Rue and Sweet William


by Tenshi


WARNINGS: Crossovers. Game spoilers. Mythic overtones. Unabashed sentimentality. Angst. Blatant character rescue from in-game fate. Priest-type characters involved in a homoerotic relationship. Gratuitous use of Latin phrases. Magic. It's a faerie tale, and we know what Sydney said about those. Please suspend your disbelief at the door. Thank you.

"When the dark wood fell before me
And all the paths were overgrown
When the priests of pride say there is no other way
I tilled the sorrows of stone
I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars"
-Loreena McKennitt Dante's Prayer


Once upon a time, Billy thought grumpily, this whole ordeal could have been completely avoided. The interminable rain and ankle-deep mud would be nothing to his gear. Since Doc and the others hadn't yet come up with a replacement power source strong enough to run gears, any travel relied on small solar-powered vehicles. And no offence to Citan's brilliance, but they didn't work very well when it was raining. Not that Billy's sand rover would have made it through the Black Moon Forest, anyway, rain or shine. The paths were just too narrow.

Billy swore softly, hauling his leg out of the deep patch of mud he'd sunk knee-high into. "Path" was being generous. "Slimy trail' was more like it. Whatever bit of technology Bart wanted him to fetch from doc had better be something damn fantastic, or the one-eyed ruler of Aveh was going to personally launder Billy's robes for him. Billy reached down with cold hands to try and wring out the hem of his cloak, but it only served to make his fingers go numb. Sighing, he slogged ahead, mentally trying to picture how Bart would accomplish something so ordinary as washing clothes.

He had been trudging along determinedly for some time before he realized that he'd lost track of the hour. He looked anxiously at the sky, but though the rain had stopped there was no sun to give a hint of how much daylight he had left. Billy frowned. The last thing he wanted to do was have to sleep out here. He flung back his hood, trying to get his bearings. It was no use; the forest all looked the same and the path had dwindled to nothing at his feet. Billy dug about in his pockets for the compass Sigurd had given him, and tried to read the glint of the needle in the dim light.

"This can't be right!" He glanced back the way he came. Surely he couldn't have gotten so turned around? He gave the compass a rattle and tried again, but this time the needle swung in a different direction entirely. "Great." He mumbled. "Broken." Stuffing the useless tool back in his pocket, Billy examined the ground for signs of a trail. He finally found what looked to be a man-made track, and since it headed more or less in the direction he thought he should be going, he followed it. It did, after all, have to come out somewhere, and he had a fifty percent chance of ending up on the right side of the forest. As he set off he waved away another one of those strange white moths that seemed to have cropped up right after the rainfall. They looked like bits of falling snow, and Billy could not recall seeing them before.

"NOW what?" Billy scowled at the cliff. The sun had come out a few minutes before, but in the mist of the forest it didn't make much difference. And the knowledge that he was going the right way meant little when sunset was near and there was a sheer wall of granite blocking his path. He looked left and right, but there was no immediate way up. He had no knowledge of such a barrier in the Black Moon Forest, but after the uproar a few months ago there was no telling how the land may have shifted from quakes. Billy glanced back the way he came, but the forest was gloomy with fog and oncoming night and he had no stomach for backtracking.

"Oh well," he rolled up his sleeves and began looking for hand holds. "I suppose I can climb it." The snow moths seemed to flutter here in the thousands, and he'd given up trying to brush them from his hair and clothes. They made for a great deal of distraction and after three unsuccessful tries to ascend the wall Billy was ready to give up, go home, and tell Bart he could run his own damn errands.

He leaned his cheek and abraded hands against the smooth rock surface, the damp stone blissfully cool on his flushed face and sore fingertips. It seemed only a moment that he closed his eyes, but when he opened them again the forest was wine-drenched with imminent sundown and he was still far from haven.

It was then that he saw the path.

So camouflaged he would have missed it without pressing close to the stone wall, the natural series of steps proceeded at a steep but navigable rise along the face of the cliff, leading up into the mist. Billy, with one look at the forbidding forest at his back, hitched up his muddied robes and started climbing. He had bloody fingers and holes in the knees of his pants by the time he collapsed, gasping, on the moss-covered top of the cliff. It took him a moment to get to his feet, but once he did, the protest of his limbs was forgotten.

The mist was gone, and in the ruddy sunset light Billy saw a mighty ruined city, empty and silent under the cloudless sky. Domes and towers strove for the heavens, and from somewhere overhead came the hungry cry of a bird. Billy spun around, and the sound of his boots scraping was loud and invasive in that silent place. The foot of the cliff was lost in fog; only the tips of the trees hinting at the forest below. If he squinted past the sunset, over the buildings, he could see the distant glimmer of ocean, and somewhere the sound of rushing water murmured discontent at his arrival.

He had no idea where he was.

"Hello?" He said, and immediately wished he hadn't. This was not the sort of place one came to uninvited. His hand strayed for the comforting feel of his gun as he edged down the gentler slope to stand in a crumbling courtyard. His heart knocked too loud, the sound of his breath was deafening, and he surpressed an urge to silence the stones he'd loosened on his way down. The stone walls seemed to drink him in, eyeing him with suspicion. Billy wasn't sure if he would rather have spent the night in the woods. Easing his pistol from the holster he edged his way across the mossy flagstones, frowning distrust at the strange symbols carved in the walls.

A narrow dark archway opened out into a bright city square, and Billy blinked surprise. It was warm here; far warmer than it had been in the woods, and he was grateful to shed his clammy robe and let the last touch of sunlight heat his back. Grass grew riotous between buckled flagstones. The pavement dropped away to a rapidly rushing stream below, and somewhere a clock chimed seven sour times. A warm wind blew at him with a sweet smell, and unconsciously he followed it, looking for a place where he could build a fire and wait out the darkness.

More than once Billy ducked his head into alleyway, certain he had just heard voices, only to find the wind blowing indecipherable signs that creaked in near-language. His footsteps echoed down narrow streets, and he tried not to keep turning to look at blank windows, certain he had just missed a face hovering there. The city no longer seemed as forbidding, just curious, wondering who this stranger was that walked so boldly down her empty boulevards.

The air was starting to turn chill again when he found the source of the scent. An herb garden ran wild at his feet, and rosemary and mint danced in the breeze, along with unidentified blossoms that filled the air with fragrance. He knelt to inhale the clean scent of them, reminded of the gardens at Ethos Headquarters, destroyed during the war. He lifted his head, and some small part of him relaxed instinctively. Why, there had been a cathedral here! The soaring stonework held grace beyond the decay of time, and there was no mistaking the high narrow windows and the ruins of a bell-tower. Absently plucking a sprig of basil, the former Etone wandered into the empty building, to seek refuge in the familiar.

"This place must have been magnificent," Billy breathed, craning his head back to try and see the dome lost in darkness. The walls were mosaiced in random swirls and patterns, the dusty floor showed the fine veins of marble as his damp cloak-hem swept over it. It was almost with regret that he realized the light was waning fast, and he would need to find a place to stay. A quick glance at the main ave told him that the floor plan was similar to cathedrals he knew, and he wandered up the side aisles, looking for a small adjacent chapel or nook where he could hang up his robe. And build a fire, Billy thought with a shiver, looking regretfully at the fine rotting scrollwork of the wooden prayer benches. It seemed a shame to use it as kindling.

Halfway up the main hall he found a small carved door that looked sturdy and defensible if any unwelcome occupants turned up in the night. Slowly he wrapped his fingers around the tarnished silver latch and cautiously eased the door open. His handgun held ready at the hip, Billy was prepared to face almost anything...

Except what he found.

The small room was lit cheerily by a crackling fire in a delicate marble-hewn hearth, seraphim supporting the weight of the mantle under outstretched wings. A canopied bed hung with crimson velvet occupied one corner, along with a heavy mahogany wardrobe. By the fire was a table with two chairs, the former well-laden with a dark winebottle, a platter of sliced apples and cheese, and a smoked game hen. There was no dust or decay to be found, and the leaded-glass window was intact, the last dregs of light turning to rainbows as they hit the floor.

Billy stuck his head back out the door again, but the rest of the cathedral was just as decrepit as it had been fifteen seconds ago.

"This is just getting weird," he muttered under his breath, not quite lowering his pistol. Oh well, if the place was inhabited maybe he could ask the way, and there was no need to waste the fire, was there? He hung up his cloak on the back of a chair. Perhaps some hermit monk, living life among the sacred ruins. Not unheard of. Billy could find out where he'd missed the path and be toasting his toes by Citan's hearth by tomorrow evening. He sat down in the chair facing the door, easing back into the soft cushion. All he had to do was wait up for the room's occupant, and not... fall... asleep...

Billy started awake, blindly groping for his pistol. The fire had died down to sullen embers, and the room was filled with shadows. He couldn't remember if he'd closed the door or not. He was just reaching for the poker to stir up some flames when a voice came out of the darkness, echoing with more space than the room should have offered.

"Are you not hungry?"

It took all his willpower not to fling up his gun and fire wildly into the dark corner that had just spoken to him. "Who's there?"

"Is that any way to greet your host?" The voice seemed bemused rather than insulted. "Ah. I'm sure you're not quite at ease. If that unusual trinket is a weapon you may put it away, I have no intentions of harming you."

Billy laid his gun down on the table, next to the wine but still within easy reach. "Forgive me for intruding. I lost my way in the forest. Can you tell me the quickest route to what used to be Lahan village? On the Kislev border?"

The darkness seemed to consider this. "I quite beg your pardon, but I am not familiar with those names. I think perhaps you may have wandered even further than you think."

Billy opened his mouth to ask just what was meant by that, but was interrupted by a particularly violent sneeze.

"My apologies, I've allowed you to catch a chill." The voice murmured something else that Billy did not quite hear, and the flames leapt up in the hearth, the empty cup next to his pistol filled to the brim with steaming liquid that smelled of cider and spice. "Please. Be my guest."

Billy squinted into the darkness, but the light from the fire did not manage to illuminate the far corner of the room. "Will you not show yourself, sir?"

"Alas, I am not permitted to do so. I have sworn an oath."

Billy tapped a finger on the cup, not lifting it yet. "Might I at least have your name?"

"Father Grissom of the Order of the Crimson Blades, at your service, Sir." There was a rustling sound, and Billy suspected that he'd just been bowed to. "Although it is to my grief that that noble alliance is no longer, and my title, I fear, means little."

"You are a priest, then?" Billy relaxed instinctively, old habits dying hard despite the fact that every person who ever betrayed him once wore the vestments of holiness.

"Formerly, to my regret. Extenuating circumstances, I rather suspect my vows are out of service." The voice went wistful, and Billy lifted the cup to his lips and swallowed a warm mouthful.

"I can understand that. I too am... adrift, at the moment." He looked at the platter of food, and pressed an embarrassed hand to his belly as it grumbled protest. "Er..."

The voice laughed, and the answering sheepish smile came easily to Billy's lips. "Please, do not let me keep you from dining."

"It's only that I haven't eaten today..." Billy explained, trying not to wolf down the cold supper laid out for him.

"Have you a name that I may call you by?"

Billy nodded, delicately wiping his fingers on the linen napkin. "Billy Lee Black, formerly of the Ethos-are you familiar with that sect?"

"I am not, but as I said, I think you are quite far from home, William."

Billy slowly lowered his glass. "Where am I, then?"

"You sit in what was the mighty cathedral of Saint Iocus, the founder of my order. It towers over the ruins of Leá Monde, ancient metropolis and once the greatest city in Valendia or any of the surrounding countries. Thirty-five years ago a mighty earthquake brought the city to its knees." Again a rustle of motion, as of a gesture. "This is all the hospitality she has left to offer a weary traveler."

Billy had stopped chewing. "But... I... it was only a few hours, in the Black Moon Forest and-"

"William, I fear you must trust me. This city is strange, and it has caught you. Until she sees fit to release you, you are hers."

Billy's chair scraped back as he stood. "Do you mean to tell me," He asked, dangerously, "That I am a prisoner?"

"Not of mine, Young man. You may put that away, though little good it would do you. It is this city that binds you fast, as it does me."

Billy snorted impudently. "No city could-"

"You are far from home, William Black. Try to escape if it pleases you, though eventide will bring you back to this room. I warn you, though. Be cautious. The city is a capricious mistress; she has many snares for lovers who seek to leave her."

"I am no one's lover." Billy retorted, and Bart's gold hair and lopsided grin flashed painfully into his mind. Bart. He'd promised to return to Bledavik in a fortnight. Not that he would be missed in the King's well-populated bedchambers. "And I would like to go home."

"As would I, William Black. As would I." There was reproach in his tone, and vast loss.

Billy bit his tongue guiltily. "I-forgive me, I-" Billy looked away. "How long...?"

"Ten years." Once again Grissom's voice had that same empty quality, and Billy sat down heavily in his chair.

"Ten years?" Prim's birthday was in two months and the children would be without anyone to look after them in the meantime. "Will I-"

"That does not mean she will keep you as she has me," Grissom amended. "I-will do what I can to see you home as soon as possible."

He sounded so apologetic that Billy was regretting his sharp words. If Grissom was telling the truth, then it couldn't be helped. Were there any city with a will of its own, Billy would believe this was it.

"In the meantime, please consider this chamber yours. As I said, the city is yours to wander, but take care of the treacherous paths and I would advise against venturing underground. If there is anything you require, please do not hesitate to ask."

Billy lifted his head. "Are you leaving?"

"Aye. The dawn comes swiftly and I-I do not well endure the sunlight. It pains my eyes." He shifted, the darkness moving thickly in the corner. "Rest well, and do not fear. I will return at evening tomorrow."

Billy looked at the window and was surprised to find it pale gray with early morning. How long had he slept in the chair? "Sleep well, William."

Billy opened his mouth to protest, but Grissom's darkness pulled itself through the wall and was gone, just as the pink light of sunrise crept into the chamber. He found, much to his surprise, that he had shut the door last night, and double-bolted it as well. There was no other way into the room.


He didn't expect to sleep at all, but once he stripped out of his shirt and wet socks and sank into a feather mattress easily a foot deep, his brain decided otherwise. He awoke at what felt like noon, holster digging painfully into his hip. The remnants of last night's repast had been cleared away and replaced with and excellent breakfast of poached eggs and oranges cut into sectioned stars. His cloak was cleaner than it had been since he left Bledavik, and his boots were warm and dry by the fireside.

"Well," Billy said, to the thin air that might or might not reply. "If Leá Monde is a living city, I can't fault the service." He did not get a proper response, but the stones seemed to soak up his words. He yawned his way to the table, taking off the offending belts and hooking them on the back of the chair. Halfway through his breakfast it occurred to him how much he would like a warm bath, and without so much as a scrape on the stone a clawed tub appeared in the middle of the room, hot water promptly steaming up the window. Billy blinked at it stupidly for a long moment before firmly deciding he had slipped and bumped his head while climbing that cliff, and was stuck in a rather ridiculous dream.

That didn't keep him from stripping off his trousers and sinking into lily-scented water up to his ears.

After spending a perfectly decadent hour in bath water that never seemed to get cold, Billy squidged into the toasty towel provided and, discovering that his pants had been mended while he bathed, wiggled into them and set off to explore the city.


"What are the flowers in the cathedral herb garden?" Billy asked, between mouthfuls of a simply divine roast the like of which he'd never had before. Grissom, bemused by Billy's curiosity, had informed him it was beef.

"Which ones?" It was three days later, or maybe four, Billy had begun to lose track. Grissom, as promised, appeared every evening, and maintained his corner of shadow. Only the fire lit the room during his visits, and never did Billy see so much as Grissom's boot toe or edge of sleeve. He was talking more, asking questions about Billy's origins and tastes. A day after Billy confessed a mad addiction to Nisan Chiffon cake, he'd found it gracing his dinner table.

"The dark red ones. With the ragged white edges. Not just in the garden, they're running wild all over the city." Billy had tried to convince Grissom to eat with him, but the former Crimson Knight always declined.

"Ah." He paused for a long moment, and Billy tilted his head. "Those are dianthus barbatus. Erm, the common name is 'Sweet William'."

Billy's lip twitched a bit. Was Grissom...embarrassed? "'Sweet William', eh?"

Grissom cleared his throat, shifting in the darkness. "No doubt based on common ballads... rather popular around the peasants."

"There are certainly a lot of them."

"Do you not like them? I could have them removed-"

Billy shook his head, holding up his hands. "No, no, really. I like them." He swallowed some wine to help change the subject. "So ah, where did we leave off last night?"

Grissom seemed relieved. "You were telling me about that Krelian fellow. Did he manage to prevent you from gaining the... anima relics, was it? I fear I find the concept of those gear machines to be quite baffling."


They had traded their pasts in the firelit hours of evening, but Grissom found his harder to speak of. Billy knew little of him save that he had been betrayed by his superior, lost his brother in the battle, and had once loved a woman named Samantha, who met her death in a plummet from the Cathedral's dome. Recent events in Billy's world were a bit more complicated, taking more time to relate. In his telling of his own loss of faith Billy was grateful for Grissom's listening silence, his lack of reproach when Billy confessed his desire for revenge, or the recklessness that came from lost trust. In a way, imprisoned though he was, Billy found those four days to be some of the most restful in the past year. At least until Grissom first asked the question.

"Is it time already?" Billy asked, frowning at the window. Nights with Grissom seemed short.

"Are you lonely, William?" Billy had learned to read much in Grissom's tone, this time it was tentative curiosity.

Billy shrugged. "Perhaps a little. I... Enjoy our conversations. It's been a long time since I've had one of equal experiences to speak to." He fidgeted with his napkin.

"William, I fear I must ask you something. I want you to answer honestly, without dread of retribution."

Billy wished suddenly that he'd not eaten so much supper. "I will do my best, Grissom."

"Of course. You are an honorable young man." From the shadows there was a faint sigh. "Do you love me, William?"

Billy frowned. It was not at all the question he expected. "I... "

"Do not hesitate out of concern for my feelings."

Billy bit his lip. "I'm sorry. I'm fond of you, of course, but it just isn't-"

"You needn't." Billy in his imagination saw the rueful smile, the careless wave of a hand. "I don't require cosseting, my friend. Only truth."

"Then no, Grissom." Billy wondered at first why it should hurt so much, but Bart's apologetic face swum before his eyes.

Billy, you know how I feel about Sig. And I'm a King, I'm gonna have to get married sooner or later, If you want me, you're gonna have to share me.

Billy had said no then, too. He had some measure of self-respect.

"Forgive me for causing you grief." Boots scraped on the floor, Grissom was standing. "Please, don't think on it. I look forward to next eve."

Grissom and his shadows seemed to exit more quickly than usual, leaving Billy staring at his half-drunk wine, the sun rising over his shoulder.


The tempting offerings of breakfast did not appeal to him when he awoke, groggy and in a general distemper, several days later at what felt like early afternoon. The decrepit clock tower somewhere in town obligingly tolled out twice, and Billy shoved his face into his pillow. He really wasn't meant for a nocturnal schedule, and it was getting harder and harder to sleep soundly after Grissom's nightly query. How many times had he asked, now? Twenty? Time lost meaning in this city; Billy could no longer recall how long he'd been here.

Yawning his way out of bed, he paused by the great wardrobe that stood by the window. He'd looked in it early on in his stay, but assessing that it held only clothes and no rabid assassins to slit his throat, he'd dismissed it. Cleaned and pressed as they were every morning, his garments were starting to feel a bit thin from so much wear. After poking around in the wardrobe he turned up silks and velvets and supple leathers far too extravagant for any prince. A moment's thought for something practical produced a jacket and breeches of tan deerskin trimmed in modest cream velvet; apparently the best it could do as far as simplicity, and even then the undershirt was silk with precise tucks and gold embroidery.

"I feel ridiculous," He muttered, belting on his guns and heading out the door. He had taken to walking over most of the city on a daily basis, poking in houses and shops, frowning at the bits of armor and weapons scattered here and there in the street. There were no corpses, no human remains of any sort. According to Grissom's account of the battles here, there should have been quite a few, but Billy had yet to find any, almost as if they had all been carefully removed.

Billy sat down on the lip of an overgrown, weedy fountain and tried to think. Who had they been battling? Those cultists? Or each other? Or...? He looked up at the city, silent and secretive under the hot sunlight. Someone else? The wind blew, ruffling his hair and the reeds in the fountain. He found himself asking many questions about Grissom and his story, but only in the daylight hours. In the night, they seemed to slip his mind.

"Maybe I should write them down," he decided, rising to his feet and wondering where he'd seen that shop filled with dusty quills and bottles of ink. On his first step forward he stumbled, catching himself on the paving stones and managing to bruise his hands rather than breaking his head. "I suppose I should be more caref-"

He stopped short, looking down at what had caught his ankle. The bit of elbow armor was not anything he hadn't seen in the rest of the city, but the bony hand glared white in the sun, clean as polished ivory. Carefully Billy pushed aside the weeds and found the rest of him, spilled like a broken toy beside the fountain. The murmured prayer and gesture were instinctive, no matter what god this poor soul had served under.

"So some of you are still here, after all." His gaze swept from the tarnished helm to ruined breastplate, tatters of cloth still clinging to the metal. It may once have been rich but now it disintegrated at his touch, leaving only dust. The fragment of gold embroidery remained, green with age and Billy bent closer to look at it. A rose, perhaps, intersected by what looked to be a cross made of swords. Billy pondered a moment. Oh, of course. Crimson Blades. This man had been one of Grissom's comrades.

"I wonder how many of them there still are?" Billy shuddered, trying not to think of the times he'd sat by this fountain, this sad skeleton only a few feet away. How many others had he missed in his rambles, tucked into crevasses or buried at the bottom of that bright laughing stream? "Why is Grissom still here, anyway? Surely he-" Billy's voice died in his throat as he stared into the empty sockets tilted to the sky, the emblem of Grissom's order rotting over the empty ribcage.

The day suddenly seemed colder, and Billy for the first time began to wonder about the peculiar nature of his host. He hugged himself, backing away from the still figure of the fountain, and found himself running, pelting blindly through the empty streets until he skidded to a halt, gasping, just inside the door of the Cathedral. The city had not let him stray too far, sending him right back to his door as always, as Grissom said she would on Billy's first night in Leá Monde. He shut the door to his room firmly behind him, as if it could lock out the doubts swirling at the bottom of his mind.


"Are you ill, William?"

Billy glanced up, but Grissom was ever imperceptible. "Not that I know of, why?"

"You've not touched your supper."

Billy looked down at his plate. Pheasant, roasted with apples, a delectable aroma wafting from the platter. "I... I'm just not very hungry, I suppose."

There was an uncomfortable silence. "I see you've found the wardrobe." Grissom began. "The color suits you very nicely."

"Why do you hide yourself from me, Grissom?" Billy squared his shoulders. There. It was out.

"I am under oath, as I said."

"Am I under oath as well? What if I were to look at you?"

Grissom's pause was ominous. "I would advise against that, William."

"You advise against lots of things. Going out after dark, taking the tunnels below ground, seeking an exit to the city, looking you in your face... who are you, Grissom? Why are you here? What happened to the rest of your comrades? Why did you not leave with them? Where are the legions that were slain? There was a corpse by the fountain three days ago, Grissom. He was gone today. How do you propose he migrated? Did he get up and move?" Billy stopped, realizing he was standing, that he was in fact yelling.

"William." Grissom said, and for the first time since the night of their introduction Grissom's voice echoed unnaturally in the small stone room. "You ask more questions than I can answer. You might not like the answers."

"My whole life, people have been telling me that." Billy slapped his hand on the table. "For once I wish they'd just damn well tell me and be done with it!"

Grissom did not answer, but Billy could still somehow feel eyes on him, regarding him evenly. Slowly he resumed his seat, and swallowed to try and ease the dryness of his throat. "I...I'm sorry Grissom, but I must know."

"I'm sorry, William, it is something I cannot give you. You must trust me."

"Why?" Billy lifted his head. "How do I know you're even real?"

"You do not."

"Yet every night you ask if I love you!" Billy felt his voice soar and crack, and shook his pale hair in agitation. "To what purpose?"

"Because," Grissom said evenly, "I would like to know."

Billy's lips tightened. "Do you love me, Grissom?"

A pause. "Yes, I do."

"Oh." Billy sank back against the chair.

"You expected a different answer?"

"You... could have said." Billy was glad the firelight hid his blush. Grissom loved him. It was more than Bart had ever given.

"I hesitated to weigh your answer. What you reply to me must be uninfluenced by my words."

"Your words," Billy said, eyes too bright, "are all I have of you. Your comfort, your patience, your sorrow that runs under your voice. If I am to love you it is only because of your words." He held out his hand, supplicating. "Show me your face, and I will give you my answer."

"It doesn't work that way." The darkness moved, and a hand emerged, gloved in heavy brown leather, his arm encased in exquisite gold-fluted silver plate. The embroidered cuff of his sleeve flashed in the firelight. "Give me your hand, William. "

Billy slowly edged around the table, and slipped his fingers into the glove. It was not warm, but it was solid, and the fingers closed around his.

"Ten years have I been alone here, William. Here I lost all I held dear: My brother, my rank, my faith... my pride. And yet in the hours I spend with you I do not think of these things. I think only of you. Your strength in what you have endured, the shine of your smile, the honesty of your words. I see you and think perhaps God has forgiven me the grievous errors I made in His name. I love you, William. Do you love me?"

Billy could look only at the leather glove, the lack of human skin to be seen. His throat ached, and there was a thunder of blood in his ears. He raised his head to answer. But in looking at the place where Grissom's face should be, the only image that came to mind was a bleached skull leering emptily at the sky. He pulled his hand away in horror, face in his hands. "No, Grissom."

And it broke his heart to say it.

"Very well." The proffered arm withdrew. "I must bid you good night. The evening wanes. Please... do not be sad, William."

Billy nodded, not turning until he was certain he was alone. He did not go to bed, but spent the morning in his room, pacing. In the afternoon he ransacked the ruins, looking for something to serve his needs, and this was nothing he would ask magic to produce for him. By the time sundown came, he had made his decision and his preparations, and was waiting with a pounding heart.


"I am sorry if I am late."

Billy jumped, but carefully maintained his position in front of the table. "Not at all."

"William," Grissom began, without the usual sounds of him settling into his invisible chair. "I wish to apologize for my actions, last night."

"You did no wrong." Billy clutched the edge of the table, to mask shaking hands. "I was the one yelling at you."

"With good cause, I assure you. It must be quite frustrating." The darkness moved closer to him, and Billy tensed, wondering if his plan would even work. "William. I-I think perhaps you should leave this place."

"Leave?" Billy's head was feeling light. "But I can't-you said-"

"I promised to do what I can to aid in your release, William. I know you are eager to return home to your sister and friends. I have made a bargain here and there. In the morning-you are free to go." His voice seemed not quite itself, and Billy's chest ached with the prospect of going home, of hugging Prim, of seeing Bart-

--Of telling Grissom goodbye...

"But...What of you, Grissom?"

"What of me?"

"Can you not ask for your own freedom?"

"I cannot."

There was something terrible in Grissom's tone, and Billy felt his voice quaver as he asked.

"What bargains did you make, Grissom?"

A considering pause. "I will remain here forever." The word 'forever' bounced around the room, and lodged like a sob in Billy's throat. "You will be free."

Billy's eyebrows drew together, puzzling. "But...why?"

"Because I love you." He hesitated, and the inevitable request came. "Do you love me?"

Billy turned away, his fingers clammy on the object he'd scavenged to find, hidden behind him on the table. "Grissom, I..." He mouthed a silent prayer, and steadied the slight weight with both hands. "I'm sorry--!" He spun around, throwing the muffling metal sconce aside and lifting the candle high like a single star of evening. It trembled in his hand for an instant as Grissom's shroud of darkness was torn away, and for the first time Billy looked into the face of his suitor. His eyes went wide and the candle slipped from his numb fingers, bouncing and spattering wax across the marble floor, the flame dying instantly. The fire went out with a gasp, and only cold moonlight poured in from the window, lighting the scene.

"My God." Billy breathed, aghast. "Grissom."

"William." His phantom voice rang empty on the stones, no longer bothered with the pretense of humanity. His shadows did not return, and the moonlight was not kind as she fell like winding-cloths around his face. The specter lifted hollow eyes full of grief, his ruined breast shuddered with a phantom sob. "My sweet William, what have you done?"

Billy opened his mouth to speak anything; apology or elegy, but Grissom disappeared like the wraith he was, taking his illusions with him. Billy was left alone in a vacant ruin, roof open to the sky, marble turning to dust at his feet. A north wind howled through the cracks in the walls and Billy added his voice to their lament, screaming Grissom's name until he could no longer make a sound.

Only the crimson flowers remained, perfect in death, their fragile petals glistening with frost.


When day dawned it was a pale, winter one, cold seeping through the frayed tatters of Billy's coat; gone were the fine velvets he'd worn the night before. He pulled himself to his feet and began to pick his way through the rubble, tucking his hands in his armpits to try and warm them. The cathedral was not an elegant shell but a bare skeleton of rock, like fingers seeking to grasp the sky. The streets of Leá Monde were unwelcoming when he stumbled his way past the weedy remnants of the herb garden. They no longer steered him to the easiest paths, and roads dropped away without warning to roiling gray waters below. Cobblestones seemed to tilt up only to catch his feet and send him spinning dizzily to the ground. Streets he once knew by heart turned against him like callow lovers, and sent him wandering in bewilderment.

Night sent him to ground like a startled hare, cornered with his back to the wall in a small workshop, rifle trained on the barred door as the dead walked the city and moaned in anguish. Billy's lips moved in prayers that were more acts of contrition than requests for redemption, and his ravaged voice could not second the motion with sound.

How many days he spent lost, he had no idea. Every morning he was surprised to be alive, and as his ammunition got lower so did his hopes, until he walked under the arrogant sun as the deathless ones did under the moon, without cause but unable to rest.

Banishment from paradise. The phrase had lodged itself in his mind, rolling over and over like a pebble in a riverbed. It was possible to blame it on Grissom for betraying him, but Billy knew too well that he had been the traitor. Billy had suffered the fury of the city for a mere handful of days; Grissom had been imprisoned here for a decade, cold and alone and unable to die.

Until you came...

It had been one evening among many, dinner long eaten, the books Grissom had brought for Billy to read were scattered on the table. Grissom always chose the most beautiful ones, the ones with brass fastenings and capitals gilded with azure and argent.

"You read often?"

No other way to pass the time. Do you like them?

"They are beautiful. We have no such books where I come from."

When you are set free, you must take them with you. A gift.

"But, I couldn't."

I insist. Now then, read me that one of Deirdre ... your voice suits it so well.

They had remained when the world fell down, not the illusory furnishings, but real relics of the city's past. Billy had kept only one of them, the tome of myths and legends that he had read from the most. In the fading light with his gunsight to the door, he held it unopened to his pounding heart until he feared his tears would mar the ink.

His legs gave out under him on some crumbling rue, and he leaned back against cold ivied brick, his empty rifle clattering to the ground. He'd run out of bullets days before.

"I'm sorry." He said to the sky, wondering if he would be heeded, if he would even be heard. He lifted his hands in supplication. "Forgive me, please."

The brown grass whispered among itself, but there was no other answer.

Billy's arms fell to his sides, and his fingers closed upon a discarded object. Lifting it to the light, he saw a silver blade, a slender dagger tarnished brown by time, but with graven letters that still shone. Deo vivo, amore intereo. His lips curved in a rueful smile.

"Is this my answer, then?" He sat up, holding the blade to the city as if for inspection. "My only path to you?" The silver gleamed dully. Perhaps it had been the only answer all along, the only salvation for two lost souls. His skin shivered at the touch of chill air as he parted the collar of his robes, baring his chest. The silver point felt like an icy kiss. He wondered if he could find Grissom this way, if they could share the darkness together.

"Amore intereo. For love I die." He bowed his head, tears dampening his cold hands. "I love you."

His eyes closed as he leaned into the blade.

And nothing happened.

"I pray you, sweet William, do not pierce this good heart before I have had a chance to feel it beat."

Startled, Billy opened his eyes to find another hand on his dagger, holding it back. "...Grissom?"

Warm in the winter air, an arm encircled him from behind, sliding against his bared skin. Ungloved fingers worked the dagger free from his grasp, tossing it aside. "You had only to say it." He was pulled back, as helpless as a child. "Will you not look at me?"

Billy shook his head. "I will not wrong you again." He squeezed his lashes together, and felt himself being turned, gently.

"William." The hands that cupped his face were no phantoms, nor were the lips that close--warm as summer--over his. "Look at me, William."

Unable to refuse, Billy did as he was told. "Grissom?" His fingers wondered over the soft hair that was gold in the sunlight, baffled by the flushed lips that smiled at him. "Grissom, what's happened to you? I thought-"

"Only a nightmare, William." Grissom too could not help but touch, fingers tangled in pearl-colored locks, pressing his cheek to Billy's. "You have freed us both."

Billy, after only a moment to get his mind to absorb the idea, flung his arms around his lover. "You're alive--!" He choked, pressing his face into Grissom's collar. "Forgive me, forgive me..."

"Shh. I only forgive sins, beloved. And you've none."

The kiss was like nothing Billy could have expected. All the emotion pounding in his heart and leaking unheeded down his face was answered with it, with the steady pulse of Grissom's against his chest. They kissed until the spring came, blossoming under their knees in crimson and white. They kissed until the kiss was not enough. Billy's coat was enough of a bed, spread over the soft grass, and no palace in either world would have been as welcoming as the blossom-studded greenery beneath them. They wound around each other, neither one skilled in the art but it made precious little difference as Grissom discovered that he knew how to offer, and Billy knew how to accept. Leá Monde melted into nothing, sighing into the mist as they gave themselves to each other. Lush moss cradled their bodies and the blazing sun warmed skin bared to a shadowless sky.

"William, do you love me?"

"Yes. With all I am."

"Let me love you, with all I am."

"Yours, yours, yours..."


Billy lay curled in the shelter of Grissom's arms, drowsy with the sound of his heartbeat. "Grissom?"

"Mmm?"

"Were you truly dead? Did Leá Monde take your life?"

He hesitated, thoughtfully. "I died there, true enough, but it was at no one's fault but my own. The curse I was given was no more than what others had suffered, far more innocent than I."

"Yet you were given a chance to survive..." Billy frowned. "I should think that having a chance would be a blessing..."

"I was given a hope, aye, and a magic spell the like of a child's storybook, but it was a more bitter draught than the lot granted my men. I know the mindless obedience of the living dead, for I was one of them, and I know as well the terrible sentience that I was given with my chance. In the end, mercy goes to the oblivious, not those who dare to dream through a thousand endless nights." Grissom kissed Billy's forehead, and smoothed soft hair. "Hush, now, m'love. It's over, and I breathe as surely as you do."

"If you aren't here when I wake up," Billy yawned, mostly asleep but still meaning every word, "I'll hunt you down and shoot you myself."


"BIIIIIIIIIILLY! Where in HELL is he?" Jesse's agitated voice carried well in the dense forest. "I ain't takin' care of those brats for him, Hyu, you hear me?"

"Don't worry, Jesiah." Citan answered, bemused. "I'm sure he's fine."

"Dammit."

Billy scrambled to his feet in alarm. Was that--? Of course, they'd come looking for him when he hadn't turned up, and... Billy looked at his palms, scraped from failed attempts to climb that cliff. Surely it hadn't only been a--?

"Beloved, I would advise putting on your trousers before you reunite with your friends."

Billy spun. Behind him, tunic and collar rumpled from his hurry to get them back on, Grissom stood, holding out Billy's still-muddy coat. His slight smile was still bright even in the shade of the Black Moon Forest. "I'll have enough explaining to do as it is, and I have no wish to inspire one of those 'gun-shot wedding' events your family seems to enjoy."

"I was the reason for that, you know," Billy hustled into his shirt, "And I hardly think the two of us could produce a similar situation."

Footsteps rattled in the clearing nearby, and Billy ducked down to get his belts on. "Sit down! Grissom, they'll see you!"

"They're not even looking this way," Grissom returned, defensively.

"I say," Citan said, bending over and pushing up his glasses. "What an intriguing little wildflower."

"For god's sakes, Hyu, this is a rescue operation, not a botany expedition! Will you quit cataloguing the flora so we can find my damn kid?"

"I suppose," Citan sighed regretfully. "But I've never seen the like. Little red and white things, all over the forest. I'm inclined to say they're blooming around Billy's tracks. Anyway..."

"That's your father?" Grissom asked, raising his eyebrows as Billy finished tucking in his shirt.

"The one and only." Billy smiled. "Grissom, do you love me?"

"Yes."

They walked into the clearing together.

~o~


With gratitude for love despite distance, and for trust without sight. Ai shiteru, watashi no torii.






b i s h o n e n i n k