Soon the Moon Will Smoulder

by Kurenaino

Sequel to Falcon in the Dive. Percy has raised Lucian, the illigitimate son of Chauvelin, as his own child. But as the boy grows older, he learns about his real father and sets out on a vendetta against Percy. Read and Review!

16. I Must Move On Despite The Pain

AN: I would like to apologize for the ridiculous amount of time that it has taken me to update this thing, but really, I have needed a slight break from this to slightly revamp some of the characters that I have created, primarily Lucian and Ellison, who were in some severe need of therapy and counseling. But they have returned from the health spa, and they are ready to work again. Of course, I have a few other things that I am planning on doing a lot of work on, so don't expect really frequent updates on this thing. Most of my computer time is going to be spent on a few other projects, and the only time I'll really have to work on this is in school. So sorry. But I do have ideas, and they will be getting put down. Anyway, moving on…Oh, and just a quick note. Stupid isn't letting me put in scene breaks in this chapter. So I'm just breaking scenes up with the letter "I". And Andre and his family are sole property of NightShadow131. I own most of the rest, including Coupeau's sexuality. But the Pimpernel is still not mine, alas. Thank you.

Soon the Moon Will Smolder

Chapter 16: I Must Move On Despite The Pain

The night was entirely peaceful, the waters calm, the breeze gentle and the air quiet and serene, with the exception of the occasional heave or sob coming from the lone ship on the way to France.

Lucian Chauvelin was seasick.

Pulling himself back over the rail, the boy settled on the deck, head in hands and looking entirely miserable. "Did you know – " the young man slurred, slightly rocking and swallowing the lump in his throat before he resumed his unfocused and sickly prattling to the woman that had taken a liking to the ill young lord. "Did you know that I am the son of the richest man in England? Percy Blakeney. That's his name. Have you heard of him? Percy Blakeney?"

"I have," the woman said, nodding. "Everyone knows him. You're lucky to have him as a father."

She winced as harsh laughter grated over her ears, causing her to shiver slightly. "Oh, I lied," Lucian said quietly, turning bitter, cynical eyes toward her. "He's not my father. I wish, but no. He just raised me." He chuckled almost pitifully and sprawled out on the deck, looked helplessly at the sky. "I never met my father. He's been thoroughly dead since before I was born."

"I'm sorry…"

"No you're not," the young Chauvelin snapped, shooting a falcon-like glare at the woman. "Hell, I'm not. I never even met the man. Can't miss what you never had, right?"

"I…I guess not…"

"You know…" the boy gasped as he lifted himself up and sat opposite and very close to the woman. "You know what I did? Just a few hours ago, I killed a man. I killed a man, a member of the Royal Family of England." The woman paled significantly, stared at him in utter horror and disbelief. How could such a man do something like that? "And you know why? For revenge for my father's death. Imagine! I killed, I murdered and innocent man that I have never met before to avenge a man that I have never and will never know."

The girl shifted uncomfortably. "I think I should go…" she said cautiously as she slowly stood up to leave, but the golden eyes flashed and the boy's arm shot out and caught her wrist.

"No, wait, I've just gotten started. Please, sit down. Don't leave me here alone with this." His eyes nearly begged her to stay, and after a moment with no movement from either, the woman slowly sat back down, and nearly sublime gratitude crossed his face.

"I wish I hadn't done it. I want to go home. This isn't what I wanted…" He laughed harshly for a moment before his shoulders began shaking slightly with soft sobbing. "And I can't go back. Not ever, not after what I have done. I'll be scorned forever. I had everything, and I gave it all up for something that no longer exists…"

Lucian fell back on the deck and shuddered slightly as the woman's hand ran gently over his forehead. "As if that wasn't proof enough that I am completely crazy. Here, I am in love with my sister, let that be out in the open. I am going to have to talk to La Cabarrus about that one. The damn Spaniard…"

"You poor man…"

"It's awful, isn't it? I was driven away from a perfect home and the woman I adore above all others by my own folly in the belief that I could gain my dead father's love. God, I am such an idiot…"

The man dissolved into helpless sobbing, turning over and clinging to the woman like she was all he had and for the rest of the trip, he cursed his need to be loved by an entity that simply did not exist.

I

When the ship had docked early the next morning in Calais, Lucian's desolation in regards to the futile nature of his objectives had been effectively replaced with a grim determination to carry forth as best he could with his plan of action. Whether he liked it or not, all he had and could rely on was the mission that he had taken upon himself, and if he was not completely certain of what it was he needed to do, he would be run over by the men that had been his father's aids; after all, they were used to the firm, commanding presence of the agent. If he did not put forth the same, he would be destroyed.

Any doubts that he still had when he entered the city were immediately destroyed when he came to a magnificent shrine in dedication to the Saint Chauvelin at the heart of the city.

Slinging his bag over his shoulder and clutching his father's sword close to his side, Lucian wandered inside.

He had specifically remembered seeing something of this same design in books that he had read about ancient Greece and Rome. Tall, splendid pillars of alabaster lined the pathway from the central doors up to the front where there was something of an alter of marble and gold, a vision that rivaled even the greatest cathedrals in England.

The long hallway was nearly silent, save for the hushed whispers of the people gathered within. Despite how lightly he tried to walk, each step seemed to shake the peace of this sacred place, and for a moment, he wished that he hadn't come. Taking a deep breath, Lucian resolved himself and went forth, trying hard to ignore the stares that followed him, but failing horribly, instantly becoming uneasy under the occasional curious looks of those he passed.

He paused for a moment, looking around at the walls and taking in the intricate carvings on the walls depicting major events of the Revolution – really more of a glorification of the Republic then of the agent – before he slowly approached a priest standing before the alter, carefully cleaning a glass case that held a silver chalice. Leaning in closer to get a better look, Lucian quietly asked, "What's in there?"

"It holds the earth on which the Saint's blood was spilt," the man replied quietly, smiling softly as he watched the boy's expression change from curiosity to shock and adoration. "You are new to France."

Absentminded nodding. "This is where he died?"

"The exact place."

Lucian fell to his knees, gently running his hand over the glass, leaving streaks on the newly cleaned surface, making the priest sigh in mild frustration. The Scarlet Pimpernel struck down his father right on this spot. Never before had he felt so close to the man that fathered him, and just in that moment, it was almost as though he had met the esteemed agent. Almost… "I will destroy him, father, I swear it…"

For a moment, the boy hardly moved, just knelt silent on the place where his father's noble blood had fallen, that same blood that ran through his son's veins now. "He is buried in Paris, correct?" The man nodded, and after a few more moments of silence in respect for his father, Lucian slowly stood and looked the man square in the eye, noticing as the man suddenly trembled in a sort of fear, and quietly asked, "How do I get to Paris?"

Trembling, the man pointed toward the door, unsteadily whispering, "Go through the south gate, someone will take you."

"Thank you." With a final quick glance toward the place his father died upon, running his hand over the letters upon his chest and praying quietly for a moment, Lucian left the building and headed toward the south gate to get to Paris.

The priest ran off to spread the word that Chauvelin had returned to the people.

I

Andre Madeline tapped his pencil against the desk, head leaning against his hand and sighing in boredom. Everyday it was the same thing: soldiers come in, soldiers argue on Napoleon's behalf for access to Armand Chauvelin's will-protected fortune, soldiers leave disappointed. Before, Andre had been a bit intimidated by the goliath of a man and the conniving little thing that were sent to procure the rights to Chauvelin's will. But now, they were getting lazy.

As Andre soon found out, the soldiers didn't really want those rights.

"Chauvelin's will, Madeline," the large soldier growled, slamming his hands down on the desk. "Hand it over."

"I am afraid that is impossible," Andre sighed, leaning back slightly from the man.

"Alright." Without wasting a second, the man plunked down in a chair opposite the lawyer. "How are you, Andre?"

"Is it time for our social visit already, Mercier?" Andre asked, looking at his watch in confusion. "You're supposed to yell at me for another half hour."

"Yes, well, what's the point? You and I are both on the same side."

"I suppose so…"

Andre instantly froze, the hairs on his neck raising as firm hands clamped down on his arms and a soft tenor purred in his ear, "Hello, Andre…"

With a cry, Andre bolted out of the room and, softly chuckling, Coupeau sat down next to Mercier. "Oh, he's a silly little thing, isn't he?"

"You are really creepy, do you know that?"

"Stop doing that!" Andre whimpered, walking back into the room, and settling uneasily back into his chair, carefully avoiding the intense gaze of the auburn-haired man. "You just pop out of nowhere…"

"Rather like a gust of queer wind, isn't he?" Mercier remarked dryly.

"Oh, thank you, Mercier," Coupeau purred, laying his hand upon the man's shoulder. Eyes lighting up suddenly, he turned to the lawyer and chirped, "How's your wife?"

"Oh, Helena's fine," Andre said timidly, blushing slightly and swelling with pride. "She raised hell about our last dinner guests, but I think she is over that now."

"And how did she look in that dress that I picked out for her?" the little man asked excitedly, leaning in.

He sighed, fidgeting slightly. "As much as I hate to say it, you did good, Coupeau. She was ravishing."

"And how are babies one through four?" Mercier asked the blushing man as he held still the other soldier who was bubbling over in glee.

"My daughters have names, Mercier, and you know it," Andre said sternly.

"Sir?" The three men looked up to see Andre's secretary standing in the doorway, completely gray and shaking. "A man here to see you, sir. Her wants to talk to you about the will…"

"Oh, that treacherous snake…" Mercier growled. "Napoleon's ousting us, damn it! This is my job to neglect!" He stood up quickly and glared at the poor trembling secretary, only making things worse for the young boy. "You tell that little piss-ant that Andre's already being harassed and we are perfectly capable."

"Perfectly capable," Coupeau agreed, nodding. "Even if we're doing a rotten job, we are still perfectly capable."

"Alright, have him wait, will you?" Andre said tiredly, running his hand over his face. It was almost five, and he should be getting home… "Tell him I'll be with him in a moment."

The secretary nodded and closed the door as he left. "I bet you Chauvelin's absolutely loving this," Mercier said, leaning back in the chair and placing his boots upon the desk, much to Andre's annoyance. "Really, the havoc that his bloody will is causing everyone is probably making him giddy."

"You know what else is probably making him laugh at you?" Coupeau asked quietly, leaning in close to the bigger man and purring seductively. "I have his hat…"

"Oh, you bastard."

There was a brief scuffling from outside the door, Andre's secretary pleading pitifully just before the door swung open and slammed shut, a new occupant standing within the room, gold eyes scanning the three shocked faces, his features devoid of any emotion. "Are you Andre Madeline?" he said sternly, pointing toward the lawyer.

Andre began panicking.

Lucian was really quite confused, and frankly, a bit aggravated. The French were really much more flighty then the English, much to his surprise. Everywhere he went, he was met with strange stares and hushed whispering, and it was starting to irritate him. A society of cowards could not have produced such a man as his father. "Are all you French like this?" he asked, irritated.

"Hardly," Mercier responded, examining his fingernails. "Andre just doesn't have much of a spine." Looking toward the rather flighty and excited Coupeau, he added, "And Coupeau's a queer."

"You're Andre?" the boy asked, ignoring the two soldiers as he stood between them and placed his hand upon the desk, leaning in toward the lawyer. He nodded. "I am Lucian Chauvelin, and I believe that my father left something for me."

There was dead silence in the room for a moment before Coupeau got up and dashed out the door, slamming it behind him. "That's not possible," Andre squeaked, staring into those pale yellow eyes that intimidated him so much in his youth.

Lucian reeled back, looked at him in confusion. "What?"

"You can't be Chauvelin's son. He never got married, he can't have children."

Mercier nearly choked, looked at the lawyer in sudden contempt. "Are you an idiot, Madeline?" the man sneered. "Can't have a bastard? Think about what you say before you speak, moron."

"But…I…"

"Look," Mercier stated plainly, leaning in toward the lawyer and ignoring the flustered golden-eyed boy, "men take women to their beds out of wedlock all the time. The seed doesn't wait for marriage to plant itself, and you know that. Some son of a doctor."

He eyed the lawyer intently, making sure that the man was thoroughly red and shifting uncomfortably before he turned toward a very irritated young man. "It's been a while, Lucian. To what do we owe this honor?"

"I…" Stopping for a moment, breathing heavily – the soldier remembered him? – and composing himself, he looked firm and hard at the man. "I've come to take over the place of my father."

"Then I regret to inform you that you are wasting your time," the soldier sighed, leaning back in his chair. "There is no place in today's world for people like your father, boy. Get your money and go back home."

"This is my home," Lucian stated, his once firm voice quivering with uncertainty, and he wasn't helped by the hollow laugh from the soldier.

"If I remember correctly, you've never been to France. How can you claim to have any ties to this country?"

"My father-"

"You're father's dead, boy, he's a pretty weak card to be played by his friends, let alone his bastard that he never knew about and never wanted."

"Mercier, please," Andre pleaded, feeling suddenly extremely sorry for the small, hurt thing that stood in his office, "he's just a boy…"

"Shut up, Andre." He did so quite quickly, staring at the desk apologetically, a look that was meant for the boy had he been able to look at him. Mercier stood up and came before the young Chauvelin, glaring down at the suddenly frightened gold eyes. "As much as you wish, you are not your father. Go back to your mother and go home to England."

Lucian was terrified and extremely hurt, trembling in complete helplessness as the soldier sat back down. He was actually compelled to turn and leave, go back to the home that he had grown up in and apologize for his folly, try to make amends that he knew could never be fixed. After all, the person that his father had been close to had just rejected him…

Just as he was about to turn and leave, a violent anger rooted him to the spot. "I'll have you know," he said calmly, smoothly, unknowingly sounding so much like his father that it caught the soldier's attention instantly and made the lawyer quiver, "that my mother isn't here, and I can't go back to England, even if I wanted to. So I'm stuck here with you."

"You're stuck here, not with me," the man said impassively, glaring back at the young man with an air of confidence, looking much more sure of himself then he really was.

"Not so, Citizen. I have a plan and the methods to go about accomplishing what I want, and I will not stop until I have done what I have set out to do, and you just so happen to figure into my schemes. You have no choice."

The boy stood completely still, glaring viciously and coldly into the equally icy blue of the soldier. Before anyone knew what was happening, the black blade of Chauvelin's sword was at a shocked Mercier's neck, the tip lightly pressing against his throat. "I may not be my father, sir," the boy purred, leaning in closer to the man, pressing slightly harder with the blade to make his point, "but so help me God, you will serve me as you did him."

The lawyer couldn't move he was so frightened, and Mercier could do nothing but gape, taking no notice to the light trickle of blood that ran down his throat as he stared into those cold golden eyes that looked so much like those of the man that once fearlessly led him.

The fact of the matter was that Mercier and Coupeau were lost without Chauvelin. Both men were rendered useless when the agent had been struck down, leaving the two men to wander aimlessly without the direction that Chauvelin had provided them with. Coupeau had managed to make due, clinging to Mercier the same way that he had clung to Chauvelin, depending upon the bigger man to protect him from a world that he was too weak to defend against on his own.

Mercier had not been quite so fortunate as the little soldier. He had looked to Chauvelin for direction and orders. Without him, he merely sat idle, a cynical observer of the world rather than part of it. He often contemplated suicide, but could never bring himself to do it, knowing that Coupeau clung to him to survive. In a similar fashion, he clung to Coupeau in the same way. He joined up with Napoleon to keep them safe, not because he believed in that cause. He believed in the France that Chauvelin saw, and that vision was lost. But if this child was anything like his father, and he was proving to be so much like the leader and friend that he had lost so long ago…

"What will you have me do, Chauvelin?"

Sighing in relief, Lucian dropped the weapon and sat in a chair next to the soldier just as Coupeau ran back in to the room and dropped a tricorner hat upon the young man's head and swiftly kissed his cheek. "Welcome home, my friend." Smiling softly, the auburn-haired man sat upon Andre's desk, crossing his legs and leaning in toward the vision of his friend that sat before him, taking special care to ignore the vicious glare that Mercier was shooting at him.

"You bastard," the man growled, taking a firm grip on the little soldier's hair. "I wanted that hat, and you knew it! All this time, I could have had it, but no, the queer kept it."

"Yes!"

"Just die. Really, just keel over."

"You don't mean that, Mercier," the man stated plainly to the man, removing the hand from his hair and turning toward the young Chauvelin. "So, what are we going to do with you?"

"Well, I was hoping that-"

"Look, boy, it's getting late," Mercier said, standing up and pulling Coupeau off the desk. Andre took out his watch and instantly started to panic, hurriedly packing his things and fretting over how angry his wife would be that he was late for dinner. "How's this: we'll sort all your affairs over the week, but for now, I'm thinking that you need to rest. No doubt you had a long trip."

"Helena is going to be so angry with me!" Andre whimpered, struggling with his briefcase, his haste only slowing him down. He stopped suddenly as the young man's elegant hand extended before him. Staring at it for a moment, he cautiously took it.

"I really didn't introduce myself properly. It is a pleasure to finally meet you. Lucian Chauvelin."

"Andre Madeline," the man said slowly. "It's…unexpected to know that you exist, sir…"

"Yes, well, I look forward to getting the chance to know you," Lucian said cheerfully, thrusting his bag into the confused Andre's arms. "Come along."

"Wait, what's this?"

"My bags!"

"Your…but…I don't understand."

"I need a place to stay, Madeline," the man said impassively, packing the rest of Andre's briefcase and handing that to the lawyer also. "So I've decided to allow you to let me stay with you!"

"Wha-? No, you can't-"

"Come along now, Andre!" the man called, marching out of the door.

"Wait!" the timid lawyer called after the boy, but he didn't come back. He was just alone in the room with two helplessly laughing soldiers. "Oh dear…Helena is not going to like this…"

Mercier and Coupeau had settled on walking Andre at least part of the way home, as they were headed for dinner in that direction anyway. The silence that the Frenchmen walked in did not last for very long, as the walk back to Andre's home passed right by the monument that served as Chauvelin's resting place, and the boy instantly stopped to stare. "That's were my father is buried, right?" he asked quietly, instantly earning the sympathies of Andre and Coupeau.

"Yes, that's right," Coupeau said quietly, standing beside the boy. "It's amazing how quickly they got that thing up. Robespierre insisted that it get built as quickly as possible."

"He really was a great man, wasn't he?"

"He was, but not in the way that you have heard of him, I can assure you," Mercier stated plainly, making the boy stare at the exceptionally tall man in shock. "The stories going around now are for the most part complete fabrication. He was no saint, just a man out to do the best he could for a cause he believed in."

"That's not true!" Lucian cried, suddenly angry.

"Listen, boy, you know the stories, not the man. Things get twisted. He was just a man, really no better than any other. A hero in his own right, but not in the way that the stories say. If you want the truth, he died insane."

He tried to respond, but couldn't find the words he wanted, but finally managed on whispering, "Really?"

"Yes, really. Anyhow, this is where Coupeau and I leave. We will take you around tomorrow. Get home and rest, alright? We can sort out all the legal issues tomorrow." He turned to leave, hesitated, turned back around. "I should like you to meet my son. He needs something to do, and I will not have him fight for Napoleon like I do. I'd like to keep this one safe. He's able, might have some use to you."

"You have a son?" Lucian asked quietly, looking at the man in respect.

"I do. Named him after your father too. I think you'll like him. I'll see you tomorrow, Chauvelin."

He hesitated for a moment as he watched the two soldiers start to walk away, but quickly called after them, waiting for them to turn back before he quietly asked, "Will you tell me about my father?"

Smiling softly, the auburn-haired man patted his head. "Of course."

"Anything you like, boy."

"Thank you." Nodding the two men walked away, and Lucian quietly followed Andre when the lawyer tugged at his arm to follow. They walked on quietly only briefly before the golden-eyed boy quietly asked, "Did you know my father, Andre?"

"Yes, I did," the lawyer sighed. This day had been far too long… "Not well, but I did know him. I was his secretary for a few years before he died. To be honest, I was really too scared of him to get to know him all that well. He was a very intimidating man."

"You were not there when he died, right?"

"Right. I was visiting my parents when he was killed. Mercier and Coupeau maintain that he briefly went insane before he died, but I did not see that either."

"Were you sad about it?"

Andre stopped, seriously considered this for a moment. "I suppose a little. It was really more shock than anything else. I went away for a week, and when I came back, this strong, powerful man was suddenly gone. It was a bit hard to grasp at the time. Really, it was very hard to come to terms with. I thought I'd see him again."

"I think you're very lucky to have known him, Andre," Lucian said quietly, looking at the lawyer with slight admiration.

"Yes, I think so too," the man said softly, smiling a bit.

The rest of the walk was a comfortable silence between the two, and for a while, everything was right in the world and peaceful. Andre even managed to forget how angry Helena was going to be.

He quickly remembered when he came in the door.

"You want to scare me to death like that again, Andre?" the beautiful woman shouted at the timid man. "If you know you are going to be late, send a note! Tell me you're going to be late!"

"Helena," Andre said nervously, shifting from foot to foot, "I'm sorry. Really, I am, but I didn't know that I would be so late, and-"

"Well, the girls are all seated for dinner and they want their father. 'Where's Daddy?' they ask me. I had to tell them that your work is more important then your children."

Andre's face dropped. "You didn't…"

"No, I didn't," the woman said, suddenly light-hearted as she flung her arms around her husband's neck. "Come now, dinner is ready." And then Helena noticed the blonde boy standing at the door. "Andre…" she asked cautiously, pulling herself closer to the man, "who is that?"

"Oh, Helena, about him…"

Lucian didn't wait for an introduction of an explanation. Without another moment, he bowed slightly to the woman. "My name is Lucian, Madame, and I will be staying with you for a while."

"Oh, is that so?" Helena asked quietly, pulling away from Andre and standing before the boy. "And for how long would that be?"

"Indefinitely."

"Ah." Quickly reeling on Andre, she snapped, "You didn't tell me we were having a permanent guest, Andre!"

"Believe me, love, I didn't know until today."

"Oh the nerve…" Turning back toward the boy, she looked him over suspiciously before sauntering over toward the boy, coyly purring, "Well, aren't you a cute little thing…"

Andre was shocked, stared at his wife in surprise. "Helena, what are you…"

Slap!

"Have I told you that I love you?" Andre asked, staring at his furious wife in adoration.

"Get out of my house, you!" Helena yelled at the stunned boy, right before the boy went so cold the room froze, and Helena's anger quickly disappeared, scooting as close to Andre as she could.

"I think, Madame, that you have made a rather grave error," the boy purred, slowly sauntering toward the suddenly frightened couple. "Andre, if you don't want me dealing with your wife personally, I highly suggest that you keep that woman in control."

"Helena, can I have a word with you for a moment?" Andre whispered, tugging her toward the next room, the woman following without question. When he was sure the young Terrorist couldn't hear them, he quietly said, "Helena, please, listen to me."

"Andre, what are you doing letting someone like that into our home?" the woman asked, enraged and quite a bit frightened.

"Helena, please, he's just a boy, and he has nowhere to stay, and-"

"And did you feel that in there, Andre? Something isn't right about him."

"I know, but we can't just kick him out…"

"Oh? Watch me," the woman stated, walking back toward where the boy was, but Andre grabbed hold of her arm before she had a chance.

"Look, Helena, let him stay for a little while. We have the room, and he probably won't be here much anyway. It sounded like he had things to do. Please, Helena, we would be poor Christians to throw a child out."

She considered this for a moment, stared at her husband coldly before she sighed, hung her head. "Alright, for now, he can stay. But you listen to me, Andre," she said firmly, jabbing her finger into his chest, "I want him out of here as soon as it can be arranged. I don't like him, and I don't trust him at all. There's something sinister about that boy that I don't like, and don't you dare argue with me about that, Andre."

"Of course not, Helena."

"Good. I'll go get the guest room ready. Watch him, will you?"

"Of course.

Helena sighed, stopping just before she left. "You're a good man, Andre, and I love you to death, but I am getting the feeling that we are doing something that isn't right."

Without another word, she left to get the room ready, leaving a very confused Andre to return to his charge.