Chaos 9 & 10
Jun. 4th, 2007 05:41 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
maderrDratted Mondays. We don't want to go to work, precious!
Ah, well. Such is life. Toil toil toil.
Nine
Fritz splashed water on his face, then took up the razor a maid had been good enough to bring him.
He owed his savior much.
That is certainly putting it mildly.
"I’m not in the mood for you this morning," Fritz muttered. "Shut up or I’ll go find some wine."
Do you hate me so much?
"Yes," Fritz said softly.
Liar.
Closing his eyes, Fritz willed the voice to be silent, breathing a sigh of relief when it finally subsided. Not that ‘he’ ever stayed quiet for very long. If he did, Fritz would not currently be pining for whatever alcohol he could find.
Taking advantage of the rare silence, wondering why he was so cooperative, Fritz set to cleaning himself more thoroughly than he had last night. Then, he’d wanted only to be clean and asleep.
Now he wanted to be himself. An hour later, he looked in the small mirror a maid had brought along with the razor.
The face that stared back was one he recognized, but not one he was terribly happy to see. Head and face shaved bare, the black mark on his forehead stood out like a lurid bruise. He would never be described as handsome, or even ‘plain.’ The kindest adjective had been from the woman who ran the orphan house where he’d grown up. She’d said he looked unfinished, all the more striking for the incompleteness.
Sometimes he wished she’d just been honest and called him ugly.
You are not ugly. I think you quite fine. People often dislike what they do not understand.
"That would certainly explain why I do not like you," Fritz muttered, setting the mirror down and scrubbing down one last time before toweling off and dressing quickly in the clothes Sasha had somehow managed to scrounge up for him. "Nor would you know how I look, so your words mean nothing."
My words never mean nothing, which is what really irks you. You know very well I know how you look, lost half of my tortured soul.
Fritz snarled. "If I am tortured, it is because you are always harassing me! Mercy of the Lost Light, I need a drink."
You need no such thing.
Ignoring him, Fritz strode back to the room Sasha had rented for the three of them. The hour was still quite early, and he had no doubt Sasha intended to sleep just as long as he’d threatened.
He paused just inside the room, shutting the door carefully behind him, smiling faintly at the sight before him. The two men slept together in a tangle of limbs, Sasha’s dark red hair spilling over his shoulder, half-hiding Stefan’s face. It was truly remarkable how much they revealed of themselves simply by sleeping. Such a contrast of ages, but the emotions between them were true, that much was obvious.
More fascinating to him was the stark opposites of their fates…rather, the two distinctive ways he could not tell their precise fates. Normally, he could read a man’s future with only a bit of concentration. His greatest gift and curse, and through it he’d seen all manner of fates. Nothing like these two, however.
Do you remember what you said last night?
"Don’t insult me.," Fritz said with a snort. "Even if I didn’t, I would probably say something much the same now."
You’re more poetic when you’re drunk. For the boy you said the dark of a moonless night. The fire child you said a shattered mirror reflecting a thousand fates.
Fritz groaned. "Poetic? That’s just stupid." Accurate, but stupid all the same. The simple, more accurate way to have said it was that the Schatten boy had a future closely guarded by Teufel. He’d not seen such a thing before, but he’d once read about it in the old records. None but the highest of priests knew it, but all fates were meticulously recorded. Volume after volume of fates filled the shelves of the Great Library.
Sasha…a shattered mirror…chaos. Such a thing should not exist. Not here in Schatten. How did he manage to break free of the threads of fate?
Born free of them. It was possible, once. I did not know it was still possible.
"Shut up," Fritz said tiredly, settling by the small, grimy window that was the sole source of light in the room. "I hate it when you go all ‘ancient history’ on me. Voices in my head shouldn’t know these things. So shut up."
I’m more than a ‘voice in your head’ and you know it.
Fritz rubbed a hand agitatedly over his bare head, pining for the burn of alcohol to shut the shadow-cursed voice up.
Shadow cursed, yes. And I am more than ‘a voice’ you dumb priest.
"Now who’s being mean? You’re just a voice. If you were more, you would tell me more. How many times must I tell you to be quiet?"
Say my name and maybe I’ll be quiet long enough for you to eat breakfast.
"Fine. Drache. Leave me alone before I go see what this inn hides in its basement."
Watered ale, no doubt. You’d have to drink three whole barrels to block me out.
Fritz rolled his eyes. "Don’t think I won’t." He pointedly ignored the snickering echoing through his head.
"Do you always talk to yourself?" Sasha asked, causing Fritz to jump.
He turned from the window and smiled sadly. "Yes, though it is not to myself I speak." By the Shadows, he had not even heard the man stir. Sasha regarded him calmly, as though the situation was perfectly normal. Despite his sleep-rumpled hair and clothes, and the fact that Stefan was still sound asleep and curled in Sasha’s lap, the man looked as though the situation were a perfectly normal one.
Fritz could count on one hand the number of people he had encountered who had such a collected demeanor and have fingers enough left over to hold a mug of ale.
"Oh?" Sasha asked quietly, the finger of one hand threaded lightly through Stefan’s hair as he continued to let the boy sleep. Fritz would dearly love to know how the strange pair had met, how they had become what they so obviously were.
There was also something strange about Sasha, but as he stared a moment longer at the man he was not able to place what precisely he was noticing. Ah, well. It would fall into place eventually.
He was far more interested in the calm way Sasha had accepted what he said. "Yes," he finally replied. "As a child it was of course fine if I talked to a voice in my head. Children always have imaginary friends. It’s only when one becomes an adult and the nonexistent voice does not go away that it becomes a problem."
I do so exist.
Fritz ignored him and continued talking. "As I got older, the voice in my head became easier to hear. Stronger, clearer. If I could learn not to reply aloud, I would be far better off. Alas, I’m not very good at keeping my mouth shut. This, I’m certain, you have already realized."
Brief amusement shone in Sasha’s dark gold eyes. "Who or what is this voice?"
Fritz blinked. "You…believe me?"
"Let us say that I am willing to listen further to your explanation."
Nodding slowly, Fritz continued. "As I said, it has been with me longer than I can remember."
I am not an it.
"Shut up," Fritz snapped. "You said you would be silent, Drache."
But I am not an it.
"Just a petulant child," Fritz muttered. He realized abruptly what he was doing and cringed as he looked at Sasha.
To his surprise, Sasha merely looked at him with faint amusement, those golden eyes sparkling. He had the strangest feeling the man did not often look so. "It sounds as though you are losing the argument. Tell me more of this voice."
A pang struck Fritz deep in the chest, and his eyes stung as he realized he was fighting tears. "Why…why are you so willing to believe me? No one…"
Deep sorrow flickered across Sasha’s face, and Fritz suspected he saw it only because the emotion was one he knew all too well. Sasha’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "In my experience, those of a less than stable mind do all that they can to convince the world they are perfectly stable. If you were truly mad, it would be in your best interests to convince me you were not. Instead, you confess to hearing a voice, that it is a source of frustration, and then get into an argument with it right before my eyes. To my mind, that means you are a sane man trying to convince me you are mad, crazy and unusually honest about it, or there really is a voice in your head that is not your own. He calls himself Drache?"
"Yes," Fritz replied. "I know very little about him. He says the power of Teufel bars him from offering any explanation – that he is barely able even to speak to me. The only other information I have about him is that he is very, very old. He also tends to call me ‘the other half of his tortured soul’."
Sasha’s eyes darkened and Fritz could tell he was thinking deeply.
That’s when it struck him what was strange.
Sasha wasn’t moving. He didn’t shift or move on the bed, barely even blinked. He didn’t shake his head or tilt it…nothing. The man was nearly as still as stone.
"Half of a soul," Sasha finally said, speaking slowly, thoughtfully. "I have never heard of such a thing, though my knowledge on such things is quite thorough. Bound souls, yes. A soul split in two? That would be a terribly cruel thing to do."
Yes.
Fritz frowned. "I…Drache says ‘yes.’ I think he cannot say more, but his tone implies…that cruelty was the idea." The stark silence in his head said this was exactly what Drache had meant.
"Interesting," Sasha said. "So you and this Drache are a soul torn asunder for some cruel purpose."
"You…say it so calmly. Logically. Why does it sound so simple when it is the reason that yesterday I was a drunken wastrel?"
Sasha gave another brief, bitter smile. "Sometimes to know it ourselves is not enough. We must hear the words from another to believe them." He looked at Fritz, eyes thoughtful, and after a moment Fritz realized what exactly he was staring at.
He reached up and touched his fingers to the dark mark on his forehead. "I was born with it," he said quietly. "All those with the ability to see the fates of others are born with such a mark. It is our destiny to be priests of Lord Teufel…unless of course we hear voices and get into an argument in the wrong time and place…and were never well liked to begin with anyway." Fritz shrugged.
"You said last night, to that other priest, that you needed no help to see the fate of another…"
Fritz nodded. "I am ‘specially’ blessed by Lord Teufel."
Special. Yes. The way your drinking habits are ‘impressive.’
"Nobody asked you, Drache, and you agreed to be quiet."
That was before the fire child awoke. He says interesting things.
Fritz snorted softly. "Drache states that you say interesting things."
"That’s refreshing. Usually I’m accused of saying cruel or foolish things."
"I was often accused of the same," Fritz replied. "People come seeking their fortunes, and precious few are willing to accept that their future is not a pleasant one. Very few people live a life that is free of strife."
Sasha’s eyes blazed, but Fritz could not name the emotion that burned in them. His voice was soft as he spoke. "If you seek the warmth of the fire, you must be willing to accept those flames can burn you."
Those are the words of the Firebird.
"You are truly a child of the Land of Fire?" Fritz asked. He’d known, for Drache had said so and the man could not possibly look more foreign. Still, to hear such a phrase and the excitement it put in Drache’s voice. "If I might ask, how did you manage to come here? None goes in or out of Schatten. Where mountain and sea cannot contain, the Sentinels destroy and devour."
"I came through the mountains," Sasha replied, the words almost idle. "I do not recommend them, but I have no doubt by sea would have been very nearly impossible."
"Why?" Fritz asked.
"To kill Teufel."
Impossible.
"How would you know?" Fritz muttered irritably.
I know.
"Shut up if you’re not going to say anything useful." Fritz turned his attention back to Sasha. "I would not say that too often or too loudly."
Sasha grunted. "Tell me more of this temple I will be visiting tonight."
Fritz frowned. "You’re actually going to see that pathetic excuse of a priest?"
"Yes," Sasha said, eyes glittering with something that made Fritz glad he was not Sasha’s enemy. "I want a closer look at this holy temple. A closer look at Teufel. Tell me, how do the priests tell a person of his fate?"
"It’s not pretty," Fritz said with a frown. "The one good thing about my gift when I was a priest was that I did not have to go through the entire ceremony. Gold, of course, is asked for upon entering the temple. So far as the ceremony itself goes…blood is the key component." He shoved up the sleeve of his shirt to show the faint scars across his wrist. "Blood of the supplicant, blood of the priest, both spilled into a vessel filled with water. Beneath the night sky, a priest can see the fate Teufel has woven for the supplicant. The price for the ability to see the fate of all others is to never know one’s own." Fritz sighed and rubbed a hand over his head, distantly enjoying the fact that he was once more completely shaven. "That is the formal reason I was thrown out – I abused my gift and broke the Code of Concentration by telling that nitwit from last night of his fate."
"Code of Concentration?" Sasha asked.
Fritz nodded. "Yes. It says that priests must live for the supplicants, for their calling. If they know their own future, they will focus on that instead of their duties." Fritz shrugged. "It makes sense…it would be hard to focus on telling someone what will become of them when all you can think about is that you will die shortly."
A shadow passed over Sasha’s face, and Fritz immediately knew what it meant. "You’re dying."
"Yes," Sasha said softly. "You are astute."
"I’ve spent my entire life knowing I was doomed to suffer," Fritz said bitterly. "I know the look."
Sasha nodded, the first real movement he’d made sense they’d begun talking. "Last night…you seemed…I thought you might understand, though I could not see what I might have in common with a drunkard." His lips twitched. "Then again, I have oft felt like becoming one if only so people would scorch off and leave me in peace."
Scorch off. I rather like it.
"Does that mean that if I tell you to scorch off you’ll do it?"
Don’t be ridiculous.
"Scorch off," Fritz muttered.
Sasha laughed. "Do you always lose the arguments?"
"No."
Yes.
"Be quiet," Fritz said, knowing it was futile.
Sasha looked amused, but did not question further. "Is it true the temple contains a great library?"
"Yes, though mostly it is accountings of fates we have told. There are some histories and other such things, though no one is able to open certain volumes of them. What, particularly, are you seeking? If you are hoping to break in, I warn you only those of us who bear the mark can pass through the doorways into the Great Library."
"I will take care of that," Sasha said calmly. "I seek information on the Great Wall. How to get past it. Is killing the Great Sentinels enough?"
Fritz stared at him in horror and fascination. "Is killing them enough? Mercy of Lost Licht, shouldn’t that be enough? I do not know how anyone could ever kill one of those beasts, let alone all thirteen and the Holy Sentinel that is rumored to be in the Citadel itself."
Sasha threw his head back and laughed loudly enough that Stefan stirred in his arms. His eyes flashed like dark gold as he stared at Fritz. "I have killed five of them. I will kill them all."
Mercy of Licht. Can it be true?
"You…impossible…Mercy of Lost Licht, how did you ever…?"
A cold smirk shaped Sasha’s mouth. "A monster is a monster, and I have fought monsters in some way all my life." He grimaced briefly. "Including myself." His fingers moved slowly through Stefan’s hair as he focused on the waking boy.
"I will go and fetch us breakfast," Fritz said, needing to clear his head and think – and he gathered from the looks they were exchanging the two men would like a moment of privacy.
More than a moment I would say.
"How would you know?" Fritz demanded, voice low.
Who do you think you are fooling, my other half? You are not drunk now—
"That can be fixed," Fritz interrupted with a furious hiss.
It can be, but will you? I think you like having someone who understands you. I would be jealous, but it is obvious he loves the boy and I know what you dream about.
Fritz rolled his eyes and grimaced. "Given you control those dreams, I would be rather confused if you did not know what they were. Mercy of the Lost Licht, I need a drink."
No, you do not. Stop hiding from me. You are touched by Chaos now, perhaps…perhaps things will change…so long I’ve waited…I want things to change…so badly, my other half, so very badly…
"Me too," Fritz whispered, pausing at the foot of the stairs. "If you’re real, why do I never see you? It is not fair to speak to a voice within my head, to see you only when I sleep. Always to wake alone…"
Stay with the fire child. So close to chaos…I begin to hope again, though I fear it will leave me in bitter disappointment.
Fritz snorted. "At least you are only the voice, not the person."
Indeed.
"Oh, scorch off." He fought a smile as Drache laughed faintly in his head.
Do you hate me, other half?
"Yes," Fritz replied softly.
Liar.
Fritz ignored him.
Do you love me, other half?
"No," Fritz retorted, striding away from the stairs and toward the dining hall to flag down a wench to fetch them food.
Liar.
Ten
Stefan tried not to gawk like the kid he knew he was.
Unheilvol…
He never thought he would someday be able to visit Sacred Unheilvol.
It loomed over the city, a towering structure carved from obsidian, a shadow that would never fade, never weaken. Up and down the steps people traversed, many in the dark violet robes of the Priests of Teufel, others in everything from silk to rags. People climbing the steps looked nervous, worried, resigned…and those descending were everything from ecstatic to quiet to sobbing.
Stefan wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, wishing his anxiety would ease.
Beside him Sasha walked calmly, easily, as though it were nothing to be invited by the Lord High Priest himself. Nothing ever seemed to shake Sasha. Even the first time they really met, he’d done nothing more than get dressed and then break into a temple that had been sealed for centuries. Stefan wished he could be so calm.
As they reached the base of the obsidian steps, Stefan was struck by how different they were from the cobblestone streets. The streets had been hard, but uneven, easy for someone to trip upon if he didn’t pay proper attention. In stark contrast the steps, though just as hard, were smooth and slick. They were all exactly the same, even and unchanging beneath his feet as he walked alongside Sasha.
Fritz had not come with them, refusing to go anywhere near the temple. They’d left him muttering to himself – to Drache. Stefan still found it hard to believe the man really and truly could hear the voice of another person in his head, but Sasha seemed firmly convinced.
They were abruptly halted at the top of the steps by a severe looking priest. He was short, hair long but pulled back in a tight tail, voluminous robes giving him a shapeless but nevertheless intimidating look. "No weapons are permitted within in the temple," he said curtly, hard eyes fastened on Sasha. If he was startled to see a foreigner standing on the steps of Unheilvol, he gave no sign.
Sasha stared right back, completely unaffected. "If you can take them," he said calmly, "then certainly I will do as you ask. However, if you cannot, I keep them. By all means do try." He raised and spread his arms, giving the priest free access to take the whip, sword, and knife that Sasha wore when he was not bathing or sleeping.
Glowering, the priest moved closer and reached first for the sword. A second later he hissed in surprise and pain, hastily backing up a step. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded sharply.
Stefan fought to hold still, to remain calm, even as he wanted to squirm and hide from the people that were slowing, stopping, to see what was occurring between priest and supplicant.
That Sasha gave no indication of noticing what was going on around them amazed Stefan. All he could do was feel the curious gazes, the anger of the priest. Sasha merely watched, a smirk shaping his mouth. "Cannot take the sword, child of shadow? Then I keep it. Perhaps you might try the whip?"
Furious, glaring at Sasha with bright indigo eyes, the man stepped forward again – but a second later he gave another cry of pain.
"You had best give up," Sasha said calmly. "These weapons are mine and mine alone, and they do not leave my side unless I choose. Gods do not care if I carry weapons into their sanctuaries, so long as I do no unnecessary harm."
The priest refused to let him past when Sasha stepped forward. "You could not know that, do not speak as though you do."
"Ah, but I do know." Sasha reached out and shoved the priest aside, then motioned for Stefan to follow him before striding into the dark temple of Unheilvol.
"You cannot—" the priest shouted after them, and Stefan heard the sound of slippers and robes swishing across the hard, smooth floor.
"Enough," a voice said, stopping the entire room.
Stefan spun toward the source, feeling that same awful coldness he had the night before. It was the same man. The Lord High Priest of Unheilvol. Stefan still wondered why such a grand figure had been coming out of a humble tavern last night, but it was not the sort of question a lowly peasant should even think to ask.
The man was only about his height, meaning Sasha was significantly taller. Somehow, that seemed important. His eyes were pale purple, set in a face that Stefan thought was almost scary looking. It was a hundred times worse than seeing Maja angry, because Maja would stop being angry eventually…this man seemed to be permanently that way.
He also remembered Fritz’s words, and how shocked he’d been that this man, one of the most powerful in Schatten, had done nothing more than walk away. Then again, Sasha had stood between Fritz and the priest.
"That will be all," the High Priest said to the one who’d tried to stop them. He flicked his eyes between Sasha and Stefan. "You did come. I wondered if that vagabond would drive you away; I am glad he did not."
Sasha laughed, and it made Stefan frown to hear it. That wasn’t a laugh he’d ever heard from Sasha. It sounded more like when Stefan had been taking lessons as a child and was made to recite in front of the class. Practiced. Rehearsed. Cold.
Nothing like the warm chuckles against his throat that made him tingle, or the ones where Sasha threw his head back, hair spilling, that made Stefan smile back and feel warm right to his bones.
"Naturally not," Sasha said idly. "I am hardly likely to be affected by a pathetic drunkard. Such things are to be expected in a city like this. I am surprised your priests allow you to risk yourself by venturing alone through such unpleasant parts."
A cold tingle ran up Stefan’s spine as he listened to Sasha speak with the priest. His voice was cold, condescending. He’d just called Fritz a pathetic drunkard…
The priest smirked. "I go where I please. None would dare to harm the Lord High Priest of Unheilvol."
Stefan’s frown deepened. Neither man seemed to have the tone he thought they should…perhaps his lowly peasant status was showing. He was obviously missing something.
He was so lost in thought he missed whatever else they said, and only the gentle hand at the small of his back, urging him forward, stirred him from his gloominess. He looked up at Sasha, but the face that watched him back was a strange one, closed in a way that was different from Sasha’s usual reserved demeanor. "Sasha?"
A stiff smile. "This way, Stefan, so he can read your fortune."
Stefan nodded, wishing suddenly they were back out in the wild. The grandeur around him suddenly seemed only stiff, dark, and cold. The pillars and tapestry-covered walls no longer seemed beautiful; the fountains and wide hallways, the way candlelight and moonlight mingled…none of it was half so entrancing as the Sasha he knew when they had nothing but snow and Sentinels for company. Perhaps he was overreacting.
The High Priest led them through the wide, high-ceilinged hallways, through several smaller rooms until at least he stopped in one. It had the same obsidian walls as all the rest, but in place of the usual tapestries there was only one window on the far wall. It was made of colored glass cut to make a picture. Of what, Stefan wasn’t certain.
It gave him chills though. A man with long, dark hair stood in a dark field, the full moon and several shining stars above and behind him. Right below the window was a table carved from dark, black-stained wood. Upon it lay a piece of dark-violet cloth, a bowl carved from the same black obsidian as the temple, and six candles in two sets of candlesticks on either side of the bowl.
"Pardon me a moment; I will return shortly to tell your fortunes," the High Priest murmured.
The door closed behind him, and Stefan suddenly found himself swept up in a familiar embrace, Sasha’s lips warm, comforting, as they closed over his to take a deep kiss. Arms wound around his waist, and Stefan only pressed himself closer, wrapping his own arms around Sasha’s neck, determined not to let him go. "Sasha…"
"Are you all right, sweet?" Sasha asked softly against his mouth, nibbling at his lips.
Stefan’s fingers tightened in Sasha’s hair. "You were acting strange."
"I am sorry. Playing such games as these is something I used to do every moment of every day. I would have warned you I would be acting strangely, but I needed you to be confused, so that he would not spare you a second look."
"Games?" Stefan asked.
"Politics, things of that nature, sweet." Long, slender fingers stroked one cheek, Sasha’s eyes dark in that way that said he was thinking about unhappy things. "It’s how too much of the world works. We will not be here long. I’d much rather kill Sents than play these delicate games all day. Once we have the information I need, we’ll be gone."
Stefan nodded, and on impulse turned his head to kiss the fingers stroking his cheek. He heard a faint, sharp intake of breath, and looked shyly up at Sasha, wondering if he’d done something wrong. Those gold eyes stared back, lit with something he didn’t really understand. "Sasha…"
Making a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a moan, Sasha leaned down and kissed him in a way that made Stefan hot and dizzy, made him ache in a way that he wasn’t certain would ever stop. He didn’t want it to stop. When Sasha finally broke the kiss, Stefan felt bereft. Before he could speak, however, the door opened and Sasha put space between them.
"I apologize for the delay."
"I’m certain you must be busy," Sasha said in the tone Stefan didn’t like at all.
The priest made motions and protesting noises that seemed as practiced and rehearsed as Sasha’s. Even though he knew now Sasha was pretending…he didn’t like it at all. Clinging to the memory and lingering taste of that last melting kiss, Stefan waited quietly while the two men talked and debated, trying not to cringe when he became part of the subject.
"I would be quite interested, I must confess, to know the fate of one who has stumbled across the foreigner that Lord Teufel has brought into our midst. Surely, young Stefan, you must be blessed by the Shadow himself."
Stefan ducked his head, not certain what to say. He didn’t have their cool tones or careful mannerisms. "I am most fortunate to be given this chance to travel in such grand company to such beautiful places."
"Well said," the High Priest replied. "Come then." He turned and led the way to the table, moving around it and indicating they should stand before it. "Shall we do your fate first, then, child of Schatten? So that our strange friend here can see how it is done?"
Stefan looked at Sasha in confusion, but when he nodded obediently stepped forward and held out his right arm. He’d heard all his life about this ceremony. Most people simply could not afford it. He wondered how Sasha could.
He also wondered why Sasha was doing this, when he’d been so blunt about his feelings on fate.
The hand on the small of his back helped steady him as he watched the High Priest slash open a small wound on his wrist with a sharp, silver dagger. He then did the same to his own wrist, and turned both so that they spilled into the obsidian bowl. In a matter of seconds, the clear water within the bowl turned blacker than the obsidian.
Abruptly it turned silver, like a mirror in which Stefan could not see his reflection. He looked up, confused – and stopped. The High Priest’s eyes were the same as the bowl, like a mirror which showed no reflection.
Then he began to speak, slowly, steadily, as if watching something far away and being careful to precisely relate what he couldn’t see clearly. "Darkness. Nothing but darkness. A fate cloaked in deepest night. Hidden by the Will of Teufel. Blessed by Lord Teufel himself, and your fate known only by Him. Great fortune or great tragedy awaits you, none but Lord Teufel can say which."
Abruptly the silver light in his eyes vanished, the bowl nothing more than simple water. Shakily, Stefan withdrew his hand.
The High Priest stared at him, wiping sweat from his own brow with practiced, absent-minded motions. "As I thought, you are most intriguing."
Stefan shivered, remembering suddenly the strange things Fritz had said about him the night before.
The pure, unbroken darkness of a moonless night.
What did it mean? Was he cursed? Did Lord Teufel hate him?
Did Lord Teufel know he was a traitor? For the first time since he’d met Sasha, Stefan grew truly afraid. He began to shake visibly, hugging himself, wanting to understand what it meant to have a fate that was nothing but darkness to the sight of even the High Priest himself. "Th-thank you, High priest, for reading my f-fate."
The hand on the small of his back moved to his waist, and Sasha gently tugged him into a loose embrace, kissing the top of his head, then his cheek, speaking softly in his ear. "You have nothing to fear, Stefan. Not even a god will harm you so long as I breathe."
Stefan immediately calmed, letting himself be warmed by the heat that seemed to pour from Sasha as though he were a hearth. What did it mean that he so immediately believed Sasha’s words?
After a moment Sasha gently set him back and stepped forward. "You are certain, High Priest?"
"Are you attempting to back out, stranger?"
Sasha merely stared at him until the High Priest dropped his gaze. "Let us begin," the High Priest said quietly, and lifted the silver dagger.
Ignoring him, Sasha drew his own dagger and slit his own wrist, holding it over the bowl.
Frowning, displeased, the High Priest nevertheless held his tongue and merely reopened the wound on his own wrist. A moment later the strange, mirror-like surface returned both to the bowl and the High Priest’s eyes.
Then, suddenly, the High Priest screamed, clutching at his head.
Stefan’s eyes went wide as his eyes…shattered. The mirror-like color they’d taken on fractured, each piece turning a different color. In the bowl the water did the same thing, the silver color shattered, became dozens of different colors, so painfully bright Stefan had to look away.
When the High Priest finally spoke, it was though he was in great pain. "Each breath creates a new fate. Each step finds a new path. Each touch alters the fate of those touched. Chaos." Making a sound that was part sob, part scream, the High Priest crumpled to the ground and lay still.
Stefan started to move around the table to help him, but Sasha caught his arm and dragged him away. "Come, Stefan. This is the chance we need."
"Chance?" Stefan asked, looking over his shoulder at the fallen priest but obediently following as Sasha dragged him along, ducking into a small side hall Stefan suspected they shouldn’t be in. "Will he be all right?"
"He’ll be fine, sweet. His only problem is arrogance. I am not of Schatten, it was foolish of him to think reading my fate would be an easy thing to do. I played on that arrogance, and now the temple will be distracted figuring out what is wrong with him."
The words were said so calmly, Stefan could only nod.
Warm lips pressed against his brow. "I am sorry, Stefan. I should not have dragged you into this…"
Stefan shook his head furiously back and forth, looking up Sasha, wanting badly to kiss him or something but too bashful to do it. "No. I want to be here. I just…you’re…I don’t want to be in the way, and I think I am. You know so much, and make everything look so simple…"
Sasha chuckled softly and brushed a soft kiss across his mouth. "Do not be upset that I know my way through lies and arrogance and manipulation, sweet. Men like me are not worth a tenth or even hundredth of you."
Another kiss, one of those which left Stefan aching and tingling, then Sasha turned away and led the way down the hall, loosing his sword in its sheath and unhooking his whip. "This way, I think," Sasha said softly. "Fritz gave me directions; let us hope I listened properly." He fell silent and continued walking, brisk but cautious, yanking Stefan into shadowed corners or nooks whenever someone started to come upon them.
Several agonizing minutes later Stefan followed him into a room that was filled with books and scrolls and things he couldn’t name, in quantities higher than he could count. "Mercy of the Lost Light…"
Sasha gave a soft snort. "Indeed. Come, we must be quick. The fall of the High Priest will not distract everyone for long." Moving swiftly, he strode through the rows and shelves almost as though he knew them. Only the barest hesitations here and there told Stefan that he’d not been here before.
He had a hard time focusing on Sasha and their task, unable to resist gawking at the Great Library. The same obsidian for the walls and floors, the shelves the black-stained wood of the table from before, but the books and scrolls were all manner of shades – cream, brown, black, red, green…such knowledge. Stefan’s skin prickled and he fought the urge to stop and take a closer look at one or two of the volumes. Fritz had said the priests recorded all the fates they told…he’d never said why, though. What use was it to know fates that had already occurred? Especially when so many books were deemed forbidden by Lord Teufel.
"Ah," Sasha said softly. "Here we are." His eyes were bright with satisfaction as he lit upon a shelf of books filled with brown leather volumes, the covers cracked and worn, the bindings stamped with symbols Stefan didn’t understand. "The most ancient histories of Schatten."
Stefan could not resist drawing closer, hesitantly brushing his fingers along the spines of the books on the shelf. "Fritz said opening them was impossible."
"So was the Temple of Sunrise," Sasha said with a faint smile. His eyes flashed like gold as he murmured softly to the book in his hands, then he smiled softly in satisfaction and opened the book.
After a few minutes he closed it with a snap and pulled down another, repeating the process with six books before finally speaking. "Yes," he exclaimed softly in satisfaction, eyes moving rapidly as he quickly read. "This is what I need."
The sounds of voices brought his head sharply back up, and Stefan moved closer to Sasha in panic.
Shutting the book with a snap, Sasha buried it somewhere beneath his cloak and took Stefan’s hand. "Come, we’ll have to find another way out. I knew we didn’t have long, I should have worked faster…" Not waiting to see if Stefan replied, Sasha let go of his hand to get his whip.
They rounded a corner and came face to face with two priests, but before the men could say a word Sasha surged forward and knocked them both out.
Stefan stared. It was one thing to see Sasha kill Sents…to see that same skill used against people…he shivered, but followed obediently past the unconscious men when Sasha beckoned to him.
Minutes later they were back out into the main parts of the temple without further incident, and Stefan mimicked Sasha in pulling his hood up over his head. Shaking with nervousness, wondering what would happen if someone realized what they’d done, Stefan reached out and found Sasha’s hand, grateful when Sasha held it tight instead of dropping it.
An agonizing half hour later they were back at the inn and in their room.
Fritz looked up as they entered. "I full expected to be getting you out of a cell this evening."
Sasha chuckled as he stripped out of his cloak and dropped down at the table, directly across from Fritz. "I would have been interested to see how you managed it."
"Shut up, Drache," Fritz muttered. "I would have too," he responded to Sasha’s comment. "Did you get what you were after?"
"After a fashion," Sasha said with a smirk, and set the book he’d stolen down upon the table.
"Mercy of the Lost Licht!" Fritz exclaimed. "How in His name did you get that? Those books cannot leave the library."
Sasha shrugged. "I broke the spells. This volume seemed to speak of the wall; hopefully it is the right volume. I did not have enough time to tell for certain."
"May I look at it?" Fritz asked. "Drache is causing a ruckus." He grimaced.
"By all means," Sasha said. He glanced at Stefan and held out a hand.
Stefan immediately stepped forward and took it – then yelped when Sasha yanked hard, causing Stefan to spill into his lap. He blinked into those gold eyes. "Sasha?"
A soft kiss was brushed across his lips. "Are you all right, sweet? You are looking a little lost."
Face hot, not certain what he was supposed to do, painfully aware that Sasha was kissing him and calling him ‘sweet’ while Fritz was in the room, Stefan gave in to his urge to hide and buried his head against Sasha’s shoulder. "I think…it’s just it’s really hitting me what you’re doing. What we’re doing. The things the High Priest said…am I really…blessed by Lord Teufel? What does that mean? I don’t want…does he know what we’re doing?"
Instead of Sasha, it was Fritz who answered with a snort. "You should not have wasted your time with that nitwit and his fortune telling abilities."
Stefan frowned. "He is a Priest of Holy Teufel. It is his fate to tell the fortunes of all."
"Fortune telling is not the only duty which priests undertake," Fritz answered, looking up from the book to meet Stefan’s eyes. "It is the most important, but not the only. To say that all priests excel at fortune telling is like saying all cooks are good at making pie. Some are good at stew, some at pies. Some hunters are better than others, so too shop keeps and artisans. Priests of Teufel are not chosen solely for their abilities to tell the fates of supplicants. Many, like the current High Priest, are better at other aspects of running Unheilvol."
"So…he was wrong?"
Fritz shook his head. "More like…he was incomplete. Arrogance clouds his view. A priest is meant to be the voice and face of a god to his people. Such a position is a heavy responsibility, and one of great trust. It should be humbling to know you have been placed in such a position; the High Priest instead is arrogant and overconfident. It will be his downfall." He held out his hand. "Let me have your hand. I promise not to spill any blood; it is merely that skin contact strengthens my Sight." He rolled his eyes. "Shut up or I will dull it instead."
Stefan laughed, unable to help it. He clapped a hand over his mouth the second he realized he was dong it, ducking his head when Fritz looked at him. "I’m sorry," he said to the table. "It’s just…"
"Vastly amusing to hear him constantly lose to a voice in his head?" Sasha finished for him, laughing in his soft way. "Quite."
"You can all ‘scorch off’ as the saying apparently goes." He smiled at Stefan. "Let me see your hand."
Warily, the words of the High Priest still making him nervous, Stefan placed his hand in Fritz’s.
Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t for Fritz to simply frown in thought and rub his free hand restlessly over his shaved head. He closed his eyes for a moment, breaths slow and steady. When he opened them again, Stefan gasped.
Fritz’s eyes weren’t the mirror-like silver as the High Priest’s had been…they were gold. They shone like a lantern in the dark. "The pure, unrelenting dark of a moonless night. A night when no work can be done…but when people might rest without feeling remorse over time wasted. Where secrets are whispered and forbidden meetings are held. Hard to see, but also hard to be seen. Anything might happen beneath a moonless sky. All favor the light, but there is a time in everyone’s life when the dark is preferred."
Stefan sat quietly, not certain what to make of the words, slowly taking his hand back when Fritz released it.
Shaking his head, Fritz grunted and sat back. "You’re important, lad, no two ways about it. I cannot say how, but make no mistake – you are important." His eyes, once more dark violet, flicked to Sasha. "Interesting that you two, of all people, should meet. Normally I would say it is the hand of Fate at work…but I think this time, I will wait and see."
"I don’t want to be a moonless night," Stefan said softly, curling back against Sasha, no longer caring how weird it felt to be sitting on his lap, wrapped in his arms when they weren’t alone.
Sasha kissed him softly. "Then you won’t be."
Though he wanted to argue, Stefan couldn’t bring himself to do it, content simply to stay safe and warm in Sasha’s arms for as long as he could.
Ah, well. Such is life. Toil toil toil.
Nine
Fritz splashed water on his face, then took up the razor a maid had been good enough to bring him.
He owed his savior much.
That is certainly putting it mildly.
"I’m not in the mood for you this morning," Fritz muttered. "Shut up or I’ll go find some wine."
Do you hate me so much?
"Yes," Fritz said softly.
Liar.
Closing his eyes, Fritz willed the voice to be silent, breathing a sigh of relief when it finally subsided. Not that ‘he’ ever stayed quiet for very long. If he did, Fritz would not currently be pining for whatever alcohol he could find.
Taking advantage of the rare silence, wondering why he was so cooperative, Fritz set to cleaning himself more thoroughly than he had last night. Then, he’d wanted only to be clean and asleep.
Now he wanted to be himself. An hour later, he looked in the small mirror a maid had brought along with the razor.
The face that stared back was one he recognized, but not one he was terribly happy to see. Head and face shaved bare, the black mark on his forehead stood out like a lurid bruise. He would never be described as handsome, or even ‘plain.’ The kindest adjective had been from the woman who ran the orphan house where he’d grown up. She’d said he looked unfinished, all the more striking for the incompleteness.
Sometimes he wished she’d just been honest and called him ugly.
You are not ugly. I think you quite fine. People often dislike what they do not understand.
"That would certainly explain why I do not like you," Fritz muttered, setting the mirror down and scrubbing down one last time before toweling off and dressing quickly in the clothes Sasha had somehow managed to scrounge up for him. "Nor would you know how I look, so your words mean nothing."
My words never mean nothing, which is what really irks you. You know very well I know how you look, lost half of my tortured soul.
Fritz snarled. "If I am tortured, it is because you are always harassing me! Mercy of the Lost Light, I need a drink."
You need no such thing.
Ignoring him, Fritz strode back to the room Sasha had rented for the three of them. The hour was still quite early, and he had no doubt Sasha intended to sleep just as long as he’d threatened.
He paused just inside the room, shutting the door carefully behind him, smiling faintly at the sight before him. The two men slept together in a tangle of limbs, Sasha’s dark red hair spilling over his shoulder, half-hiding Stefan’s face. It was truly remarkable how much they revealed of themselves simply by sleeping. Such a contrast of ages, but the emotions between them were true, that much was obvious.
More fascinating to him was the stark opposites of their fates…rather, the two distinctive ways he could not tell their precise fates. Normally, he could read a man’s future with only a bit of concentration. His greatest gift and curse, and through it he’d seen all manner of fates. Nothing like these two, however.
Do you remember what you said last night?
"Don’t insult me.," Fritz said with a snort. "Even if I didn’t, I would probably say something much the same now."
You’re more poetic when you’re drunk. For the boy you said the dark of a moonless night. The fire child you said a shattered mirror reflecting a thousand fates.
Fritz groaned. "Poetic? That’s just stupid." Accurate, but stupid all the same. The simple, more accurate way to have said it was that the Schatten boy had a future closely guarded by Teufel. He’d not seen such a thing before, but he’d once read about it in the old records. None but the highest of priests knew it, but all fates were meticulously recorded. Volume after volume of fates filled the shelves of the Great Library.
Sasha…a shattered mirror…chaos. Such a thing should not exist. Not here in Schatten. How did he manage to break free of the threads of fate?
Born free of them. It was possible, once. I did not know it was still possible.
"Shut up," Fritz said tiredly, settling by the small, grimy window that was the sole source of light in the room. "I hate it when you go all ‘ancient history’ on me. Voices in my head shouldn’t know these things. So shut up."
I’m more than a ‘voice in your head’ and you know it.
Fritz rubbed a hand agitatedly over his bare head, pining for the burn of alcohol to shut the shadow-cursed voice up.
Shadow cursed, yes. And I am more than ‘a voice’ you dumb priest.
"Now who’s being mean? You’re just a voice. If you were more, you would tell me more. How many times must I tell you to be quiet?"
Say my name and maybe I’ll be quiet long enough for you to eat breakfast.
"Fine. Drache. Leave me alone before I go see what this inn hides in its basement."
Watered ale, no doubt. You’d have to drink three whole barrels to block me out.
Fritz rolled his eyes. "Don’t think I won’t." He pointedly ignored the snickering echoing through his head.
"Do you always talk to yourself?" Sasha asked, causing Fritz to jump.
He turned from the window and smiled sadly. "Yes, though it is not to myself I speak." By the Shadows, he had not even heard the man stir. Sasha regarded him calmly, as though the situation was perfectly normal. Despite his sleep-rumpled hair and clothes, and the fact that Stefan was still sound asleep and curled in Sasha’s lap, the man looked as though the situation were a perfectly normal one.
Fritz could count on one hand the number of people he had encountered who had such a collected demeanor and have fingers enough left over to hold a mug of ale.
"Oh?" Sasha asked quietly, the finger of one hand threaded lightly through Stefan’s hair as he continued to let the boy sleep. Fritz would dearly love to know how the strange pair had met, how they had become what they so obviously were.
There was also something strange about Sasha, but as he stared a moment longer at the man he was not able to place what precisely he was noticing. Ah, well. It would fall into place eventually.
He was far more interested in the calm way Sasha had accepted what he said. "Yes," he finally replied. "As a child it was of course fine if I talked to a voice in my head. Children always have imaginary friends. It’s only when one becomes an adult and the nonexistent voice does not go away that it becomes a problem."
I do so exist.
Fritz ignored him and continued talking. "As I got older, the voice in my head became easier to hear. Stronger, clearer. If I could learn not to reply aloud, I would be far better off. Alas, I’m not very good at keeping my mouth shut. This, I’m certain, you have already realized."
Brief amusement shone in Sasha’s dark gold eyes. "Who or what is this voice?"
Fritz blinked. "You…believe me?"
"Let us say that I am willing to listen further to your explanation."
Nodding slowly, Fritz continued. "As I said, it has been with me longer than I can remember."
I am not an it.
"Shut up," Fritz snapped. "You said you would be silent, Drache."
But I am not an it.
"Just a petulant child," Fritz muttered. He realized abruptly what he was doing and cringed as he looked at Sasha.
To his surprise, Sasha merely looked at him with faint amusement, those golden eyes sparkling. He had the strangest feeling the man did not often look so. "It sounds as though you are losing the argument. Tell me more of this voice."
A pang struck Fritz deep in the chest, and his eyes stung as he realized he was fighting tears. "Why…why are you so willing to believe me? No one…"
Deep sorrow flickered across Sasha’s face, and Fritz suspected he saw it only because the emotion was one he knew all too well. Sasha’s mouth twisted in a bitter smile. "In my experience, those of a less than stable mind do all that they can to convince the world they are perfectly stable. If you were truly mad, it would be in your best interests to convince me you were not. Instead, you confess to hearing a voice, that it is a source of frustration, and then get into an argument with it right before my eyes. To my mind, that means you are a sane man trying to convince me you are mad, crazy and unusually honest about it, or there really is a voice in your head that is not your own. He calls himself Drache?"
"Yes," Fritz replied. "I know very little about him. He says the power of Teufel bars him from offering any explanation – that he is barely able even to speak to me. The only other information I have about him is that he is very, very old. He also tends to call me ‘the other half of his tortured soul’."
Sasha’s eyes darkened and Fritz could tell he was thinking deeply.
That’s when it struck him what was strange.
Sasha wasn’t moving. He didn’t shift or move on the bed, barely even blinked. He didn’t shake his head or tilt it…nothing. The man was nearly as still as stone.
"Half of a soul," Sasha finally said, speaking slowly, thoughtfully. "I have never heard of such a thing, though my knowledge on such things is quite thorough. Bound souls, yes. A soul split in two? That would be a terribly cruel thing to do."
Yes.
Fritz frowned. "I…Drache says ‘yes.’ I think he cannot say more, but his tone implies…that cruelty was the idea." The stark silence in his head said this was exactly what Drache had meant.
"Interesting," Sasha said. "So you and this Drache are a soul torn asunder for some cruel purpose."
"You…say it so calmly. Logically. Why does it sound so simple when it is the reason that yesterday I was a drunken wastrel?"
Sasha gave another brief, bitter smile. "Sometimes to know it ourselves is not enough. We must hear the words from another to believe them." He looked at Fritz, eyes thoughtful, and after a moment Fritz realized what exactly he was staring at.
He reached up and touched his fingers to the dark mark on his forehead. "I was born with it," he said quietly. "All those with the ability to see the fates of others are born with such a mark. It is our destiny to be priests of Lord Teufel…unless of course we hear voices and get into an argument in the wrong time and place…and were never well liked to begin with anyway." Fritz shrugged.
"You said last night, to that other priest, that you needed no help to see the fate of another…"
Fritz nodded. "I am ‘specially’ blessed by Lord Teufel."
Special. Yes. The way your drinking habits are ‘impressive.’
"Nobody asked you, Drache, and you agreed to be quiet."
That was before the fire child awoke. He says interesting things.
Fritz snorted softly. "Drache states that you say interesting things."
"That’s refreshing. Usually I’m accused of saying cruel or foolish things."
"I was often accused of the same," Fritz replied. "People come seeking their fortunes, and precious few are willing to accept that their future is not a pleasant one. Very few people live a life that is free of strife."
Sasha’s eyes blazed, but Fritz could not name the emotion that burned in them. His voice was soft as he spoke. "If you seek the warmth of the fire, you must be willing to accept those flames can burn you."
Those are the words of the Firebird.
"You are truly a child of the Land of Fire?" Fritz asked. He’d known, for Drache had said so and the man could not possibly look more foreign. Still, to hear such a phrase and the excitement it put in Drache’s voice. "If I might ask, how did you manage to come here? None goes in or out of Schatten. Where mountain and sea cannot contain, the Sentinels destroy and devour."
"I came through the mountains," Sasha replied, the words almost idle. "I do not recommend them, but I have no doubt by sea would have been very nearly impossible."
"Why?" Fritz asked.
"To kill Teufel."
Impossible.
"How would you know?" Fritz muttered irritably.
I know.
"Shut up if you’re not going to say anything useful." Fritz turned his attention back to Sasha. "I would not say that too often or too loudly."
Sasha grunted. "Tell me more of this temple I will be visiting tonight."
Fritz frowned. "You’re actually going to see that pathetic excuse of a priest?"
"Yes," Sasha said, eyes glittering with something that made Fritz glad he was not Sasha’s enemy. "I want a closer look at this holy temple. A closer look at Teufel. Tell me, how do the priests tell a person of his fate?"
"It’s not pretty," Fritz said with a frown. "The one good thing about my gift when I was a priest was that I did not have to go through the entire ceremony. Gold, of course, is asked for upon entering the temple. So far as the ceremony itself goes…blood is the key component." He shoved up the sleeve of his shirt to show the faint scars across his wrist. "Blood of the supplicant, blood of the priest, both spilled into a vessel filled with water. Beneath the night sky, a priest can see the fate Teufel has woven for the supplicant. The price for the ability to see the fate of all others is to never know one’s own." Fritz sighed and rubbed a hand over his head, distantly enjoying the fact that he was once more completely shaven. "That is the formal reason I was thrown out – I abused my gift and broke the Code of Concentration by telling that nitwit from last night of his fate."
"Code of Concentration?" Sasha asked.
Fritz nodded. "Yes. It says that priests must live for the supplicants, for their calling. If they know their own future, they will focus on that instead of their duties." Fritz shrugged. "It makes sense…it would be hard to focus on telling someone what will become of them when all you can think about is that you will die shortly."
A shadow passed over Sasha’s face, and Fritz immediately knew what it meant. "You’re dying."
"Yes," Sasha said softly. "You are astute."
"I’ve spent my entire life knowing I was doomed to suffer," Fritz said bitterly. "I know the look."
Sasha nodded, the first real movement he’d made sense they’d begun talking. "Last night…you seemed…I thought you might understand, though I could not see what I might have in common with a drunkard." His lips twitched. "Then again, I have oft felt like becoming one if only so people would scorch off and leave me in peace."
Scorch off. I rather like it.
"Does that mean that if I tell you to scorch off you’ll do it?"
Don’t be ridiculous.
"Scorch off," Fritz muttered.
Sasha laughed. "Do you always lose the arguments?"
"No."
Yes.
"Be quiet," Fritz said, knowing it was futile.
Sasha looked amused, but did not question further. "Is it true the temple contains a great library?"
"Yes, though mostly it is accountings of fates we have told. There are some histories and other such things, though no one is able to open certain volumes of them. What, particularly, are you seeking? If you are hoping to break in, I warn you only those of us who bear the mark can pass through the doorways into the Great Library."
"I will take care of that," Sasha said calmly. "I seek information on the Great Wall. How to get past it. Is killing the Great Sentinels enough?"
Fritz stared at him in horror and fascination. "Is killing them enough? Mercy of Lost Licht, shouldn’t that be enough? I do not know how anyone could ever kill one of those beasts, let alone all thirteen and the Holy Sentinel that is rumored to be in the Citadel itself."
Sasha threw his head back and laughed loudly enough that Stefan stirred in his arms. His eyes flashed like dark gold as he stared at Fritz. "I have killed five of them. I will kill them all."
Mercy of Licht. Can it be true?
"You…impossible…Mercy of Lost Licht, how did you ever…?"
A cold smirk shaped Sasha’s mouth. "A monster is a monster, and I have fought monsters in some way all my life." He grimaced briefly. "Including myself." His fingers moved slowly through Stefan’s hair as he focused on the waking boy.
"I will go and fetch us breakfast," Fritz said, needing to clear his head and think – and he gathered from the looks they were exchanging the two men would like a moment of privacy.
More than a moment I would say.
"How would you know?" Fritz demanded, voice low.
Who do you think you are fooling, my other half? You are not drunk now—
"That can be fixed," Fritz interrupted with a furious hiss.
It can be, but will you? I think you like having someone who understands you. I would be jealous, but it is obvious he loves the boy and I know what you dream about.
Fritz rolled his eyes and grimaced. "Given you control those dreams, I would be rather confused if you did not know what they were. Mercy of the Lost Licht, I need a drink."
No, you do not. Stop hiding from me. You are touched by Chaos now, perhaps…perhaps things will change…so long I’ve waited…I want things to change…so badly, my other half, so very badly…
"Me too," Fritz whispered, pausing at the foot of the stairs. "If you’re real, why do I never see you? It is not fair to speak to a voice within my head, to see you only when I sleep. Always to wake alone…"
Stay with the fire child. So close to chaos…I begin to hope again, though I fear it will leave me in bitter disappointment.
Fritz snorted. "At least you are only the voice, not the person."
Indeed.
"Oh, scorch off." He fought a smile as Drache laughed faintly in his head.
Do you hate me, other half?
"Yes," Fritz replied softly.
Liar.
Fritz ignored him.
Do you love me, other half?
"No," Fritz retorted, striding away from the stairs and toward the dining hall to flag down a wench to fetch them food.
Liar.
Ten
Stefan tried not to gawk like the kid he knew he was.
Unheilvol…
He never thought he would someday be able to visit Sacred Unheilvol.
It loomed over the city, a towering structure carved from obsidian, a shadow that would never fade, never weaken. Up and down the steps people traversed, many in the dark violet robes of the Priests of Teufel, others in everything from silk to rags. People climbing the steps looked nervous, worried, resigned…and those descending were everything from ecstatic to quiet to sobbing.
Stefan wiped his sweaty palms on his pants, wishing his anxiety would ease.
Beside him Sasha walked calmly, easily, as though it were nothing to be invited by the Lord High Priest himself. Nothing ever seemed to shake Sasha. Even the first time they really met, he’d done nothing more than get dressed and then break into a temple that had been sealed for centuries. Stefan wished he could be so calm.
As they reached the base of the obsidian steps, Stefan was struck by how different they were from the cobblestone streets. The streets had been hard, but uneven, easy for someone to trip upon if he didn’t pay proper attention. In stark contrast the steps, though just as hard, were smooth and slick. They were all exactly the same, even and unchanging beneath his feet as he walked alongside Sasha.
Fritz had not come with them, refusing to go anywhere near the temple. They’d left him muttering to himself – to Drache. Stefan still found it hard to believe the man really and truly could hear the voice of another person in his head, but Sasha seemed firmly convinced.
They were abruptly halted at the top of the steps by a severe looking priest. He was short, hair long but pulled back in a tight tail, voluminous robes giving him a shapeless but nevertheless intimidating look. "No weapons are permitted within in the temple," he said curtly, hard eyes fastened on Sasha. If he was startled to see a foreigner standing on the steps of Unheilvol, he gave no sign.
Sasha stared right back, completely unaffected. "If you can take them," he said calmly, "then certainly I will do as you ask. However, if you cannot, I keep them. By all means do try." He raised and spread his arms, giving the priest free access to take the whip, sword, and knife that Sasha wore when he was not bathing or sleeping.
Glowering, the priest moved closer and reached first for the sword. A second later he hissed in surprise and pain, hastily backing up a step. "What is the meaning of this?" he demanded sharply.
Stefan fought to hold still, to remain calm, even as he wanted to squirm and hide from the people that were slowing, stopping, to see what was occurring between priest and supplicant.
That Sasha gave no indication of noticing what was going on around them amazed Stefan. All he could do was feel the curious gazes, the anger of the priest. Sasha merely watched, a smirk shaping his mouth. "Cannot take the sword, child of shadow? Then I keep it. Perhaps you might try the whip?"
Furious, glaring at Sasha with bright indigo eyes, the man stepped forward again – but a second later he gave another cry of pain.
"You had best give up," Sasha said calmly. "These weapons are mine and mine alone, and they do not leave my side unless I choose. Gods do not care if I carry weapons into their sanctuaries, so long as I do no unnecessary harm."
The priest refused to let him past when Sasha stepped forward. "You could not know that, do not speak as though you do."
"Ah, but I do know." Sasha reached out and shoved the priest aside, then motioned for Stefan to follow him before striding into the dark temple of Unheilvol.
"You cannot—" the priest shouted after them, and Stefan heard the sound of slippers and robes swishing across the hard, smooth floor.
"Enough," a voice said, stopping the entire room.
Stefan spun toward the source, feeling that same awful coldness he had the night before. It was the same man. The Lord High Priest of Unheilvol. Stefan still wondered why such a grand figure had been coming out of a humble tavern last night, but it was not the sort of question a lowly peasant should even think to ask.
The man was only about his height, meaning Sasha was significantly taller. Somehow, that seemed important. His eyes were pale purple, set in a face that Stefan thought was almost scary looking. It was a hundred times worse than seeing Maja angry, because Maja would stop being angry eventually…this man seemed to be permanently that way.
He also remembered Fritz’s words, and how shocked he’d been that this man, one of the most powerful in Schatten, had done nothing more than walk away. Then again, Sasha had stood between Fritz and the priest.
"That will be all," the High Priest said to the one who’d tried to stop them. He flicked his eyes between Sasha and Stefan. "You did come. I wondered if that vagabond would drive you away; I am glad he did not."
Sasha laughed, and it made Stefan frown to hear it. That wasn’t a laugh he’d ever heard from Sasha. It sounded more like when Stefan had been taking lessons as a child and was made to recite in front of the class. Practiced. Rehearsed. Cold.
Nothing like the warm chuckles against his throat that made him tingle, or the ones where Sasha threw his head back, hair spilling, that made Stefan smile back and feel warm right to his bones.
"Naturally not," Sasha said idly. "I am hardly likely to be affected by a pathetic drunkard. Such things are to be expected in a city like this. I am surprised your priests allow you to risk yourself by venturing alone through such unpleasant parts."
A cold tingle ran up Stefan’s spine as he listened to Sasha speak with the priest. His voice was cold, condescending. He’d just called Fritz a pathetic drunkard…
The priest smirked. "I go where I please. None would dare to harm the Lord High Priest of Unheilvol."
Stefan’s frown deepened. Neither man seemed to have the tone he thought they should…perhaps his lowly peasant status was showing. He was obviously missing something.
He was so lost in thought he missed whatever else they said, and only the gentle hand at the small of his back, urging him forward, stirred him from his gloominess. He looked up at Sasha, but the face that watched him back was a strange one, closed in a way that was different from Sasha’s usual reserved demeanor. "Sasha?"
A stiff smile. "This way, Stefan, so he can read your fortune."
Stefan nodded, wishing suddenly they were back out in the wild. The grandeur around him suddenly seemed only stiff, dark, and cold. The pillars and tapestry-covered walls no longer seemed beautiful; the fountains and wide hallways, the way candlelight and moonlight mingled…none of it was half so entrancing as the Sasha he knew when they had nothing but snow and Sentinels for company. Perhaps he was overreacting.
The High Priest led them through the wide, high-ceilinged hallways, through several smaller rooms until at least he stopped in one. It had the same obsidian walls as all the rest, but in place of the usual tapestries there was only one window on the far wall. It was made of colored glass cut to make a picture. Of what, Stefan wasn’t certain.
It gave him chills though. A man with long, dark hair stood in a dark field, the full moon and several shining stars above and behind him. Right below the window was a table carved from dark, black-stained wood. Upon it lay a piece of dark-violet cloth, a bowl carved from the same black obsidian as the temple, and six candles in two sets of candlesticks on either side of the bowl.
"Pardon me a moment; I will return shortly to tell your fortunes," the High Priest murmured.
The door closed behind him, and Stefan suddenly found himself swept up in a familiar embrace, Sasha’s lips warm, comforting, as they closed over his to take a deep kiss. Arms wound around his waist, and Stefan only pressed himself closer, wrapping his own arms around Sasha’s neck, determined not to let him go. "Sasha…"
"Are you all right, sweet?" Sasha asked softly against his mouth, nibbling at his lips.
Stefan’s fingers tightened in Sasha’s hair. "You were acting strange."
"I am sorry. Playing such games as these is something I used to do every moment of every day. I would have warned you I would be acting strangely, but I needed you to be confused, so that he would not spare you a second look."
"Games?" Stefan asked.
"Politics, things of that nature, sweet." Long, slender fingers stroked one cheek, Sasha’s eyes dark in that way that said he was thinking about unhappy things. "It’s how too much of the world works. We will not be here long. I’d much rather kill Sents than play these delicate games all day. Once we have the information I need, we’ll be gone."
Stefan nodded, and on impulse turned his head to kiss the fingers stroking his cheek. He heard a faint, sharp intake of breath, and looked shyly up at Sasha, wondering if he’d done something wrong. Those gold eyes stared back, lit with something he didn’t really understand. "Sasha…"
Making a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a moan, Sasha leaned down and kissed him in a way that made Stefan hot and dizzy, made him ache in a way that he wasn’t certain would ever stop. He didn’t want it to stop. When Sasha finally broke the kiss, Stefan felt bereft. Before he could speak, however, the door opened and Sasha put space between them.
"I apologize for the delay."
"I’m certain you must be busy," Sasha said in the tone Stefan didn’t like at all.
The priest made motions and protesting noises that seemed as practiced and rehearsed as Sasha’s. Even though he knew now Sasha was pretending…he didn’t like it at all. Clinging to the memory and lingering taste of that last melting kiss, Stefan waited quietly while the two men talked and debated, trying not to cringe when he became part of the subject.
"I would be quite interested, I must confess, to know the fate of one who has stumbled across the foreigner that Lord Teufel has brought into our midst. Surely, young Stefan, you must be blessed by the Shadow himself."
Stefan ducked his head, not certain what to say. He didn’t have their cool tones or careful mannerisms. "I am most fortunate to be given this chance to travel in such grand company to such beautiful places."
"Well said," the High Priest replied. "Come then." He turned and led the way to the table, moving around it and indicating they should stand before it. "Shall we do your fate first, then, child of Schatten? So that our strange friend here can see how it is done?"
Stefan looked at Sasha in confusion, but when he nodded obediently stepped forward and held out his right arm. He’d heard all his life about this ceremony. Most people simply could not afford it. He wondered how Sasha could.
He also wondered why Sasha was doing this, when he’d been so blunt about his feelings on fate.
The hand on the small of his back helped steady him as he watched the High Priest slash open a small wound on his wrist with a sharp, silver dagger. He then did the same to his own wrist, and turned both so that they spilled into the obsidian bowl. In a matter of seconds, the clear water within the bowl turned blacker than the obsidian.
Abruptly it turned silver, like a mirror in which Stefan could not see his reflection. He looked up, confused – and stopped. The High Priest’s eyes were the same as the bowl, like a mirror which showed no reflection.
Then he began to speak, slowly, steadily, as if watching something far away and being careful to precisely relate what he couldn’t see clearly. "Darkness. Nothing but darkness. A fate cloaked in deepest night. Hidden by the Will of Teufel. Blessed by Lord Teufel himself, and your fate known only by Him. Great fortune or great tragedy awaits you, none but Lord Teufel can say which."
Abruptly the silver light in his eyes vanished, the bowl nothing more than simple water. Shakily, Stefan withdrew his hand.
The High Priest stared at him, wiping sweat from his own brow with practiced, absent-minded motions. "As I thought, you are most intriguing."
Stefan shivered, remembering suddenly the strange things Fritz had said about him the night before.
The pure, unbroken darkness of a moonless night.
What did it mean? Was he cursed? Did Lord Teufel hate him?
Did Lord Teufel know he was a traitor? For the first time since he’d met Sasha, Stefan grew truly afraid. He began to shake visibly, hugging himself, wanting to understand what it meant to have a fate that was nothing but darkness to the sight of even the High Priest himself. "Th-thank you, High priest, for reading my f-fate."
The hand on the small of his back moved to his waist, and Sasha gently tugged him into a loose embrace, kissing the top of his head, then his cheek, speaking softly in his ear. "You have nothing to fear, Stefan. Not even a god will harm you so long as I breathe."
Stefan immediately calmed, letting himself be warmed by the heat that seemed to pour from Sasha as though he were a hearth. What did it mean that he so immediately believed Sasha’s words?
After a moment Sasha gently set him back and stepped forward. "You are certain, High Priest?"
"Are you attempting to back out, stranger?"
Sasha merely stared at him until the High Priest dropped his gaze. "Let us begin," the High Priest said quietly, and lifted the silver dagger.
Ignoring him, Sasha drew his own dagger and slit his own wrist, holding it over the bowl.
Frowning, displeased, the High Priest nevertheless held his tongue and merely reopened the wound on his own wrist. A moment later the strange, mirror-like surface returned both to the bowl and the High Priest’s eyes.
Then, suddenly, the High Priest screamed, clutching at his head.
Stefan’s eyes went wide as his eyes…shattered. The mirror-like color they’d taken on fractured, each piece turning a different color. In the bowl the water did the same thing, the silver color shattered, became dozens of different colors, so painfully bright Stefan had to look away.
When the High Priest finally spoke, it was though he was in great pain. "Each breath creates a new fate. Each step finds a new path. Each touch alters the fate of those touched. Chaos." Making a sound that was part sob, part scream, the High Priest crumpled to the ground and lay still.
Stefan started to move around the table to help him, but Sasha caught his arm and dragged him away. "Come, Stefan. This is the chance we need."
"Chance?" Stefan asked, looking over his shoulder at the fallen priest but obediently following as Sasha dragged him along, ducking into a small side hall Stefan suspected they shouldn’t be in. "Will he be all right?"
"He’ll be fine, sweet. His only problem is arrogance. I am not of Schatten, it was foolish of him to think reading my fate would be an easy thing to do. I played on that arrogance, and now the temple will be distracted figuring out what is wrong with him."
The words were said so calmly, Stefan could only nod.
Warm lips pressed against his brow. "I am sorry, Stefan. I should not have dragged you into this…"
Stefan shook his head furiously back and forth, looking up Sasha, wanting badly to kiss him or something but too bashful to do it. "No. I want to be here. I just…you’re…I don’t want to be in the way, and I think I am. You know so much, and make everything look so simple…"
Sasha chuckled softly and brushed a soft kiss across his mouth. "Do not be upset that I know my way through lies and arrogance and manipulation, sweet. Men like me are not worth a tenth or even hundredth of you."
Another kiss, one of those which left Stefan aching and tingling, then Sasha turned away and led the way down the hall, loosing his sword in its sheath and unhooking his whip. "This way, I think," Sasha said softly. "Fritz gave me directions; let us hope I listened properly." He fell silent and continued walking, brisk but cautious, yanking Stefan into shadowed corners or nooks whenever someone started to come upon them.
Several agonizing minutes later Stefan followed him into a room that was filled with books and scrolls and things he couldn’t name, in quantities higher than he could count. "Mercy of the Lost Light…"
Sasha gave a soft snort. "Indeed. Come, we must be quick. The fall of the High Priest will not distract everyone for long." Moving swiftly, he strode through the rows and shelves almost as though he knew them. Only the barest hesitations here and there told Stefan that he’d not been here before.
He had a hard time focusing on Sasha and their task, unable to resist gawking at the Great Library. The same obsidian for the walls and floors, the shelves the black-stained wood of the table from before, but the books and scrolls were all manner of shades – cream, brown, black, red, green…such knowledge. Stefan’s skin prickled and he fought the urge to stop and take a closer look at one or two of the volumes. Fritz had said the priests recorded all the fates they told…he’d never said why, though. What use was it to know fates that had already occurred? Especially when so many books were deemed forbidden by Lord Teufel.
"Ah," Sasha said softly. "Here we are." His eyes were bright with satisfaction as he lit upon a shelf of books filled with brown leather volumes, the covers cracked and worn, the bindings stamped with symbols Stefan didn’t understand. "The most ancient histories of Schatten."
Stefan could not resist drawing closer, hesitantly brushing his fingers along the spines of the books on the shelf. "Fritz said opening them was impossible."
"So was the Temple of Sunrise," Sasha said with a faint smile. His eyes flashed like gold as he murmured softly to the book in his hands, then he smiled softly in satisfaction and opened the book.
After a few minutes he closed it with a snap and pulled down another, repeating the process with six books before finally speaking. "Yes," he exclaimed softly in satisfaction, eyes moving rapidly as he quickly read. "This is what I need."
The sounds of voices brought his head sharply back up, and Stefan moved closer to Sasha in panic.
Shutting the book with a snap, Sasha buried it somewhere beneath his cloak and took Stefan’s hand. "Come, we’ll have to find another way out. I knew we didn’t have long, I should have worked faster…" Not waiting to see if Stefan replied, Sasha let go of his hand to get his whip.
They rounded a corner and came face to face with two priests, but before the men could say a word Sasha surged forward and knocked them both out.
Stefan stared. It was one thing to see Sasha kill Sents…to see that same skill used against people…he shivered, but followed obediently past the unconscious men when Sasha beckoned to him.
Minutes later they were back out into the main parts of the temple without further incident, and Stefan mimicked Sasha in pulling his hood up over his head. Shaking with nervousness, wondering what would happen if someone realized what they’d done, Stefan reached out and found Sasha’s hand, grateful when Sasha held it tight instead of dropping it.
An agonizing half hour later they were back at the inn and in their room.
Fritz looked up as they entered. "I full expected to be getting you out of a cell this evening."
Sasha chuckled as he stripped out of his cloak and dropped down at the table, directly across from Fritz. "I would have been interested to see how you managed it."
"Shut up, Drache," Fritz muttered. "I would have too," he responded to Sasha’s comment. "Did you get what you were after?"
"After a fashion," Sasha said with a smirk, and set the book he’d stolen down upon the table.
"Mercy of the Lost Licht!" Fritz exclaimed. "How in His name did you get that? Those books cannot leave the library."
Sasha shrugged. "I broke the spells. This volume seemed to speak of the wall; hopefully it is the right volume. I did not have enough time to tell for certain."
"May I look at it?" Fritz asked. "Drache is causing a ruckus." He grimaced.
"By all means," Sasha said. He glanced at Stefan and held out a hand.
Stefan immediately stepped forward and took it – then yelped when Sasha yanked hard, causing Stefan to spill into his lap. He blinked into those gold eyes. "Sasha?"
A soft kiss was brushed across his lips. "Are you all right, sweet? You are looking a little lost."
Face hot, not certain what he was supposed to do, painfully aware that Sasha was kissing him and calling him ‘sweet’ while Fritz was in the room, Stefan gave in to his urge to hide and buried his head against Sasha’s shoulder. "I think…it’s just it’s really hitting me what you’re doing. What we’re doing. The things the High Priest said…am I really…blessed by Lord Teufel? What does that mean? I don’t want…does he know what we’re doing?"
Instead of Sasha, it was Fritz who answered with a snort. "You should not have wasted your time with that nitwit and his fortune telling abilities."
Stefan frowned. "He is a Priest of Holy Teufel. It is his fate to tell the fortunes of all."
"Fortune telling is not the only duty which priests undertake," Fritz answered, looking up from the book to meet Stefan’s eyes. "It is the most important, but not the only. To say that all priests excel at fortune telling is like saying all cooks are good at making pie. Some are good at stew, some at pies. Some hunters are better than others, so too shop keeps and artisans. Priests of Teufel are not chosen solely for their abilities to tell the fates of supplicants. Many, like the current High Priest, are better at other aspects of running Unheilvol."
"So…he was wrong?"
Fritz shook his head. "More like…he was incomplete. Arrogance clouds his view. A priest is meant to be the voice and face of a god to his people. Such a position is a heavy responsibility, and one of great trust. It should be humbling to know you have been placed in such a position; the High Priest instead is arrogant and overconfident. It will be his downfall." He held out his hand. "Let me have your hand. I promise not to spill any blood; it is merely that skin contact strengthens my Sight." He rolled his eyes. "Shut up or I will dull it instead."
Stefan laughed, unable to help it. He clapped a hand over his mouth the second he realized he was dong it, ducking his head when Fritz looked at him. "I’m sorry," he said to the table. "It’s just…"
"Vastly amusing to hear him constantly lose to a voice in his head?" Sasha finished for him, laughing in his soft way. "Quite."
"You can all ‘scorch off’ as the saying apparently goes." He smiled at Stefan. "Let me see your hand."
Warily, the words of the High Priest still making him nervous, Stefan placed his hand in Fritz’s.
Whatever he’d expected, it wasn’t for Fritz to simply frown in thought and rub his free hand restlessly over his shaved head. He closed his eyes for a moment, breaths slow and steady. When he opened them again, Stefan gasped.
Fritz’s eyes weren’t the mirror-like silver as the High Priest’s had been…they were gold. They shone like a lantern in the dark. "The pure, unrelenting dark of a moonless night. A night when no work can be done…but when people might rest without feeling remorse over time wasted. Where secrets are whispered and forbidden meetings are held. Hard to see, but also hard to be seen. Anything might happen beneath a moonless sky. All favor the light, but there is a time in everyone’s life when the dark is preferred."
Stefan sat quietly, not certain what to make of the words, slowly taking his hand back when Fritz released it.
Shaking his head, Fritz grunted and sat back. "You’re important, lad, no two ways about it. I cannot say how, but make no mistake – you are important." His eyes, once more dark violet, flicked to Sasha. "Interesting that you two, of all people, should meet. Normally I would say it is the hand of Fate at work…but I think this time, I will wait and see."
"I don’t want to be a moonless night," Stefan said softly, curling back against Sasha, no longer caring how weird it felt to be sitting on his lap, wrapped in his arms when they weren’t alone.
Sasha kissed him softly. "Then you won’t be."
Though he wanted to argue, Stefan couldn’t bring himself to do it, content simply to stay safe and warm in Sasha’s arms for as long as he could.
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Date: 2007-06-04 10:00 am (UTC)And Fritz and Drache are <3. One of my many guilty pleasures is the idea of two souls (or two separates halves of a soul) in one body, struggling to come to term with each other's existence (eg. Yugi/Yami and Yukito/Yue) and this one is too pretty for me to pass up. Forget Sasha and Stefan or Stefan and Killian, Friz and Drache may just become my new OTP.
Yay! More Chaos!
Date: 2007-06-04 10:13 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-04 10:39 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-04 11:46 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-04 12:52 pm (UTC)Re: Yay! More Chaos!
Date: 2007-06-04 12:55 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-04 01:09 pm (UTC)love,
Me.
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Date: 2007-06-04 01:29 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-04 01:33 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-04 03:13 pm (UTC)Drache and Fritz are so cute. Wish they could get their own bodies and do fun things with each other! Haha... can't wait till next Monday. Have a great week!
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Date: 2007-06-04 03:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-04 03:36 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-04 05:31 pm (UTC)But Fritz, ah, Fritz is love. And Drache. ^_^ I hope they get to meet as two bodies. Fritz is funny, denying his love. *squishes them*
*beams at you* It's a good day in the Maderr Fandom. ^_^
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Date: 2007-06-04 06:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-04 06:51 pm (UTC)Stefan and Sasha are <3333, but i sense a possible threesome in the works here ^^ and i'm really starting to get into Fritz
I've got my guesses, but i guess i'll wait before i voice my opinion on who's the licht
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Date: 2007-06-04 06:54 pm (UTC)Drache addresses Fritz as his lost half and there's -something- going on between the two voices and all. Kinda mirror the "lost Licht" and how Teufel and Licht are complete opposites yet together yea?
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Date: 2007-06-04 08:12 pm (UTC)The fire child you said a shattered mirror reflecting a thousand fates. - someone ate the opening 'i'
Sasha nodded, the first real movement he’d made sense they’d begun talking. - since?
The High Priest led them through the wide, high-ceilinged hallways, through several smaller rooms until at least he stopped in one. - at last?
I feel like curling up and purring happily now! Thank you!
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Date: 2007-06-04 08:21 pm (UTC)But then, I tend to obsess to much over things like that. Curse Joanne Bertine and her soultwins, making me all interested in soul-splitting...
All in all, a wonderfully fascinating chapter. With every update your plot seems to become more intricate, not clearer; I'm still waiting to guess how things will resolve themselves.
Until next time, much love.
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Date: 2007-06-04 08:26 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-04 09:29 pm (UTC)can't wait to see how you deal with all of these twists. and who turns out to be who in the end. and how killian plays into everything.
thankee!
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Date: 2007-06-04 09:34 pm (UTC)However, now I'm wondering what Fritz and Drache are. They are split souls but what is the soul unified? And the description of Stefan seemed similar to the description of chaos, in that anything can happen under the dark of night. I'm going crazy over trying to figure out who Drache/Fritz is. Something to do with the reason why Licht became lost in despair? Or something else entirely?
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Date: 2007-06-04 09:49 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-04 09:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2007-06-04 10:32 pm (UTC)I don't know what to make of Fritz and Drache, I really don't. Though I do have a small nigling of a theory. I like Fritz better when he's sober, though.
And the imagery of Sasha's wonderful red hair splayed out over his shoulder and sleep-mussed? Yum.