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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"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.

Laurent was touching his roses.

From his place over the scrying glass, Damen tensed, ready to spring through the pool in his room that led to the one in the rose garden and pounce on Laurent if he was about to pick one of his healthy roses, what precious few remained. He could not afford to lose another one, and another little piece of himself.

But neither could he afford to threaten and terrorize the man who was his final hope. It was this knowledge that restrained him as he watched, fingers curled tightly in until the sprung claws pricked drops of red on his palms.

Watched Laurent pluck from the withered edges, clearing room for the dead branches to regrow.

Damen could barely breathe. Why was Laurent bothering with that? Didn't he know that section was already dead, and its rootstock diseased beyond repair? And yet...impossibly...

The empty space began to fill up with green again. Laurent could not see it, but Damen could.

-

In Laurent's room, instead of an outfit to dress in for dinner, there awaited him a cut-glass vase, and a pair of kid leather gloves as smooth and supple as silk, and a note. You were kind to my roses. Wear these in the future, so that they will be kind to you in return.

A Beast who not only wanted to be a man, but who treasured his roses and was glad when others did as well. A strange paradox, and one Laurent would have to figure out for himself.

Laurent wandered the gardens for a few more hours, pausing to weave the purloined roses into a flower crown and wearing that for the rest of the day. He returned before dark, finding the note and frowning as he mulled over the implications of it. The Beast knew what he'd done. It was entirely possible that the Beast knew everything he did here. Either the whole place reported back to him, or he had a way to keep an eye on Laurent. Either way was unnerving. He had no privacy. He was a pawn for the Beast's entertainment. A butterfly under glass.

There was no change of clothes or specific order, but Laurent went downstairs anyway for dinner, taking his place at the grand table and expecting to be joined, or at least to be served.

Damen was surprised, and a little pleased, that Laurent came to dinner that night. After his flight from the library, Damen had expected the Prince to avoid him for the rest of the day. As soon as he sighted the figure in burgundy, he pushed his own plate away and reached for a napkin to wipe his face. Eating as a Beast was not the graceful affair it had been as Prince of Akielos.

"Your Highness." A little bow of his head. "How kind of you to join me. I thought you might eat in your rooms. Did you have a pleasant walk?" Laurent did say he'd wanted some fresh air, after all. The beastly voice was low enough that it was hard to distinguish a sardonic edge from a serious one.

Laurent noted how the Beast ceased eating as soon as he approached. The Beast who wanted to be a man didn't like being seen being bestial, it seemed.

"I did. The gardens are beautiful." Laurent reached for his wine, taking a swallow of it to fortify his nerves. "And I received your note."

He'd left off the flower crown, leaving it behind in his rooms. It seemed too dangerous to flaunt his trespass in front of the Beast. Even though the note had termed it kindness.

He didn't. Not at all. Especially not in front of Laurent. There were certain lines Damen drew for himself, and this was one of them.

Laurent's words were so neutral, and his features so coldly composed, Damen couldn't decipher what sort of reception his note had received. He'd so rarely seen the Prince in any softened state, he would hardly know if something was to his liking.

"Good." He dared to glance across the table at the figure seated at the other end. "You...have some experience in gardening? It hardly seems possible, that a Prince would be allowed such a menial task."

Laurent's wary that this is a trap. He transgressed, but the Beast is behaving like it was well within the bounds of propriety.

"No. I never had any interest in it." Laurent takes a wary bite of his food, studying the Beast all the while. "I won't need the gloves. It seems your assurance that nothing in your realm would harm me includes the roses."

Another bite, heart pounding. He doesn't understand what came over him that afternoon, nor does he understand why the Beast isn't enraged.

And Laurent is wary again. Damn. Did he never let his guard down?

A creature knows when it could become prey at any moment.

Damen took his glass of wine in hand, feeling ill at ease trying to attempt normal dinner small-talk after years of solitude, much less the tumultuous events of the past week and the fraught nature of his relationship (if one could call it that) with the Prince.

"I am glad to see it extends even to that," he said, eyeing Laurent's hands, pale and unmarred by any streaks of red from wayward thorns. "I...did not think to warn you about that part of the garden. The blooms there are fragile, as you have seen. I do what I can to help them grow again, but I am no gardener myself."

He'd had to learn.

Feeling awkward, Damen groped for a line of conversation. "What are your interests, then? Besides reading, of course?" Who would guess that the huge, terrifying Beast would prove an absolute puppy of a conversationalist? At least subtlety would hardly be expected of him, he surmised with a grimace.

The Beast was trying to make conversation now. Laurent felt only irritation at the monster's puppyish attempts to make friends. The first night's offenses had been neither forgiven nor forgotten.

"Riding," Laurent answered, studying the Beast with cold eyes. "Diplomatic relations. Swordplay."

At least he still has his horse. His knowledge of trade routes and crop yields isn't going to serve any purpose here. And he doubts the Beast wants to put a sword in his hand. He left his own in Vere. He was here as a sacrifice, not in an attempt to slay the Beast.

The coldness was startling. Damen didn't know what to do with it. If friendly attempts were always to be rebuffed in this fashion, then there truly was nothing to hope for.

He was not one to give up easily, however. He arranged his fingers (claws) around the stem. There were no glass flagons here, but thick sturdy gold etched with fantastical scenes. Tonight's were nymphs dancing in a circle, a satyr reaching for one of them.

The things Laurent named were all things Damen had done as a man. But he could not say so, and he was far removed from that world now, the world of princely pursuits. He simply bowed his head. "Fine royal accomplishments. There is a small armory and training field in the southeast corner of the castle, if you wish to keep up your forms at least." Damen did not offer to join him. That was no doubt the last thing Laurent would wish for, an armed Beast attacking him. "And you already know how to avail yourself of your horse."

One claw tapped the chalice, Damen studying his prisoner in return. "Do you only practice diplomacy with men?"

"You mean, as compared to monsters?" Laurent arches a brow. "I can't say I've ever met one before. You may be assured, Beast, that my lack of diplomacy has nothing to do with your appearance or anatomy, and everything to do with the fact that I am your prisoner and you threatened to rape me. Of such things are monsters made, not any flaw of your visage."

His lip curls, and a tremor of rage goes through his body. "Would any degree of diplomacy win me my freedom? For if not, then it would only serve to flatter your vanity, and I have no desire whatsoever to please you, Beast."

Damen's grip tightened. His temper had gotten the best of him that night, and his despair, and he'd given into those darker thoughts as he'd tried to frighten Laurent into breaking. He regretted it, deeply and fully now, but there was no taking back what had been said and done. Only a choice going forward.

It was a reminder to him that whatever anger he felt now, he could not let it overwhelm him. Could not lose the scraps of humanity he had left.

He stared at his wine. "You judged me long before I spoke. I would be a monster to you if I were the kindest, gentlest soul you'd ever met. You deceive yourself if you think otherwise."

The amber-brown eyes focused onto Laurent over the rim of the cup. "You know it would not. Your freedom was exchanged by your own free will. And it will be a very long lifetime alone in this castle, if you are determined to hate me every day of it."

Laurent rolled his eyes. "Yes, I did judge you before you spoke to me. I judged you from the moment you told my father that he could either sacrifice a son or die. When you told him that a rose was worth his life."

Rising to his feet, Laurent approached regally along the length of the table. "My freedom was exchanged for my father's. For a rose. For the threats you made."

He stopped in front of the Beast, reaching out with gentle, elegant fingers and stroking them lightly through the fur at the side of the beast's face. "I don't fear you, monster, for what you look like. The kindest man in the world could wear a rug and a pair of horns and still be kind."

Laurent bent, coaxing his fingers under the Beast's chin to lift it as he lowered his head, bringing his lips to within an inch of the monster's maw.

"I despise you because you are a monster within," he whispered, hissing the words.

Damen only hardened as Laurent spoke. What else could he have done? The King of Vere took a piece of his heart and his very humanity. The bargain for one of his sons was his one remaining chance of breaking the spell. Yes, the rose was worth a life. But Laurent could not see it that way.

He watched the Prince's advance almost warily. He didn't know why Laurent was coming closer; it seemed the opposite of what he should do, if he feared and hated the Beast so much.

The wariness turned to a paralyzed shock with Laurent's hands touching his face. All breath left his lungs. Damen felt his head turned up, Laurent closer than he had ever been before, even that first night. And then the words like a physical blow. Damen's jaw quivered. Laurent practically dared him to lunge, to hurt him, to fight back. He wanted a Beast he could hate. He wanted to believe that was all Damen was inside.

"You have no idea what your father did," he said tightly, not moving an inch. It took all the self-possession he had, holding so still when all his instincts urged him to pounce. "You know nothing of my heart." Anger shimmered in the surface of the darkened eyes that stared back at Laurent, yet Damen restrained himself from lashing out in word or deed at the man's cruelty. He fought tooth and claw within for that humanity, the kindness Laurent believed him incapable of.

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