, the poor puerile king. He failed to notice the wicked curve of his Queen's lips. They looked perfect and gorgeous to him.
The passed a window and the King's smile was suddenly replaced with a worried frown. "Alexia?"
"Yes, my king?"
"Where do you go during the day? I rarely see you?"
The woman wanted to say it was none of his concern and her eyes flashed threateningly, however she bit her tongue. "I'm taking care of things that you needn't worry about. After all, you shouldn't deal with such nonsense as traitors and execution."
"Oh Alexia, someone as lovely as yourself should not be exposed to such atrocities either. After all, that is why we have an executioner."
"He is … inefficient and useless. Don't trouble yourself over it."
Alfred bit his lip. "Whatever you say."
"It would please me greatly. After all, I'm not the kind of Queen who is on display."
The blonde king nodded and smile. "No, you are not indeed. I dare say you would run this kingdom better than myself."
The devious smile returned. "I would never think of such a thing." The lips curved further. "You are my King."
"And you, my beloved, are my Queen."
///***\\\
"He was dead outside the door when I found him. It was horrifying." The woman sat on a chair, holding her head. It was her husband she was speaking of. Chris leaned forward and squeezed her arm.
"It's alright, ma'am. Keep going. We need to hear this if we're to stop these deaths."
This woman nodded and wiped a hankerchief over her brow. "Well, he was laying there and it looked like someone had … bitten him all over. He was mauled to death." She started sobbing again as she had soon after the two guardsmen had entered. Wesker leaned back in his chair, frustrated. The brunette saw the look and fought to console her so she could speak again.
"Come on, ma'am. Its alright—we'll find out what happened here, but we can't do that unless you tell us what you know."
The blonde man stood and paced about the room. "Lorelai, please. We must return to out regular patrol soon. I would appreciate if you would tell us something we don't know."
Chris glared at the man, but the woman fought back her tears, biting her lip. Albert nodded and crossed his arms over his chest. "What happened to him after you found him? Where is the body?"
Lorelai gave him a strange look. "Well, I thought you knew, I mean I was going to ask you … I don't know where he is. After I saw him there some strange people came and took him away. I asked them where they were taking him, but no one answered with me. They were Guardsman—not like you, the Queen's soldiers." She twisted the hankerchief in her hand. "They told me nothing—even when I begged!"
The brunette touched her shoulder gently. "Thank you. I know this is a difficult time for you. We'll find out what is going on in this kingdom—what those Guardsmen did with your husband."
Wesker looked at her, but did not move to comfort her. He let Chris continue—after all, he had a sister and understood emotions better than the blonde did. Things went more smoothly when the Redfield did the talking in situations like this.
The woman was staring at her hands now. Wesker knelt and looked up at her. "We'll be in touch, ma'am. Until then, keep your door bolted at night."
"Yes, sir. Thank you both … I'm tired of being afraid."
///***\\\
TBC in Chapter 3.