Requiem: Death Shall Have No Dominion
By Darth Stitch
DISCLAIMER: Same as previous chapter
Six – Declaration
It's my declaration to anyone who's listening
You're my inspiration as I stand alone against the world
'Cause you love…. can you bleed ?
'Cause you stole my soul and set me free
It's my declaration…
- "Declaration," David Cook
He missed her.
Virgil Walsh, the Count of Manchester, had spent a considerable amount of his very long life in service to Queen and country.
There had been a lot of things demanded of him by the Crown and he had given it all, freely, for the sake of his family and fellow Methuselah. The Ghetto was initially meant to be a sanctuary from the turmoil of the world outside – he'd seen for himself what remained of those ancient records pre- and post-Armageddon. All that he and his people had ever wanted was to be left alone in peace – he had spoken only but the truth to the young nun who was, in fact, his future Queen.
He harbored no anger against the Terrans – why should he, when it was perfectly understandable why they should hate and fear them, when there was a long, long tradition, ingrained into their very genes, of this horror against his kind? His younger sister Vanessa found this difficult to understand, had railed against it for so long, wondering how he, Virgil, found it in himself to be compassionate, to even show friendship towards the Terrans.
And yet, Brigid, Queen of Albion, had been different.
He'd watched her grow from a child to a young woman to the old, worn creature who had asked him, with her last breath, to find Albion's long-lost "Star of Hope." He'd been by her side through all her joys and her sorrows and he found that it was impossible to maintain that careful objectivity and distance around her. He had served the Crown loyally but out of all of the monarchs he had sworn fealty to, it was Brigid alone who had not only been his Queen, but also his dearest friend, all the years of her life.
Oh, how he would miss her.
Finding her successor to the throne was a quest that should, by rights, be near impossible to fulfill but Brigid had such faith in him.
And here, with Sister Esther Blanchett, was that faith rewarded.
Her hair was the vibrant red that Queen Brigid's had been in her younger years, her eyes that same dark blue, though there was an even greater delicacy in her features that called to mind her mother's. Oh, she wasn't a virtual clone of the former Queen, but she had that kind of strength, courage and compassion that would make a ruler Virgil would be proud to serve.
There was a moment that he had feared for the young woman when he saw how she mourned that priest who had fallen in the line of duty. No one could help but suspect that they had been more than simply just partners in a dangerous profession. But he'd seen her gather herself together, set her sorrow aside and carry on, much as Brigid had, after her own grievous losses.
Young Queen Esther was more fortunate than her predecessor in this, when the news came that the priest she mourned was in fact, alive. The AX agents who had come to rescue the Pope were strangely evasive when pressed to explain how this could happen, especially when Virgil himself had seen his young Queen mourning her beloved at his wake.
But Virgil was beginning to form his own suspicions.
There were reports about the great battle between the Archangel Michael and Lucifer that had taken place in the skies. Virgil might have been inclined to dismiss these reports as hysterical hallucinations, busy as they were fighting against the Rosen Kruez Orden's air ship and its terrifying Armageddon-era weaponry. Indeed, the Vatican… at least, Cardinal Caterina Sforza, was encouraging that notion and that alone might have been enough to arouse Virgil's curiosity.
However, visions of a war between angels and demons weren't exactly that unlikely, given the descriptions of certain battles during the Armageddon and certain… participants in that ancient war.
And Virgil had even more reason to form some very interesting theories especially when he had examined the records on how the Vatican's AX agents, including those two members of the Inquisition, Brother Petros Orcini and Sister Paula Souwauski, had all managed to get into the underground Ghetto using an entryway no one had remembered even existed in centuries.
Fascinating.
The news came that the Catholic contingent had now returned and that their search was successful. Captain Mary Spencer had not been pleased to find out that their new Queen had gone out to join the search as if she were still in fact just another Vatican nun. It was understandable – Esther was in fact now the last of a once-flourishing Royal House and none of them wished to see a virtual stranger sitting on the throne.
She will have sorrow and sacrifice enough when she begins her reign. Let her have what happiness she can.
Still, it was his duty to seek out his Queen and see that she was all right – Mary would have gone herself, if she had not been wounded and Virgil suspected that would not have been a prudent idea. As long as he, Virgil, could account for the Queen, Mary would be content. The Captain was wary of most Methuselah but she did bestow a wary trust upon him.
He found that private room in the Palace's infirmary easily, first knocking twice at the door. When he received no answer, he opened the door, half-expecting that he had somehow stumbled into the wrong room.
Red eyes gleamed in the dim light. In alarm, Virgil prepared to attack, taking in all the details of the room at once, the unconscious figure of his queen on the bed, still in her nun's habit, the strange Methuselah standing between him and Her Majesty, wearing a priest's cassock.
Wait. A priest's cassock?
"You are Virgil Walsh, the Count of Manchester, are you not?"The priest – the Methuselah? – asked him.
The accent was faintly Albionian, incongruous in those fierce, oddly alien features, yet its very familiarity was strangely comforting.
"You have the advantage of me," Virgil said carefully, unable to help but look at those claw-tipped hands. Something glinted silver on one slender finger. "Who are you?"
The red eyes changed to violet, followed Virgil's gaze. He held up his hands and swore. "Oh, bloody hell." The Albionian accent was even sharper now, in his agitation. The violet in his eyes gave way to a cool winter blue and his entire expression changed from ferocious to rueful, though delicate fangs still peeked from those reddened lips. "I apologize – you startled me when you suddenly came in and I am never quite… reasonable when it comes to Esther's safety." He glanced carefully at Esther then and smiled faintly, seeing that she was still peacefully asleep.
And just like that, things clicked into place for Virgil. There was a special code that had been used to get into that long-forgotten entryway into the Ghetto, a code that yielded only one name.
"Commander Abel Nightlord," Virgil breathed softly.
The man corrected him gently. "I haven't gone by that other name…not for a very long time, my Lord Walsh. It is Abel Nightroad, now. "
"I think that it is I who should be showing you deference, not the other way around," Virgil answered. Again, his eyes were drawn to that glint of silver on Nightroad's finger – a simple wedding band, not the usual adornment of a Catholic priest (Abel Nightlord, a Catholic priest, imagine that!), though it was no longer unheard of in this new day and age. "Your rank and titles…"
"…Are all meaningless, save perhaps for one or two," Nightroad's lips quirked in a wry little smile, even as he absently fiddled with the wedding band on his finger. "I should be allowed at least that, don't you think? I'm rather fond of a couple of those."
Wedding band.
Knees suddenly weak, Virgil found himself reaching weakly for a chair to sit on before he could completely embarrass himself in front of his rightful Prince and Lord.
"Oh dear… would you like some water? I don't see how putting one's head between one's knees could help but you're welcome to try that as well…" The words were so kind and yet so utterly inane…
"This is madness," Virgil protested.
"I've tried that for a few centuries. Didn't do a thing for me," Nightroad told him cheerfully. "Though perhaps I shouldn't blame you if you doubt my sanity now…"
"Parliament will have a fit," Virgil said faintly, his mind spinning. Hadn't just the Empress of the New Human Empire recently announced the return of her beloved brother?
"To say nothing of the Inquisition and His Holy Nibs Cardinal Francesco di Medici," Nightroad continued, winter blue eyes dancing with merriment. "I am sorry, my Lord Walsh. Esther and I both seem to have a knack for getting into the most absurd predicaments possible."
Virgil giggled and was promptly horrified at himself for the undignified reaction. No, he did not just make that totally inappropriate sound. Never happened.
"I would appreciate it if you could kindly have your required fit of hysterics outside this room, my Lord. My wife does need her rest."
My wife. And those two very simple words sobered Virgil Walsh right up. He remembered those old records once more, that Abel Nightlord was not the only creation spawned by the Red Mars Project.
So close, his Queen had been so close to the one they called the Angel of Death...
"Your… brother has absolutely no idea of who and what she is to you," Virgil was quite sure of it. He was equally sure that Cain Knightlord would most likely not remain ignorant of this for long.
"He and his minions have reason enough to want her death now," Nightroad said, the laughter disappearing from his eyes in an instant, leaving them colder than ice. "There is no need to add one more."
Nightroad glanced down at the peacefully sleeping little Queen again and just for a moment, his expression was unguarded, filled with tenderness and his features were now utterly and completely human. His wife, Abel had calmly declared to him, and now, Virgil could truly understand the depth of Queen Esther's grief when she had thought Abel Nightroad dead.
And then, Virgil knew that his Prince would have no other course of action to take. "It will deeply grieve her should you leave her again, my Lord Prince."
Nightroad closed his eyes. "And you know that I have no other choice. Not at this time."
"A hard choice," Virgil said softly. Abel Nightroad did not need his pity but Virgil could give his understanding, as he had always given it before. And it would not be difficult to once more swear his loyalty and fealty to this particular man.
"I have made them before…. and sometimes, my choices are not always the wisest," Nightroad answered, almost talking to himself. And then, he looked directly at Virgil. "But I will do all that I can to see her safe and well."
"As will we all, my Lord Prince… you may depend on it," Virgil declared and his words had the ring of promise to them. Yes, he would follow this man and his new Queen to the ends of the earth should they ask it of him.
Nightroad muttered something that sounded suspiciously like: I will never get used to this ridiculous 'Prince' business… but in a much louder voice he answered, "Thank you, my Lord."
Virgil bowed as much as to show his respect to the man as well as trying to hide his considerable amusement. It would be interesting to serve in the reign of his new Queen and her Consort.
Esther Blanchett, Catholic nun and one of the famed AX agents of the Church, Albion's Star of Hope, the Lady-Saint of Istvan.
Abel Nightroad, The long lost Prince of a mighty Empire. One of the legendary Night Lords. AX agent and Catholic warrior priest.
It would have delighted Queen Brigid to no end.
Oh, he and all of Albion, Methuselahs and Terrans, would be in for truly interesting times indeed.
Virgil knew that he would have to leave them now, all too aware that each moment the couple would have alone together would be precious, but he could not resist giving this parting shot. "This royalty business can be a little ridiculous at times but I believe it will be an honor to serve you, my Lord Prince."
The look on Abel Nightroad's face was absolutely priceless as Virgil took his leave of his Prince and Queen.
-tbc-
Author's Notes:
Poor Abel can't get any respect around here, eh? (chortles)
I had a heck of a time trying to pull this together and I finally managed to pull it off – Virgil was just doing too much OMGWTF-ing when I sprang his role on him. (chortles again) I have been doing some creative canon tweaking around here – the anime doesn't really state how much Virgil knows about the Nightlords and the old history and I only just have a few of the translated novels. Still, I thought I could pull this off. Virgil comes off as unusually well-informed in the anime and I always have had the impression that he would know the real history of the Armageddon and the Red Mars Project, especially since Albion has managed to preserve a lot of the pre-Armageddon technology.
Abel's accent – Alas, I have NO access to the English-dub anime DVDs and forget about downloading them – iStore hates my country and I am too poor to afford DSL at home right now. I've only heard bits and pieces of Troy Baker's performance as Abel. Mind, I'm Filipino so I'm no expert on Western accents but from the little that I've heard, Abel does sound very faintly English rather than American (okay, so he doesn't drawl like a cowboy, yeah?). Or maybe Troy just gives Abel a much cleaner, non-distinct accent. I'd love to know the thoughts of the Westerners reading this fic. In any case, my Abel has always sounded "English" or "British" in my head and the accent just gets more noticeable when he's freaking out. We all know Abel's originally from Albion. Just as Cain, of course, would sound somewhat Germanic – he originally came from Germany after all.
We're getting towards the end of this fic. Stay tuned!
As always, I LOVE the reviews and the comments. And a huge thank you for everyone who has been following the series since the very beginning! Cheers!