Seravine - Chapter Four
[Author's Note: I'll be the first to admit, then, that perhaps taking five AP courses this year might have been one of my less brilliant ideas. : ) That said, the work has been easy thus far, though there's been quite a bit of it, in the form of homework loads that force me to not even look at this story until the weekends.
But, with this being Labor Day weekend and all, I sat down bound and determined to crank out the next chapter -- and here it is, in all of its glory, though I can safely say it turned out much darker than I had anticipated. Which isn't a bad thing, really, but all things considered, I'd say this is probably the least happy chapter thus far. Fun!
FireEdge: Yes, Richard is indeed the thief Zelos mentions, though I had to invent the name. I believe I mentioned that last chapter - my apologies if I wasn't clear. : )
TalesofNoodle: Heh, yes, Dirk does seem to be a bit expendable lately. I've nothing against the guy, personally... ; )
That one guy: Thank you for your continued interest. : ) And by the Iselia dock I meant a nearby port, really, but then again, what with all of the peace talks as of late, it's highly possible that an Iselia dock would have been built to accomodate travelers from all around.
Sining: Aye, that's the one. But I wouldn't be too certain of the plot - without giving much of anything away, I can say with some confidence that there's still quite a bit that must occur.
jellybeanz225: My lips are sealed. : ) I'm glad to see the last chapter set you thinking, however -- stay tuned. The answers you want will come in time.
X37: Thanks for the compliment! I can't say I continued very soon, unfortunately, but here it is, all the same.
Hamano Ayumi: Thank you very much! Yes, Lloyd is in for a rough ride, unfortunately. Dirk's death was just the beginning...
LinkTetra: You have my thanks for the detailed review. : ) I'm very glad the characters seem to be in character thus far; that's a sure sign I'm doing something right when I can really get into the characters' heads and romp around a bit. As for the romance -- read below. ; ) And thanks for adding me to your favorites! I'm quite flattered.
Romantically, I have to admit I'm a bit surprised that I've yet to receive a review openly stating preference for a Lloyd and Colette pairing. And while I still plan to go the triangle route, I want to thank all of the reviewers who mentioned which pair they are personally in favor of. Granted, the ultimate outcomes are still very much set in stone...and I daresay it'll be an interesting conclusion. ; )
Thanks for reading! My apologies if this chapter isn't up to snuff; I'm not quite sure if it's my best work, though I do think it is a far cry above the earlier chapters.]
oOo
He liked to think he was drowning, maybe, lost in the sea, and it was odd and lonely and all of those spectacularly meaningless words, words like happy and sad and good and evil. It was so hard to care - to sit back and just think, damned it, that everything was strange, and everything was wrong, and he guessed it was true that the more things changed, the more they stayed the same. He supposed there was anger, too, somewhere around there, maybe beneath the waves; the black, warm waves, shining and shimmering under the moon. And perhaps that was the key - perhaps he could just close his eyes and hold his breath and fall to the bottom, pass below the red winds, pass below his strength and his tears and just let it all go.
He liked to think he was drowning, maybe, lost in the sea.
oOo
It was a strange thing, he decided, to stand with a candle in hand, for with the guise of midnight everything was so utterly pale, all white and black and shades of gray, shadowed imitations of morning splendor. And the candlelight made an odd mark against the desks and books of his old Iselia classroom, laying a warm touch to the polished wood, throwing back the blackness. There was an end to it, though, those corners just out of reach, and where the light could not tumble over his memories - there! the buckets! - danced those plain sort of shadows, leaping and rolling in the corner of his eye.
The place was much as Lloyd remembered it, heavy with that idea of innocence only a child deserves, and it was all he could do to not close his eyes and slip away -- back to the books and buckets and those strange things he liked to call simpler times, when he worried about right and wrong and no, Professor, I don't know the answer, why don't you ask Genis? He had been so stupid, then, so naive, so pathetic, taking everything for granted --
Enough.
Lloyd blinked, furiously, setting the candle aside and swiping at his eyes, trying to quell the heavy dread that had stretched and settled over his stomach. He had sworn not to blame himself, had sworn to put it in the past and focus on the now, had sworn to not cry anymore, and -- he knew they were little more than dreams, little more than hope, though maybe it was just enough to fool the others. The others had left him there, had decided to give him space, and he couldn't help the smirk on his lips when he realized that maybe being alone was the one thing he did not need at the moment.
"Lloyd?"
He looked up, eventually. "Hey, Colette."
"Can I -- do you want to talk?"
He patted a nearby desk, moving to sit atop one himself. "Sure. Pull up a chair."
Colette moved slowly, taking care to settle on the desk closest to him, and then gave him a look of pure expectation, her eyes shining in the candlelight. They were so very blue, he realized, rather suddenly, and couldn't quite figure out how he had managed to miss it before. And her hair -- yellow, no, golden, framing an angelic smile in the wavering light.
Lloyd almost smiled. "So."
She merely crossed her arms. "So."
"How are the others?" he asked, after a lengthy silence, lowering his eyes, slightly troubled at having absolutely nothing to say.
Colette sighed, the sound fading and falling in the silence draped over the classroom. "They're okay. What about you?"
"I'm not really sure," he admitted, tracing a gloved finger across the desktop, still avoiding her eyes. He had the strangest feeling that she knew he wasn't being entirely truthful, and expected a familiar Colette reprimand, though his words met only another sigh.
"I'm sorry."
Startled, Lloyd snapped his eyes back up to hers, frowning. "What? Why? I already told you, Colette, stop apo -- "
"I'm sorry," she interrupted, her eyes still dancing in the candlelight, "that you have to go through this. I'm sorry you think you're alone. And I'm sorry I can't help you."
"It's not that!" he said, realizing rather belatedly that his hand had curled into a fist and fallen with a thud across the desktop, shattering the thick silence. "I just -- I don't see why it happened! It doesn't make sense! Dad didn't have any enemies, everyone liked him, and nobody wanted him de -- " the word died in his throat and he looked to the side, shaking, wanting suddenly to wither the candlelight and be alone in the darkness, so long as no one could see his tears.
A delicate hand moved slowly to settle atop his own, and, gradually, his fist unclenched, and he let it fall with a sigh, still not daring to face her.
"Lloyd," she said, softly, and reluctantly he lifted his eyes towards hers. "Thank you."
He said nothing.
"Thank you for everything you've done for me. It means so much to me that you've been my friend for everything we've been through, and you need to know." Colette seemed suddenly so different; there was no hesitancy, no graceful clumsiness, just a will and a determination and he could only nod, realizing somewhere, in the back of his mind, maybe, what she was trying to do.
Lloyd squeezed her hand gently, once, and brought his own hand back to lift the candle, offering it to her. "It's getting late. Beauty sleep, right?"
Colette smiled, taking it, and slid somewhat clumsily off the desk, moving towards the door.
Lloyd watched the candlelight flicker and twist, and for a long second her footsteps stilled, and he looked to see her standing in the doorframe. The words sprung from his lips before he even realized he had spoken. "You're welcome."
He could feel her smile, somehow, and then she stepped forward, hair flitting and fluttering with the grace of a veil, and left him in the darkness.
oOo
Morning.
Lloyd was there again. Back at the house - the black skeleton thing, crumbled and worn and sick, and he was standing just outside, under the sun, trying not to cry. He wasn't entirely sure why he had came back - why he had snuck out in the first touch of dawn and sprinted through the forest, the breath catching painfully in his chest, completely unable to stop, not until he was home. Maybe he just had it see it again. Maybe he didn't want to, but there it was, harsh and real, and he guessed this was it, that moment where it finally sinks in, no matter how long you've been trying to avoid it.
And there was just so many things he did not understand. That hole was there, the gaping break in the wall, and he had the clenching feeling that whoever had done this - whoever had taken everything away from him - had made it, likely with the same hands that had torn his father in two. And yet Lloyd derived no satisfaction from the idea of finding this thing; it was something he had to do, he knew, but there was nothing more to it, not the heroic bravado he had always carried, long ago, before the fire and the smoke and the dreams.
He wanted the anger - the fury, the passion, to slam his blade into the ground and swear revenge, by the gods, for he was a man of action, not emotion or sadness or those small insignificant things. And he couldn't even have those - he couldn't have the crushing despair, that overwhelming grief, that dramatic flair. There was only a sick sort of emptiness, a certain blankness to the back of his mind, and he had decided that was quite possibly the worst of the lot.
It was strange, certainly, and confusing. Tears, he had plenty, but there was nothing behind them; there was no clawing agony or anything like that, just emptiness, and this small, odd voice, telling him that something wasn't quite right about this, that something was happening and he should see it, if he'd only just open his eyes.
Whining.
"Quiet, Noishe," he said softly, almost instinctively. A familiar nose nuzzled his glove, momentarily, before pulling away, and then an excited bark broke him from his thoughts, and he whirled, blinking away the tears. "Noishe!"
The green dog was panting happily, its monstrous tail wagging, and then it abruptly turned and bounded away, stopping just short of the woodlands to give him a pointed look. Lloyd stood still for a long second, watching, but when Noishe loosed another bark and darted off into the shrubbery, he found himself following, winding his way through the forest, only just keeping the flash of green in sight. He was crashing blindly through the trees, swords swinging wildly at his sides, and then he couldn't quite make it over that black root and he was thrown forward, sinking into the soft ground with a curse.
Gradually, he stood, dusting himself off, turning this way and that, trying to pick Noishe out amongst the tree trunks. Lloyd was alone, rather abruptly, and even the sounds of his breathing soon faded into silence, leaving only the leaves and the wind and rustling amongst the branches.
"Noishe?" he called, his voice unsteady, the word darting across the grass. And then he saw him -- the dog was standing just to his side, breathing heavily, and once again it turned and darted off into the foliage, leaving Lloyd to scramble after in its wake. His footsteps echoed almost alone throughout the woodlands, and he was tempted to stop, turn back, get the others, maybe, and then quite suddenly he was standing just to the side of a burbling steam, Noishe lost amongst the trees.
It was a relatively normal place, in all appearances just a small brook cleaving its way under the branches, but there was silence, too, a thick, strangling silence, broken only by the dips and whirling of the water. There were birds, at least, dark blots circling high overhead, though Lloyd paid them little mind, having realized rather belatedly he was completely, utterly lost. He had never before bothered to go far into the woods, and with a sigh settled down on the ground, wondering what Noishe had been so intent on showing him, this deep into the forest.
But it was a fine day, a bright, sunny one at that, and he willed himself to relax, to push everything away and forget it all, even if for only a short while. And he was so very tired; sleep had not come easily those last few days, putting him in a sort of exhausted wakefulness, and he laid back with a sigh, stretching out in the sun. It would be only for a little while; noon was only just coming and it was likely the others hadn't even noticed he was gone, careful as he had been to slip unnoticed out of Iselia. And, after all, a short nap wouldn't hurt anyone, would it?
oOo
There was a single moment of recognition -- realization, perhaps, that there was another body below his hands, bathed in blood, and Richard shook his head and opened his eyes and fell back, his scream lifting into the trees, watching the body twist and fall with sick gracefulness. He couldn't remember - what had happened? - when had he - did he kill this one too? It was only --
A child. It was only a child.
He turned, shaking, and cast his dagger to the side, falling to his knees, the breath strangled in his throat. The tears burned in his eyes and he wanted to cry, to curl up and forget it, maybe, except that he couldn't even remember how it had happened, how he had brought the blade across the little boy's throat. It was terrifying and frightening and everything else and he couldn't stop shaking, feeling so very tired, and for the first time in so very long - weeks? years? - he felt alive. There was a thought, there, lurking about his mind, and he didn't want to bring it up, hold it to the surface, knowing the answer would bring only more pain, more suffering, and more tears.
How could he have killed a child?
It was just a small boy, a blonde-haired lad with innocence and happiness, looking for his mother, maybe, lost in the woods, and then he was on the ground and his blood was trailing down his chest, staining the skin. Richard watched him, watched the cold corpse laying in the dirt, and then moved to grab the dagger again, the memories rolling across his mind, knowing there was only one thing he could do. It had to stop here -- before anyone else could die, before he was completely lost, before the jewel, that damn jewel, took over.
The boy's eyes were blank and staring, and Richard smoothed the hair from across the pale skin, hands still shaking. He wanted to say he was sorry and beg for forgiveness, to plead his case to the heavens, but the voice was caught in his throat and he knew there was a different way, one so very fitting.
Closing his eyes, he brought the dagger level with his throat, testing the edge against the skin.
It was sharp -- just sharp enough.
oOo
Lloyd woke with a cry, the sob shaking in his throat, and opened his eyes to an evening sky -- and there was a blade, his blade, against his throat, and he tossed it away, flinging himself backward, staring at his hands with a frightening fascination. Had he -- had he almost done that? It made no sense, absolutely no sense at all, and already the dream was fading, slipping away into the depths of his mind, and then suddenly there was a single image before his eyes, of a forest much like this one, and a cold little boy laying in his own blood.
Scrambling forward, he made for the stream, dipping his hands into the warm water and bringing it to his lips, closing his eyes, throwing the water across his skin, trying vigorously to push it all back, to keep that image from his mind, to simply forget it and open his eyes to the falling sun. There was tears, again, and he brushed them roughly away, and when at last he was utterly drenched Lloyd sat back, clasping his hands together and willing them to stop shaking. Slowly, he opened his eyes, and saw his own reflection in the water, cold and pale, but there was red, too, flittering across his face, and then he realized with a growing sense of dread that it was not across his own skin, but that of the water, hints of crimson swirling and twirling into the stream.
And then Lloyd saw the boots, the familiar, godforsaken boots, buried into the streambed, and the legs attached to them, the blood trailing upwards and staining the clear water. And quite suddenly he could see why Noishe had brought him here, had seemed so adamant on showing him what he had found. Noishe had brought him to Dirk - the only piece he could find, the missing pieces, and suddenly Lloyd was running, up on his feet and crashing through the forest, not giving a damn as to where he was going, the tears nearly blinding him.
He couldn't stop to think; it would be dangerous, much too dangerous, to sit back and think this through, to realize what he had only just seen, and instead he kept running, the warm winds tearing into his lungs, until his legs nearly gave way beneath him and the trees came at last to a close, ending abruptly into a section he vaguely recognized as being not far from the old Human Ranch.
"Lloyd!"
He whirled, his swords in his hands, feeling so strange, so confused, and then Sheena was there, nearly bent double trying to catch her breath, and he realized that his chest was heaving, too, and he dropped the blades, falling gracelessly to his knees.
"You run so damn fast -- Lloyd? What happ -- are you okay?" And then she was kneeling beside him, holding him up, the concern and worry so very clear in her voice.
He couldn't answer.
"I heard you running," Sheena continued, talking more to herself, really, her voice warm and alone in the wind. "They sent me to find you, said they were worried, nobody knew where you went -- Lloyd, what happened?"
He looked up at her, eventually, not having the slightest clue of what to say. "Hey, Sheena," he managed, at last, wanting to offer a smile, maybe, but not having the strength to even do so.
"Lloyd?" she asked, softly, and then, looking almost unsure of herself, she embraced him, her arms hesitantly encircling his back.
Lloyd was motionless, staring blankly just beyond her shoulder, and then slowly he brought his own arms around her, taking comfort in the gesture, screwing his eyes shut and trying not to shake. A part of him wanted to pull away -- to stand up and look strong, to bring himself together and not give into his emotions, the part that hated him for appearing so weak. But there was something else too, a side he had almost forgotten since the day things fell apart, that kept him there, long after night had fallen, telling him to never forget that his friends cared.
"I'm sorry," he said, almost whispering, gradually disentangling himself and leaning back, seeing her own eyes dampened in the moonlight. She looked so pale and vulnerable beneath the stars, and he wanted quite suddenly to explain things, to set things straight, to bring that small smile back to her lips.
Sheena shook her head and averted her eyes, twisting her fingers in her lap. "It's okay. You don't have to tell me."
"No!" Lloyd said, a tad surprised at the vehemence in his voice. "It's not that! I want to tell you, Sheena, really, it's just -- it's just so hard," he finished, rather lamely, and with a sigh, decided to try again. "I found Noishe."
"Noishe?"
"Yeah. He was around, I guess. I followed him into the forest -- he wanted to show me something." He stopped, there, looking down at his hands, and dug deep for the courage to continue, casting about for the right words. "He found Dad. The...other half." The words sounded so stupid, so wrong, and he scarce noticed the tear trailing down his cheek.
"Do you want to tell the others?" Sheena asked, still gently, still very close, so that he could hear only her voice in the otherwise silent night.
"No," he muttered, for the first time knowing exactly what he wanted to say. "No. I don't want them to know." Lloyd looked up at her, then, and she gave him a shaky smile, her eyes bright with tears.
"Our little secret?"
Lloyd grinned, then, a genuine smile, and took her hands with his own, marveling at how very soft they were, and how perfectly they fit beneath his fingers. "Our little secret," he said, and was rewarded with a bright smile, one that brought the words to his lips before he even realized he was speaking. "Thank you, Sheena."
"It's, ah, nothing," she said, and he could easily see the crimson blush spread across her cheeks. "Just doing my job, right?"
He smiled. "Thanks for looking for me, too."
Sheena turned an even redder shade, her eyes falling to her hands still held in his own, seemingly intent on hiding her embarrassment. "Ah, no problem, really. Everyone was concerned, you know, but I'm pretty good at tracking..."
Lloyd made to stand, pulling her up with him, and gave her a quick hug. "I'm glad you are, then. I had no idea where I was going." He was determined to forget what had happened at the stream, knowing it would do little good to dwell on what he had seen -- not an easy task by any stretch of the means. "We should probably head back."
"Yeah," Sheena said, still a charming red. "They're probably waiting."
He turned, then, setting on to the path, though her voice called out to him not a moment later.
"Lloyd?"
He spun. "Yeah?"
"It's...our little secret, right?"
He smiled. "Of course. Why?"
Sheena shook her head, laughing softly. "Nothing. Not important."
Lloyd arched an eyebrow. "You're weird, Sheena, you know that?"
Her hand moved to grab his sleeve before he could turn away. "Does that bother you?"
He looked at her, then, studying her in the starlight. It was strange, really, how everything -- people, places, things -- changed with the rising moon, and yet Sheena was simply Sheena, pink bow, black hair, warm smile, no matter the time of the day, no matter the color of the heavens, and he knew the answer immediately, rather as if it was written amongst the stars.
"It makes you you, Sheena."
Her eyes were shining.
"And I couldn't ask for more."