marlowemuses | He leads me into the night, he drives away the light

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He leads me into the night, he drives away the light

The only sounds in the forest were the sounds of the horse's hooves, soft against the snow, and Laurent's breath, quick and ragged. It was well past nightfall, and he was exhausted, but there was no choice but to keep going. If he delayed, his father's men would catch him.

He'd left before dawn, riding hard, and had stopped twice to exchange horses. No message could outpace him, so his story was not questioned, and both his face and his gold were accepted everywhere he went.

His father's story had been richly detailed, never thinking that Laurent would use those details as a map. He had the rose, and he had the words that the beast had given his father, the magic enchantment that would lead him to the castle and his fate.

There was a certain clearing, with an ancient, tumbled-down ring of stones. Laurent stood there to speak the words, and the clouds parted, spearing moonlight down upon a nearly invisible path. Laurent put heels to his horse and followed it.

The path was clear, swept bare of snow, though drifts rose high on either side. Once, Laurent looked back to see the path lost behind him, clogged by deep drifts as though it had never been.

He emerged into a soft, warm autumn night.

The clock might have been drawn back by some months, with summer and the harvest still rich on the breeze, along with the heady scent of late-summer flowers, and, twined throughout the rest of it--roses.

The forest parted into a vast meadow of soft grasses, broken here and there by copses of wood and rising stone bridges that crossed deep chasms, and led to a soaring, overgrown castle. It was everything his father had described and more, a place of wild beauty. The castle was large enough that it could house a city, though it showed no signs of life.

Heart pounding, Laurent urged his horse forward, though there was no hurry now. He was within the spell, and thus had fulfilled his duty. His father's men would not be able to follow him here, even with the secret words. Or, if they did, it would be too late.

It was a beautiful place to die.

Laurent rode boldly up to the front door of the castle, dismounting and tying his horse at the bottom of the steps. Hungry and exhausted, he climbed to the massive doors of the castle and they opened before him as if by magic.

Laurent's heart thundered in the silent hall, beautiful and crumbling, of a fantastical construction such as he had never before seen. "Hello?" he called to the echoing corridors, but there was no answer. "I am Laurent of Vere. My father took one of your roses. I have come to fulfill his debt."

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Laurent's grip tightened on his fork at the beast's cruel mockery on the topic of rape, and that moment was almost enough to ruin the evening, to make him storm off to his room again.

The beast's next words helped a little to calm him. So, the beast wanted to be a man. He lived in this magnificent castle, with all these courtly luxuries, and he wanted to pretend that he belonged here. That he was more than simply a monster. It was pitiable. All the more so, given how Laurent despised him.

Laurent reached for his wine and drank. "I see."

He will never be yours.

Damen watched, claws gleaming around his own cup in the candlelight. It was almost worth it, to get a reaction out of Laurent, to pierce the cold exterior even for a moment. Even if he hated himself for it.

"What were you expecting, when you came here? Have I lived up to them?"

"I was expecting to die," Laurent said, plainly.

He drank again. He'd lost track of the times the wine goblet had refilled itself at the halfway mark. Was it three? Four?

He laid down his fork, and the plate cleared itself, bringing an array of desserts instead. Laurent meant to resist them, meant to excuse himself, but he had a weakness for sweets, and a weakness for beautiful, intricate creations. He reached for one of the desserts, cutting off a tiny bite-sized piece with his fork. The castle had provided meals for him in his room, but they were always simpler meals, with a limited array of options. Each one had been fully up to Veretian standards, but nothing compared to the unparalleled opulence that appeared on the Beast's table.

Laurent's eyelashes fluttered for a moment in pleasure as he took a bite.

"I am sorry to disappoint."

With Laurent deep in his own goblet, Damen could even spare a sip or two of his own, never when the Prince was looking at him. He did not touch the food. He would not give Laurent another reason to look upon him with revulsion.

It was almost cruel, how beautiful that face looked in pleasure. Something so simple as a heavenly dessert could transport him into such visible euphoria. Damen curled the pads of his fingers around the arm of his chair, gripping tightly against the tug of lust the sight triggered within him.

"In comparison, a day in the library must seem unadventurous. I hope you were able to console yourself."

"You think I came because I'm suicidal?" Laurent asks, lifting his brows at the monster. He reaches for the coffee instead of the wine, this time.

"Your library is beautiful," he says, instead of returning the barb with worse. "Much like the rest of the castle."

He licks the fork clean with a fastidious tongue before spearing another bite. "It's a pity you don't appreciate it."

Damen's humor was dark-tinged these days. He leaned back in his chair. "No. But if you believed me a murderous Beast, thus far I must have failed to live up to expectations."

His eyes never strayed from Laurent's face, seeming to almost glitter in the dim light as he stared at the tip of pink tongue that flicked the underside of the fork.

"What can a Beast appreciate?" Damen responded in Veretian, his rumbling voice sounding suddenly almost elegant with the rolling lilt. "Certainly not the niceties of Godrey, the philosophies of an Aetion. The palate of fine culinary arts. Nor the natural beauty of a rose garden." A jaded, almost bitter edge completed the Veretian effect. Laurent saw him as nothing more than savage, an animal inhabiting a castle far beyond his ability to appreciate or utilize.

Someday, that's all he would be.

Laurent's brow lifted, intrigued. It seemed that the Beast wanted to impress him with a flair of language and the mention of a few literary greats.

"I thought you didn't read," he commented, providing the opportunity for the Beast to elaborate upon the topic. He took another bite, ate it delicately.

Was that surprise on Laurent's face? Damen hoped it was. "I said it wasn't my first choice. I've had...time. And a limited view into the outside world. When other escapes fail, a book can sometimes suffice."

Laurent wasn't the only one trapped on these grounds, its magic keeping him penned in. Without the library and his mirror, Damen was sure he'd have run mad long before this.

"I am...rather fond of Kaletor," he admitted cautiously, as if exposing some weakness to the Prince by confessing to his penchant for the author of the heroic epic poetry. "In the original Akielon, And it is much better read aloud, as it was originally meant to be performed."

"Oh?" The faintest ghost of a smile trailed over Laurent's lips. "You'll have to demonstrate for me. In fact, I insist."

The mental image of this beast making a performance of heroic epic poetry was comically absurd, and therefore irresistible. If the Beast wanted to charm Laurent, or to at least soften his dislike into tolerance, Laurent wanted the monster to swallow his pride again and again.

The apology had been a good first step, but it was going to take a lot more than that.

Caught. It had been neatly done, and Damen couldn't even really be upset about it. Laurent insisting on interactions with him, no matter the motivation, was some kind of victory.

"Well, since you insist..." He rumbled, tapping meaty fingers against the tablecloth. "A performance in the library, tomorrow? With copies on hand? Better than me stumbling through a half-memorized line or two before getting stage fright and running off to the jeers of my critics."

Despite his light tone, Damen hardly dared hope that Laurent would actually agree to it in seriousness.

"How can I resist?" Laurent rested his head on his hand, lips tilted slightly in a coy smirk. "A literate beast. You must absolutely be given the opportunity to prove yourself."

There was no guarantee that there wouldn't be critical jeers--in fact, it was almost inevitable. "Tomorrow, then," Laurent said, rising to his feet. Their dinner tonight had been less of a disaster, at least. So, the Beast wanted to be a man.

It was settled, then. Perhaps with the encouragement of three glasses of wine, and with a terrible suspicion that the Prince was mocking him, but no matter. Damen believed Laurent would stick to his word, and they would have their little rendezvous tomorrow. He nodded, rising as well, and bidding Laurent a good night before letting him leave the hall unaccompanied.

That night, a full moon hung in the clear sky, shining through the panes of Laurent's balcony. And in the thick forests of the castle grounds, a man ran until he could run no further, and doubled-back and again until the moon disappeared at last behind pre-dawn clouds.

Well after breakfast, the Beast appeared at the library, dressed in black and looking as if he was the one being lead to his doom. The room was the size of a small ballroom, lined wall to wall and with several free-standing shelves, as well as some cozy nooks by the bay windows where plush chairs were gathered around little tables. Damen looked around for his guest, nerves setting in again.

Laurent settled in to one of the nooks in the library after breakfast, enjoying a book and waiting to see if his entertainment would make an appearance. When he heard the door open, he got to his feet, emerging from the nook and leaning against the edge of a bookcase with a expectant look on his face.

The Beast looked somewhat civilized, dressed handsomely in black velvet, and Laurent couldn't wait to see him make an idiot of himself.

For Laurent's part, he was dressed in a gorgeous deep burgundy, crowned with gold and garnets, and looking as impossibly handsome as ever.

"Is 'lounging casually against a bookcase' a social grace that all Veretian nobility are trained in as youths, or is that your particular area of expertise?"

Damen clasped his hands behind his back, feeling (and probably looking) terribly out of place in the library fit for a Prince, and the beautiful Prince himself, looking for all the world like he ruled this domain.

He threw a glance at the nearest nook, curious about Laurent's tastes. "What were you reading?"

"Casual lounging in general is a particular skill of mine," Laurent answers. He's amused that the Beast seems to have a sense of humor, and he's increasingly able to see the beast as an object of amusement rather than of terror. When he's not angry, he looks a bit like a puzzled bear. Laurent thinks he'd rather like to see the Beast dance.

"Just a novel," Laurent says. He reads a variety of subjects, sometimes intellectual and sometimes nonsense. "I felt the need for some escapism."

If anybody could get Damen to dance...

"How fortunate for me. I have all sorts of corners around the castle that are in need of a good lounger."

He's glad to see Laurent in a reasonably good mood, and taking his sense of humor in stride. Damen considers him a moment.

"Well then. I was going to have you join me in some Kaletor readings, but I too am in the mood for a little escapism. After my promised recitation, why don't you grace me with some of this novel of yours and we shall see whose performance makes the cut."

"That seems like a reasonable bargain," Laurent says, eyes lingering on the Beast. The creature is still monstrous, but Laurent's learning to see that the Beast wants to be human. It's an absurd thing, that this monster has studied languages and read poetry. Laurent wonders how it came about, that some legendary monster should want more than anything to enjoy the trappings of humanity. Including, absurdly, having a human companion to love.

What a poor, deluded creature.

"You first," Laurent says, tensing a little in proximity to the beast. He tries to hide it, but he's much happier when the creature is farther away. Or not in the room at all.

This all might have been easier if his sense hadn't been so keenly aware of Laurent's physical state of being. Animals smelled fear, and so, Damen thought darkly to himself, he could smell Laurent's. If the Prince could have run, he's certain he would have.

Turning and walking away, Damen found the volumes with an ease and swiftness that suggested he'd visited them upon more than one occasion, putting them back in exactly the same spot. The pages were just slightly battered, for he was not always the most patient when he read, and in his beastly form his claws were as like to get caught up in the edges of the leafs as to slide under the next one to turn it dexterously.

He returned with two copies to take a seat in the nook. He filled up the chair, oversized as it was, and the breadth and darkness of his form seemed to dominate the entire space. Damen watched out of the corner of his eye to see if Laurent would be brave enough to take the other seat adjacent, or would stand at a safe and retreatable distance.

Either way, he began the canto:

Now look along that beach, and see
Between the keels hatching its western dunes
A ten-foot-high reed wall faced with black clay
Split by a double-doored gate;
Then through the gate a naked man
Run with what seems to break the speed of light
Across the dry, then damp, then sand invisible
Beneath inch-high waves that slide
Over each other's luminescent panes;
Then kneel among those panes, burst into tears, and say:

'Mother,
You said that you and God were friends.
You said it.
..."

The more Laurent interacted with the Beast--at least while the monster had control of his temper--the more he became an object of humor rather than fear. It was difficult to be afraid of a giant lion-bear of a creature while it was seated in a chair and reading poetry.

Laurent remained distrustful of him, and didn't like the Beast's attempts at friendliness. He did not want to befriend a monster.

Sinking into the chair across from the Beast, Laurent sprawled lazily, showing idle boredom on his face rather than paying any particular attention. He was paying attention, of course, and the Beast's recitation was very well done, showing intelligence and empathy, or at least a decent mimicry of such.

'Do not tell Amarinceus honour is
No mortal thing, but ever in creation,
Vital, free, like speed, like light,
Like silence, like the gods...

Laurent had dared to sit beside him, and Damen grew comfortable the more arrogantly the Prince sprawled in the chair next to him. He even took on different voices, such as he could, and acted out the parts of the hero Thales and his mother the goddess, and the King Amarinceus and the others. All the while he kept a weather eye out for Laurent's promised mockery, though even that wasn't enough to diminish Damen's enjoyment.

...The movement of the stars! Beyond the stars!
Dividing man from beast, hero from host,
That proves best, best, that only death can reach,
Yet cannot die because it will be said, be sung,
Now, and in time to be, for evermore.'

Damen reached for a bookmark from the table and stuck it in the page, then closed it and looked at Laurent, awaiting his judgment.

"So the Beast is literate," Laurent commented. It was mockery, though lightly so. There weren't any barbs in it.

He provided no further commentary or criticism. The Beast deserved no compliments from his prisoner, and would get none.

Laurent rose to his feet, heading for the door. The performance had been an entertaining diversion, but after so long in the Beast's company, Laurent desperately wanted to be away from him.

Damen frowned. Fleeing was not what he'd expected from Laurent. "And the terms of today's entertainment?" he asked at Laurent's retreating back. "What of your promised reading? It was a bargain fairly struck."

But Laurent was no different than the others, it seemed; the first opportunity he got, he ran. Who wouldn't? To the Beast, they were all prey, and it was either run or face death.

Laurent paused, turning back. His face remained impassive and he blinked once, slowly, as he regarded the Beast. "An obligation I fully intend to discharge. Do you demand it now? I've been in the library all morning, and that was a lengthy poem. I desire fresh air and luncheon."

This was the point he'd always come to before with the others. Obligations discharged. Reluctance and fear beneath the contract upheld, the only thing keeping them from running in terror. It was the pride of this man that made him different from the others. He held his head high and behaved as if he really were the Prince of this castle, and Damen at his bidding.

Damen regarded him unblinking. "Have it, then. You have honored your word thus far. We will postpone until tomorrow morning. I can see that you want to go." He jerked his head towards the door. "Go."

He would demand no more of Laurent today. There would be no dinner together, no card sent up, and Laurent would have his escape for the rest of the evening.

And Damen...would prowl, and watch in his mirror, and think of how impossible it was that Laurent would ever, ever love him.

Laurent went out into the gardens, wandering through a winding hedge maze. At the center of it, he found a table laid with a light repast for him. He dined, and wandered on from there through the gardens, eventually finding his way into a rose garden. The roses flourished, full and rich, larger than any he'd ever seen, and the scent of them was exquisite. Heady and wild, and full of spice.

Laurent's fingers brushed carefully over the petals, reverent. They resembled the rose that his father had brought, the symbol of his captivity which now bloomed in a vase in his bedchamber. He wondered if it might not be worth his life if he picked one.

And yet, as he wandered further into the garden, he found that the roses beyond a certain point were withered and dry, taken by some kind of blight. He hesitated upon the threshold, half a rose garden where nothing grew.

Laurent knew little about gardens, but it was still a surprise to see this corruption in the enchanted kingdom. Everything else Laurent had seen had been lush and rich. He was lavishly dressed in the products of the kingdom, which seemed able to produce anything. So what was wrong with the roses?

He hesitated upon the threshold, meaning to go. It wasn't his concern.

Something drew him back to that boundary line, where the roses suddenly withered. His heart thudded as he studied it. It seemed, somehow, like there was a blockage in the roses. As if it only needed a few blooms cleared in order to shoot forth again.

He reached for one of the roses. Stopped himself. The roses were worth his life.

Forcing himself to leave, he got as far as the edge of the garden, but his heart was pounding with a sense of a duty unfulfilled. He paced back, reaching again for the rose. It felt like a compulsion. That one. That spot was the worst of it.

Knowing he was mad, Laurent reached for the bloom and pulled it. The stem was furred with sharp thorns, but they softened and blunted at his touch, refusing to prick him.

He reached for another and another, pulling five roses from the edge of the garden and then standing there with the bouquet, hands shaking.

The compulsion passed, and he walked quickly from the garden, taking the roses with him, not seeing how the roses behind him crept forward, growing past the point where he'd plucked the blooms.

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