Post by Eurydice on Apr 20, 2008 10:55:04 GMT -5
((I pestered poor Sharky for a while until he wrote something for post-Maura-death Davin. And he did <3 And it was lovely.))
Davin Arkov sat on the floor, leaning drunkenly on the dias, trying hard to sober up. His eyes were heavy, and he could barely see anything in the dark tomb, save for the moonlight spilling through the doorway. He didn't know what hour of the night it was, nor did he particularly care.
His head was killing him.
They'd tossed him out of the Mask again, and if he was being honest with himself, he couldn't blame them. They'd listen to him reminisce every night and join in a hundred toasts to her, but as soon as he'd had too much to drink and turned loud, obnoxious, and belligerent, they'd have none of it. As well they shouldn't.
Davin Arkov, you're a sorry excuse for a man, he thought to himself, rubbing his temple. He was ashamed of what he'd turned into: a weepy drunkard losts in the depths of depression. It'd been nearly two months since that day, but the dull ache in his heart hadn't gone away. The others had tried to console him in the midst of their own grief, Akaran bless their hearts, but their grief was not like his. They'd lost a sister-in-arms, a dearest friend, but he'd lost the one who brought meaning back into his life after such dark and terrible days.
He'd lost his beloved mistress.
Lagoon had insisted he search for an apprentice, that this was the first test of the recently formed order, that grief was better dealt with through action, not sulking. Davin was embarassed to remember how he'd reacted to that; he'd called Lagoon a heartless bastard and blamed him for leaving the assassin alone with her in the room. His rage and grief were so palpaple that night that he'd raised Hyperion against the Grandmaster himself, only to find himself disarmed and on his back, the blades of Waterfall and his own Hyperion perilously close to his throat. “I suggest you take a few deep breaths, Apprentice, and think about what Maura taught you. You're the Sword of Order. Don't lose your head,” he'd said, handing Hyperion back before leaving the room. Davin knew deep down that his mistress's death wasn't Master Lagoon's fault, but he'd felt the need to lash out at someone. He still hadn't apologized, but he knew he ought to.
Lady Amiel had suggested a change of scenery might do him good. She'd asked for him to accompany her and her apprentice on another one of her trips back to Sonal, but his heart wasn't in it, and the thought of spending his time with another Master-Apprentice pair brought up too many memories of his own experiences traveling with his mistress. He wasn't ready yet to face the world.
Nolan had offered the soundest advice. “Deal with your grief in whatever way you feel is most effective, my friend, but do not let grief take hold of your heart. We should not dwell on the dead so much that we forget to live.” Unfortunately, Davin had deemed nightly visits to the Mask and the Mirror the “most effective” way to deal with his grief, and had quite thoroughly forgotten to live. Still, Nolan came out every night to find Davin, picking him up off the road and dragging him home without a word of admonishment. Davin knew he was taking his friend's devotion for granted, but he continued to drink himself into oblivion regardless. It had gotten so bad that Cloche, of all people, had told him to put down the bottle.
Oh Cloche. Dear, sweet Cloche. It had only been a few weeks since when she'd visited him late that night. He hadn't gone drinking; he'd been recovering from a terrible hangover all day and had shut himself inside his room. When she came to him her were eyes red and puffy. She said she wanted to talk to him, that his Mistress's passing had thrown into sharp relief that death could come at any time for them. She said she was having a crisis of faith, that she was scared of death and loss, that she needed someone to lean on. She wanted him to stop drowning his sorrows at the tavern. His head had hurt, and he was cold and callous with her. He'd asked her who was she to tell him to stop drinking? He'd said that death was inevitable and that he was ready for it; that he didn't care what happened to himself or anyone anymore. He'd expected her to rage at him, to bring down the “Queen's wrath” she was always talking about; in fact he'd been hoping for it. He'd wanted to be angry at something besides himself, to rage right back and argue and scream.
But she didn't scream at him, she didn't try to set him on fire, and she didn't act at all like the Queen she always claimed to be. She stared at him and trembled, her mismatched eyes overflowing with silent tears, and she fell to her knees and shook with choking sobs, her face buried in her hands. When he saw her fall he realized how foolish and hurtful he'd been, and her quiet sobs were like daggers in his heart. He went to her and knelt and tried to stop her from crying. “Cloche…Cloche I'm sorry…I didn't mean that…” He'd tried to put his arms around her while she pulled away from him, so he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her firmly into an embrace. “Cloche…I'm very sorry…I just miss her so much…I'm so sorry…” She'd buried her face in his chest and continued to cry. He'd stroked her hair. “I just don't know how to go on…”
She'd looked up at him then with her teary, tired eyes and put her hand on his cheek. Her face was flushed from crying, expression raw and vulnerable, and he inexplicably thought then that she was the most beautiful in that moment than he'd ever seen her. She spoke then, her voice quiet and high. “Davin, I don't…I don't want to lose you too…”
Cloche leaned in and kissed him. It was not like the other playful kisses she'd given him over the years, the teasingly over-the-top ones that literally left him gasping for breath. It was soft, sweet, and tentative, almost as if she was scared of what she was doing. It was an admission from her, he'd realized. In that moment she was telling him how she really felt about him, that all the teasing and flirting was more than just that, that he wasn't just a drinking partner and a fellow apprentice, but much more to her. This was a kiss from a girl in love.
He'd held her shoulders and returned the kiss, but there was nothing fierce about it. It was equally as tentative, but he felt the anxiety in his heart melting away, the sting in his throat that had made it difficult to breath dissipating. It was comforting to think that a simple kiss could do so much. He finally pulled away and opened his eyes, ready to thank Cloche for what she'd done.
When he opened his eyes, Davin gasped and started and jerked away. Cloche started as well. “Davin? Davin, what's wrong?” She'd tried to touch his face, but he recoiled. “What…what's the matter?” He'd shook his head, avoiding her concerned gaze. He knew it was impossible, but when he'd opened his eyes, for less than split second the face of the girl he was kissing did not belong to Cloche.
It belonged to Maura.
His anxiety had returned and his throat stung. He realized in that moment, that split second, why the pain of losing her was so great. They'd known each other for so long, they'd been side-by-side for years, the truth of his feelings never occurred to him. He'd looked at Cloche again, at her worried, tired face. “Cloche…I'm sorry…you have to go…”
“Davin?” She'd been so confused and looked so hurt that it nearly tore him to pieces.
He'd helped her up and steered her towards the door. “Cloche, please…I need you to go…I can't…I can't do this yet…please…”
She'd grabbed his arms at the doorway and looked him in the eye. Her expression was filled with concern. “Davin…Davin you're scaring me. What's wrong?”
He'd stared at her, at a loss, trying to find the words to explain. “When we kissed…when I opened my eyes…” He sighed, shuddering. “I saw her.”
Cloche's bewildered expression lasted only a heartbeat before she realized what he'd meant. Tears had welled up in her eyes and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh Davin! Davin, I'm sorry! I didn't…I didn't know!” Her horrified expression had threatened to tear his heart in two.
He stepped toward her, reaching out a hand. “Cloche…” But she'd backed away from him and hurried off in the direction of her room. He'd stood in the doorway, listening to her steps down the hallway, and then her door opening an shutting. He walked back to his bed and sat, mumbling to himself. “Neither did I.”
“I never did realize,” he said into the darkness of the tomb. He stood clumsily, using the dias for support. He turned and looked at the ornate urn sitting there on the flat marble. “I never realized how much I loved you Maura. I don't know if you felt the same way, and I don't think I ever will. But if you're there, somehow, beyond death, watching me, know this. I loved you with all my heart, and I always will.” Tears filled his eyes and he found his throat stinging again.
He bowed to the urn and staggered to the entrance to the tomb. It was still too soon for him to move on. Yes, still too soon. The pain still felt fresh, the wound too raw. He thought that by coming here he could make peace with his feelings, but they were still weighing on his mind.
He stumbled from the tomb with a heavy heart and made his way home. If I'm lucky, he thought, I'll make it home before passing out.
Davin Arkov sat on the floor, leaning drunkenly on the dias, trying hard to sober up. His eyes were heavy, and he could barely see anything in the dark tomb, save for the moonlight spilling through the doorway. He didn't know what hour of the night it was, nor did he particularly care.
His head was killing him.
They'd tossed him out of the Mask again, and if he was being honest with himself, he couldn't blame them. They'd listen to him reminisce every night and join in a hundred toasts to her, but as soon as he'd had too much to drink and turned loud, obnoxious, and belligerent, they'd have none of it. As well they shouldn't.
Davin Arkov, you're a sorry excuse for a man, he thought to himself, rubbing his temple. He was ashamed of what he'd turned into: a weepy drunkard losts in the depths of depression. It'd been nearly two months since that day, but the dull ache in his heart hadn't gone away. The others had tried to console him in the midst of their own grief, Akaran bless their hearts, but their grief was not like his. They'd lost a sister-in-arms, a dearest friend, but he'd lost the one who brought meaning back into his life after such dark and terrible days.
He'd lost his beloved mistress.
Lagoon had insisted he search for an apprentice, that this was the first test of the recently formed order, that grief was better dealt with through action, not sulking. Davin was embarassed to remember how he'd reacted to that; he'd called Lagoon a heartless bastard and blamed him for leaving the assassin alone with her in the room. His rage and grief were so palpaple that night that he'd raised Hyperion against the Grandmaster himself, only to find himself disarmed and on his back, the blades of Waterfall and his own Hyperion perilously close to his throat. “I suggest you take a few deep breaths, Apprentice, and think about what Maura taught you. You're the Sword of Order. Don't lose your head,” he'd said, handing Hyperion back before leaving the room. Davin knew deep down that his mistress's death wasn't Master Lagoon's fault, but he'd felt the need to lash out at someone. He still hadn't apologized, but he knew he ought to.
Lady Amiel had suggested a change of scenery might do him good. She'd asked for him to accompany her and her apprentice on another one of her trips back to Sonal, but his heart wasn't in it, and the thought of spending his time with another Master-Apprentice pair brought up too many memories of his own experiences traveling with his mistress. He wasn't ready yet to face the world.
Nolan had offered the soundest advice. “Deal with your grief in whatever way you feel is most effective, my friend, but do not let grief take hold of your heart. We should not dwell on the dead so much that we forget to live.” Unfortunately, Davin had deemed nightly visits to the Mask and the Mirror the “most effective” way to deal with his grief, and had quite thoroughly forgotten to live. Still, Nolan came out every night to find Davin, picking him up off the road and dragging him home without a word of admonishment. Davin knew he was taking his friend's devotion for granted, but he continued to drink himself into oblivion regardless. It had gotten so bad that Cloche, of all people, had told him to put down the bottle.
Oh Cloche. Dear, sweet Cloche. It had only been a few weeks since when she'd visited him late that night. He hadn't gone drinking; he'd been recovering from a terrible hangover all day and had shut himself inside his room. When she came to him her were eyes red and puffy. She said she wanted to talk to him, that his Mistress's passing had thrown into sharp relief that death could come at any time for them. She said she was having a crisis of faith, that she was scared of death and loss, that she needed someone to lean on. She wanted him to stop drowning his sorrows at the tavern. His head had hurt, and he was cold and callous with her. He'd asked her who was she to tell him to stop drinking? He'd said that death was inevitable and that he was ready for it; that he didn't care what happened to himself or anyone anymore. He'd expected her to rage at him, to bring down the “Queen's wrath” she was always talking about; in fact he'd been hoping for it. He'd wanted to be angry at something besides himself, to rage right back and argue and scream.
But she didn't scream at him, she didn't try to set him on fire, and she didn't act at all like the Queen she always claimed to be. She stared at him and trembled, her mismatched eyes overflowing with silent tears, and she fell to her knees and shook with choking sobs, her face buried in her hands. When he saw her fall he realized how foolish and hurtful he'd been, and her quiet sobs were like daggers in his heart. He went to her and knelt and tried to stop her from crying. “Cloche…Cloche I'm sorry…I didn't mean that…” He'd tried to put his arms around her while she pulled away from him, so he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her firmly into an embrace. “Cloche…I'm very sorry…I just miss her so much…I'm so sorry…” She'd buried her face in his chest and continued to cry. He'd stroked her hair. “I just don't know how to go on…”
She'd looked up at him then with her teary, tired eyes and put her hand on his cheek. Her face was flushed from crying, expression raw and vulnerable, and he inexplicably thought then that she was the most beautiful in that moment than he'd ever seen her. She spoke then, her voice quiet and high. “Davin, I don't…I don't want to lose you too…”
Cloche leaned in and kissed him. It was not like the other playful kisses she'd given him over the years, the teasingly over-the-top ones that literally left him gasping for breath. It was soft, sweet, and tentative, almost as if she was scared of what she was doing. It was an admission from her, he'd realized. In that moment she was telling him how she really felt about him, that all the teasing and flirting was more than just that, that he wasn't just a drinking partner and a fellow apprentice, but much more to her. This was a kiss from a girl in love.
He'd held her shoulders and returned the kiss, but there was nothing fierce about it. It was equally as tentative, but he felt the anxiety in his heart melting away, the sting in his throat that had made it difficult to breath dissipating. It was comforting to think that a simple kiss could do so much. He finally pulled away and opened his eyes, ready to thank Cloche for what she'd done.
When he opened his eyes, Davin gasped and started and jerked away. Cloche started as well. “Davin? Davin, what's wrong?” She'd tried to touch his face, but he recoiled. “What…what's the matter?” He'd shook his head, avoiding her concerned gaze. He knew it was impossible, but when he'd opened his eyes, for less than split second the face of the girl he was kissing did not belong to Cloche.
It belonged to Maura.
His anxiety had returned and his throat stung. He realized in that moment, that split second, why the pain of losing her was so great. They'd known each other for so long, they'd been side-by-side for years, the truth of his feelings never occurred to him. He'd looked at Cloche again, at her worried, tired face. “Cloche…I'm sorry…you have to go…”
“Davin?” She'd been so confused and looked so hurt that it nearly tore him to pieces.
He'd helped her up and steered her towards the door. “Cloche, please…I need you to go…I can't…I can't do this yet…please…”
She'd grabbed his arms at the doorway and looked him in the eye. Her expression was filled with concern. “Davin…Davin you're scaring me. What's wrong?”
He'd stared at her, at a loss, trying to find the words to explain. “When we kissed…when I opened my eyes…” He sighed, shuddering. “I saw her.”
Cloche's bewildered expression lasted only a heartbeat before she realized what he'd meant. Tears had welled up in her eyes and she covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh Davin! Davin, I'm sorry! I didn't…I didn't know!” Her horrified expression had threatened to tear his heart in two.
He stepped toward her, reaching out a hand. “Cloche…” But she'd backed away from him and hurried off in the direction of her room. He'd stood in the doorway, listening to her steps down the hallway, and then her door opening an shutting. He walked back to his bed and sat, mumbling to himself. “Neither did I.”
“I never did realize,” he said into the darkness of the tomb. He stood clumsily, using the dias for support. He turned and looked at the ornate urn sitting there on the flat marble. “I never realized how much I loved you Maura. I don't know if you felt the same way, and I don't think I ever will. But if you're there, somehow, beyond death, watching me, know this. I loved you with all my heart, and I always will.” Tears filled his eyes and he found his throat stinging again.
He bowed to the urn and staggered to the entrance to the tomb. It was still too soon for him to move on. Yes, still too soon. The pain still felt fresh, the wound too raw. He thought that by coming here he could make peace with his feelings, but they were still weighing on his mind.
He stumbled from the tomb with a heavy heart and made his way home. If I'm lucky, he thought, I'll make it home before passing out.