[FIC] Waltz of the Moon, 01
Jan. 9th, 2007 07:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mdseiranTitle: Waltz of the Moon, Chapter 01
Fandom: Original
Warnings: Angst, Humor, Minor Character Death (applies to whole fic). Overall PG-13 rating.
-Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
runebearer's contest.
-Chapter titles come from the song "Waltz of the Moon" by Yoko Kanno.
Despite his never going further from the city than the fields surrounding it, Leiander was quickly coming to the conclusion that Seria was the most boring city in all of M'Dhoria. Everyone was polite and other than the occasional thief, a ghost or two and the madman who thought the bench was his friend, the days were all alike. That he was forced to stand in the square all day while his mother patrolled the streets didn't help any, but one of the guards kept an eye on him at all times so he couldn't even slip away.
He had never thought of his mother as cunning. Strong, certainly. Strict without a doubt. But cunning wasn't added to the list of adjectives describing his mother until young women began to corner him while he was in the square. He recognized some of them as daughters of officers, others as friends of his mother, and while he was aware that his looks were better than average he was equally sure they didn't warrant this much attention. That left him with one conclusion; his mother was trying to marry him off.
When he brought up the topic of the young ladies with his mother, she stopped knitting and stared at him until he began to fidget. "It's not my fault that you're so good-looking dear, must take after your father," she said, fingers deftly looping the thread around the needles. "Besides, the more time you spend in Seria observing the guards, the easier you will be accepted into the Triage. If we can find you a nice girl in the process, that's only a bonus hmm?"
But even though his mother assured him there was more to the Triage than patrolling, and that his father would have wanted him to become a high-ranking officer, Leiander wasn't convinced, and instead of observing as his mother had said, he spent his days leaning against the bench or law book, catching short naps when no one was watching. The law book was by far his favored spot since it was placed to the side of the big marble fountain and allowed him to observe the square discreetly. But it was sometimes occupied by a dark-haired young man who would sleep on it or tear out pages and fold them into different shapes until the guards ran him off. He had picked one of the figures up off the ground once, a large butterfly covered with the public nudity laws, which he stuck in his pocket most days. It gave him something to grin at when he had nothing else to do.
The day that his life changed was an especially hot one, and Leiander had discarded his coat and vest and used them as a pillow, since the law book was creasing his forehead. He dozed off quickly, not caring for once if anyone was watching. The young women that usually surrounded him were happily absent due to the heat, and the guards were sweating in their heavy armor, too bothered to take care of him or wake him up as they usually did. Instead, what woke him was a splash and loud laughter.
There was a rule in the law book about bathing in the fountain. Leiander knew exactly what page it was since he had drooled on it a few days back. Perhaps it was the blatant breaking of said rule that caught his attention, or how mismatched the group of people standing in and around the fountain was, but he found himself regarding them curiously from his perch. His hearing was exceptionally good, something he had inherited from his father's family, and he picked up what they were saying easily. One of them he recognized as the owner of the paper butterfly, and he watched with no little amusement as he pushed a red-headed woman into the water. She landed almost on top of another man, who reached out to steady her, and after a moment of sputtering she reached out and pulled the reason of her predicament in. The young man (Breiden, she'd called him) remained unfazed as he waded over to the other two, leaning against the female and closing his eyes.
The splashing finally caught the attention of the guards, and the group was sent out of the square with a warning. Most of them snickered but left quietly enough. The three wet humans found their way out of the water and lingered beside it, to dry out in the sun as they said. His perch by the law book gave him a good view of the trio, and he took a moment to admire the sight of the woman while her clothes were still wet, as any normal man would do considering the circumstances. He could see that he wasn't the only one; the other human, a man with a long staff, was wringing out his clothes and not hiding the fact that he was looking intently. Although his eyes seemed to roam over Breiden as much as the woman.
Once he focused on the sound of their voices he could hear them whispering amongst themselves, not all of it in a language he understood. But when he caught a glimpse of a red scorpion tattooed on one of their forearms, the conversation started to make more sense, and he realized that they weren't Serians causing a bit of mischief. These were the residents of the east, the clan that had such a horrible reputation in this town and others. His mother mentioned these people a lot; Aschal, the mercenary clan, although in her eyes they weren't so much a clan as a group of bandits. As a loyal Serian, he should frown down on these people and their actions. Certainly, loyal Serians should not want to join such a despised clan.
Good thing that he wasn't all that loyal then.
Contrary to his mother's believes, he did think his impulses through before acting on them. He had been around the Triage long enough to have learned several ways of gathering information when it was needed. Listening was more important than talking, because people were not likely to reveal the important details when they were asked. Observation was equally important; the where, what and who related to the target. But that was where it stopped for the Triage. One of the first rules confidants were taught (it wouldn't do to call them spies, Triage had no need to spy on the neighboring cities and clans) was that contact with the target was never established. To do so would be risking their cover and the integrity of the Triage. But once Leiander felt he knew enough, he waited for Breiden to visit the square and then planted himself between the human and his usual pillow. And when the yellow eyes made contact with his, he knew the first part of the struggle was over.
"You know," he tossed out as Breiden circled around him to get to the book, "it might be a good idea to hold clan meetings somewhere more private. If I were out to kill the leader of Aschal I'd know exactly who to stab now." His opening sentence earned him a snort, a yawn, and an amused, "It's hardly a secret. Most people know exactly who I am," all delivered in the time it took his target to find a comfortable spot on the book. Subtlety was apparently not his strongest suit. But it was alright, because he had an alternative plan.
"Are there any specific requirements to get accepted?"
He decided faint amusement must be Breiden's favorite facial expression, but at least he didn't look like he was about to doze off anymore. Leiander managed to keep his nerves hidden while golden eyes quietly appraised him and found him - what, he wondered? When he finally spoke however, he sounded bored rather than amused. "You have to be loyal and skilled at something." The last part was accompanied by a questioning arch of one eyebrow. For some reason, it made him incredibly nervous.
"The loyal part, I knew that. That's a rule in every clan, isn't it? When you get inducted into the Triage they make you repeat an oath of loyalty, swear to it and all, not that I've ever been an officer mind! My mother is though and she told me all about it, trying to prepare me for it I suppose?" His right hand had snuck into his pocket in the midst of his rambling and was creasing the wings of the paper butterfly, a nervous habit he'd picked up when the girls had started to hover, and the solid feel of it between his fingers, a reminder of the man's mischievous side, gave him the ounce of courage he needed to glance at the other's face. It looked thoughtful, and a surge of hope rushed through him. "Sorry, you didn't really want to know all that. Skills eh? I was taught to use a sword but I don't really like them. Knives are much better in a fight I always thought. And my hearing isn't half bad. That's all though, sorry." He paused for a moment then asked, "Is that too little?"
The smile that passed briefly over Breiden's face was anything but reassuring and for the first time since making his decision, Leiander doubted the wisdom of it. "Maybe not. Do you have any paper on you?" He shook his head and watched the other man shrug and step away from the law book to tear one of the pages out. A note was quickly scribbled on it, folded and handed to a suspicious man who was suddenly there and just as suddenly gone again. A moment later, a loud noise broke the rhythm of the falling water as a third person joined them, and he clearly recognized the woman with the short red hair despite her dry clothes. She smiled at him, ruffled Breiden's hair while ignoring the grumbling, then went to stand beside him while she looked Leiander over. "You must be the new recruit then," and the ball of something that had been resting in his stomach since this morning quickly disappeared. He smiled winningly at her, or so he hoped, and was delighted when she grinned back at him. "I'm Seiran. Breiden didn't tell me your name though."
Breiden grumbled faintly about not knowing either and how he shouldn't be accused of things he didn't do, and Leiander, abashed, quickly introduced himself, realizing that might've been a better way to start this conversation. Seiran formally introduced Breiden as well, and Leiander made a mental note to ask about the strange title later. "Now then, he did tell me your hearing is pretty good." He nodded, then blinked when Breiden interjected, "Quick with his hands too." The leader must have seen, because he gestured at the bulging pocket. "Almost didn't see you slip it in there. With a little training you could be much better." He sounded as if that pleased him, and when Leiander glanced at her, Seiran seemed happy as well.
"Does that mean you'll take me in then?"
Breiden tilted his head at Seiran, who shrugged and said something he didn't understand. Then Breiden was leading him to the bench, Seiran following them slowly while rummaging in a suede bag slung over her shoulder. When he had been seated, she placed two glass jars and a clean cloth on the smooth wood, murmuring something that made a small flame appear in the palm of her hand. Before he knew it Breiden had rolled up his right sleeve, a needle was run through the fire, and Seiran admonished him to sit still and not move a wink. He had always imagined tattoos would hurt more; it was a needle piercing skin after all. But she was quick and efficient and when she was done, she dabbed the fresh ink with something that smelled like mint and made the pain disappear. She smiled, satisfied, and bent to put away her tools, while Leiander lifted his arm a little and stared at the red scorpion surrounded by a ring of fire now adorning his forearm. When he stood up Breiden was smiling at him, no longer looking as scary, and cheerfully told him, "Welcome to Aschal. Are you ready for the last part of the induction ceremony?"
He rolled down his sleeve, glanced at the woman now standing at his other side, and with all the seriousness he could muster answered, "Yes."
A few seconds later, when he was sitting in the lukewarm fountain water with his two clan mates laughing from beyond the marble, he finally realized what the bathing had been about.
Which is why he felt no remorse about using his quick hands to drag them both in.
Fandom: Original
Warnings: Angst, Humor, Minor Character Death (applies to whole fic). Overall PG-13 rating.
-Written for
runebearer's contest.-Chapter titles come from the song "Waltz of the Moon" by Yoko Kanno.
White or black as I depart beyond you,
with the hope to change destiny.
with the hope to change destiny.
Despite his never going further from the city than the fields surrounding it, Leiander was quickly coming to the conclusion that Seria was the most boring city in all of M'Dhoria. Everyone was polite and other than the occasional thief, a ghost or two and the madman who thought the bench was his friend, the days were all alike. That he was forced to stand in the square all day while his mother patrolled the streets didn't help any, but one of the guards kept an eye on him at all times so he couldn't even slip away.
He had never thought of his mother as cunning. Strong, certainly. Strict without a doubt. But cunning wasn't added to the list of adjectives describing his mother until young women began to corner him while he was in the square. He recognized some of them as daughters of officers, others as friends of his mother, and while he was aware that his looks were better than average he was equally sure they didn't warrant this much attention. That left him with one conclusion; his mother was trying to marry him off.
When he brought up the topic of the young ladies with his mother, she stopped knitting and stared at him until he began to fidget. "It's not my fault that you're so good-looking dear, must take after your father," she said, fingers deftly looping the thread around the needles. "Besides, the more time you spend in Seria observing the guards, the easier you will be accepted into the Triage. If we can find you a nice girl in the process, that's only a bonus hmm?"
But even though his mother assured him there was more to the Triage than patrolling, and that his father would have wanted him to become a high-ranking officer, Leiander wasn't convinced, and instead of observing as his mother had said, he spent his days leaning against the bench or law book, catching short naps when no one was watching. The law book was by far his favored spot since it was placed to the side of the big marble fountain and allowed him to observe the square discreetly. But it was sometimes occupied by a dark-haired young man who would sleep on it or tear out pages and fold them into different shapes until the guards ran him off. He had picked one of the figures up off the ground once, a large butterfly covered with the public nudity laws, which he stuck in his pocket most days. It gave him something to grin at when he had nothing else to do.
The day that his life changed was an especially hot one, and Leiander had discarded his coat and vest and used them as a pillow, since the law book was creasing his forehead. He dozed off quickly, not caring for once if anyone was watching. The young women that usually surrounded him were happily absent due to the heat, and the guards were sweating in their heavy armor, too bothered to take care of him or wake him up as they usually did. Instead, what woke him was a splash and loud laughter.
There was a rule in the law book about bathing in the fountain. Leiander knew exactly what page it was since he had drooled on it a few days back. Perhaps it was the blatant breaking of said rule that caught his attention, or how mismatched the group of people standing in and around the fountain was, but he found himself regarding them curiously from his perch. His hearing was exceptionally good, something he had inherited from his father's family, and he picked up what they were saying easily. One of them he recognized as the owner of the paper butterfly, and he watched with no little amusement as he pushed a red-headed woman into the water. She landed almost on top of another man, who reached out to steady her, and after a moment of sputtering she reached out and pulled the reason of her predicament in. The young man (Breiden, she'd called him) remained unfazed as he waded over to the other two, leaning against the female and closing his eyes.
The splashing finally caught the attention of the guards, and the group was sent out of the square with a warning. Most of them snickered but left quietly enough. The three wet humans found their way out of the water and lingered beside it, to dry out in the sun as they said. His perch by the law book gave him a good view of the trio, and he took a moment to admire the sight of the woman while her clothes were still wet, as any normal man would do considering the circumstances. He could see that he wasn't the only one; the other human, a man with a long staff, was wringing out his clothes and not hiding the fact that he was looking intently. Although his eyes seemed to roam over Breiden as much as the woman.
Once he focused on the sound of their voices he could hear them whispering amongst themselves, not all of it in a language he understood. But when he caught a glimpse of a red scorpion tattooed on one of their forearms, the conversation started to make more sense, and he realized that they weren't Serians causing a bit of mischief. These were the residents of the east, the clan that had such a horrible reputation in this town and others. His mother mentioned these people a lot; Aschal, the mercenary clan, although in her eyes they weren't so much a clan as a group of bandits. As a loyal Serian, he should frown down on these people and their actions. Certainly, loyal Serians should not want to join such a despised clan.
Good thing that he wasn't all that loyal then.
Contrary to his mother's believes, he did think his impulses through before acting on them. He had been around the Triage long enough to have learned several ways of gathering information when it was needed. Listening was more important than talking, because people were not likely to reveal the important details when they were asked. Observation was equally important; the where, what and who related to the target. But that was where it stopped for the Triage. One of the first rules confidants were taught (it wouldn't do to call them spies, Triage had no need to spy on the neighboring cities and clans) was that contact with the target was never established. To do so would be risking their cover and the integrity of the Triage. But once Leiander felt he knew enough, he waited for Breiden to visit the square and then planted himself between the human and his usual pillow. And when the yellow eyes made contact with his, he knew the first part of the struggle was over.
"You know," he tossed out as Breiden circled around him to get to the book, "it might be a good idea to hold clan meetings somewhere more private. If I were out to kill the leader of Aschal I'd know exactly who to stab now." His opening sentence earned him a snort, a yawn, and an amused, "It's hardly a secret. Most people know exactly who I am," all delivered in the time it took his target to find a comfortable spot on the book. Subtlety was apparently not his strongest suit. But it was alright, because he had an alternative plan.
"Are there any specific requirements to get accepted?"
He decided faint amusement must be Breiden's favorite facial expression, but at least he didn't look like he was about to doze off anymore. Leiander managed to keep his nerves hidden while golden eyes quietly appraised him and found him - what, he wondered? When he finally spoke however, he sounded bored rather than amused. "You have to be loyal and skilled at something." The last part was accompanied by a questioning arch of one eyebrow. For some reason, it made him incredibly nervous.
"The loyal part, I knew that. That's a rule in every clan, isn't it? When you get inducted into the Triage they make you repeat an oath of loyalty, swear to it and all, not that I've ever been an officer mind! My mother is though and she told me all about it, trying to prepare me for it I suppose?" His right hand had snuck into his pocket in the midst of his rambling and was creasing the wings of the paper butterfly, a nervous habit he'd picked up when the girls had started to hover, and the solid feel of it between his fingers, a reminder of the man's mischievous side, gave him the ounce of courage he needed to glance at the other's face. It looked thoughtful, and a surge of hope rushed through him. "Sorry, you didn't really want to know all that. Skills eh? I was taught to use a sword but I don't really like them. Knives are much better in a fight I always thought. And my hearing isn't half bad. That's all though, sorry." He paused for a moment then asked, "Is that too little?"
The smile that passed briefly over Breiden's face was anything but reassuring and for the first time since making his decision, Leiander doubted the wisdom of it. "Maybe not. Do you have any paper on you?" He shook his head and watched the other man shrug and step away from the law book to tear one of the pages out. A note was quickly scribbled on it, folded and handed to a suspicious man who was suddenly there and just as suddenly gone again. A moment later, a loud noise broke the rhythm of the falling water as a third person joined them, and he clearly recognized the woman with the short red hair despite her dry clothes. She smiled at him, ruffled Breiden's hair while ignoring the grumbling, then went to stand beside him while she looked Leiander over. "You must be the new recruit then," and the ball of something that had been resting in his stomach since this morning quickly disappeared. He smiled winningly at her, or so he hoped, and was delighted when she grinned back at him. "I'm Seiran. Breiden didn't tell me your name though."
Breiden grumbled faintly about not knowing either and how he shouldn't be accused of things he didn't do, and Leiander, abashed, quickly introduced himself, realizing that might've been a better way to start this conversation. Seiran formally introduced Breiden as well, and Leiander made a mental note to ask about the strange title later. "Now then, he did tell me your hearing is pretty good." He nodded, then blinked when Breiden interjected, "Quick with his hands too." The leader must have seen, because he gestured at the bulging pocket. "Almost didn't see you slip it in there. With a little training you could be much better." He sounded as if that pleased him, and when Leiander glanced at her, Seiran seemed happy as well.
"Does that mean you'll take me in then?"
Breiden tilted his head at Seiran, who shrugged and said something he didn't understand. Then Breiden was leading him to the bench, Seiran following them slowly while rummaging in a suede bag slung over her shoulder. When he had been seated, she placed two glass jars and a clean cloth on the smooth wood, murmuring something that made a small flame appear in the palm of her hand. Before he knew it Breiden had rolled up his right sleeve, a needle was run through the fire, and Seiran admonished him to sit still and not move a wink. He had always imagined tattoos would hurt more; it was a needle piercing skin after all. But she was quick and efficient and when she was done, she dabbed the fresh ink with something that smelled like mint and made the pain disappear. She smiled, satisfied, and bent to put away her tools, while Leiander lifted his arm a little and stared at the red scorpion surrounded by a ring of fire now adorning his forearm. When he stood up Breiden was smiling at him, no longer looking as scary, and cheerfully told him, "Welcome to Aschal. Are you ready for the last part of the induction ceremony?"
He rolled down his sleeve, glanced at the woman now standing at his other side, and with all the seriousness he could muster answered, "Yes."
A few seconds later, when he was sitting in the lukewarm fountain water with his two clan mates laughing from beyond the marble, he finally realized what the bathing had been about.
Which is why he felt no remorse about using his quick hands to drag them both in.
