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Jan. 27th, 2006 03:30 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
brummel.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
nickngregThe inspiration for this series has been gestating in my mind for quite some time now, and I only now started to put it formally to paper. I think I'll be writing as I go along (simply because I have no idea how large it's going to be eventually, but it's probably going to be quite a long set...) because knowing me, if I plan to write it all out and post in pieces...that'd just never happen :)
Also, I'm still thinking of a title, so bear with some of the construction, please, as I try and get this series off to a start :)
Title: The Dreamer
Rating: Eventually some NC-17 because I need some smut in my life, but not this chapter...
Warnings: This is titanically AU, and not only that, crosses-over many many sources of inspiration, including but not limited to: other CSIs, the mythology of Enix's Valkyrie Profile, liberally adapted Norse mythology, Wagner's Der Ring des Nibelungen, Arborwin's Grayling, and other assorted inspirations.
Pairings: This is a large cast and I hope I'm up to the task of juggling so many balls in the air. However, because it is a large cast, there will be more pairings than just Nick/Greg (which, most likely, will take awhile to develop).
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing of these characters, which are all property of CBS. The ideas and situations contained here-in are also highly influenced (in the manner of pastiche) by Grayling and Valkyrie Profile. If in doubt, attribute no credit to me. :)
I was dreaming.
Dreaming for a long time.
And I dreamt the same dream, night after night, day after day, because I was always dreaming.
It is always the same: two boys -- young men, really, judging from the square of their shoulders -- running through a meadow of white lilies by moonlight.
I see their darting silhouettes against the luminous moon as they race through the field, hand in hand. The one thicker in shoulder and thigh leads the slighter, and as always, my heart catches on beauty as petals rain down on them like snow.
Until I am close enough to hear their pained breathing, see the bruises and makeshift splints marking the slighter one and the held-back tears of desperation in the eyes of the other. I hear the smaller one breathe around cracked ribs, around cramping muscles unaccustomed to such strenuous use. I hear him give up when his legs buckle under him, and he collapses among the waving flowers.
All I ever hear is the breathing. A terrified sound like lambs at the slaughter, it fills my mind, pressing in on all sides, a coffin. Trapped. The pain of it causes my own breathing and beating heart to rise. Even the cry of anguish the other boy howls to the moon is drowned out by the splintered rasp of shallow, fearful breathing.
I know the rest of the dream by heart. The stronger one will reach down to carry the other in his arms only to collapse himself in a few strides, grief and fear spilling across his face as he’s pulled down for a desperate kiss. He will leave the slighter one in the field and run off, scrubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands, his shoulders heaving in despair.
My vision blackens. The dream is over. I am alone, and the pained breathing I hear is just my own.
*Valkyrie, awaken.*
It was the voice of the Moon at long last. After many long years of waiting. Of dreaming.
I awoke.
And I forgot everything.
***
Nick often stared at the moon on nights when it was full. It loomed so large atop the flat roofs of the city he could count the crags of its face. He knew them well, had given each a name well-earned after much time spent gazing, considering.
But it had been years since he had looked on it thusly, with wistful remembrance, and so the names were a little slower to come when summoned, a little rusty on the tongue of his mind’s mouth, a little unfamiliar.
He looked at the sleeping form in his bed, the moonlight spilling its fingers over the distressed sheets and blankets creating crags and peaks of its own, and he felt a tug at his heart that he hadn’t felt in many years.
Gregory
Tears came unbidden to his eyes and he fought his lungs as they burned and jerked in his chest. After all these years, the memories were just as fresh. As fresh as the wound of first love.
Only it was now gone and in the past. Nick turned his back on the moon and climbed into bed, careful not to disturb the other man.
But try as he might, his name
Gregory
would not leave him. He didn’t fall asleep until dawn.
***
When I awoke, I had forgotten all but one thing: I was Valkyrie, the Bringer of Souls.
I adjusted my armor, feeling the rustle of wings behind me as they settled against the platemail.
Wings?
With a great rush of air, I stretched them to their utmost span, blocking out the sunlight streaming from behind me, the great gust of wind billowing through the hip-length curls of my hair.
I was Valkyrie, the Bringer of Souls, summoned by the Moon and the Sun for battle.
I made my way to the Palace of the Moon to receive my tasks.
~It is good to see you again, Valkyrie. Your slumber has been long.~
The Sun extended her arms in embrace, which I took, stiffly. But for her statement, it could have been centuries or minutes in the emptiness of recollection since I last saw the Sun.
~You do not remember, then?~
I remembered nothing, but wondered at her private expression. It passed. The Sun led me into the Palace where the Moon awaited.
*Rise, Valkyrie. It is not in me to require subservience from you, the greatest of the Brothers of Fate.*
He looked troubled, that much I could tell.
*There is a storm to come. A war. Ragnarok.*
It was the foretold doom of our people, a mighty world-shattering war that would return the land to the nothingness from which it was hewn. I understood.
*Go to Midgard, the world of Earth to gather the worthy souls for battle. Valkyrie, I lay this task in your hands. May it weigh heavily on your mind.*
Ragnarok. The end. As one of the three Norns, the Brothers of Fate, I spun the threads of destiny for mortals, weaving them together to form city-tapestries of entwined lives, or weaving out threads to separate them, and I cut them when lives were at their end. I was familiar with ends.
But Ragnarok! The twilight of gods was foretold by the Dreamer and was beyond all our hands. Perhaps it would be futile to fight the Dreamer’s Prophecy, but the responsibility was given to me. I could not fail.
I bowed low to the Moon and followed the Sun out of the Palace.
~Valkyrie, come with me and we shall travel once, together. To Midgard, the land of the mortals.~
We walked to a grassy precipice overlooking a valley encumbered by mists before the Sun bade me halt. The breeze was steady, the soft grass rippling in its caress. The mountainside danced with the myriad greens, the blades of grass catching the sunlight by turn. I felt a strangely familiar tug at my mind, like a mirage in the corner of my eye that is gone when looked at directly.
The Sun gave me a knowing look as she sank to her knees, hands below her to feel for the sturdiest branches of the Tree of the World. Here, where the borders of Valhalla of the gods and Midgard of the mortals were most blurred, we could climb down the trunk of the Tree which joins the two.
Slipping down its branches, the sky of permanent night enveloped us, stars so close I could see their arcs of flame as they danced. Touching the Tree always filled me with a crackling tension, like being born from a humming quasar. Although our business was a serious one, I could not help but feel the familiar awe of floating unbounded through inky darkness, not knowing which direction was up and which was down. It was not unlike what I could recall of my slumber.
At long last, the night began to lift as we arrived in Midgard, nestled at the roots of the Tree of the World. The bustling sound of mortal lives and mortal haste starting to fill the dawn aurora, the melange of smells intoxicating and repellant. I could see the Sun was dispassionate, her face twisting in disdain, but it quickly smoothed to neutrality.
~I must return, Valkyrie, but I leave you to your task. Concentrate and you will hear who calls you.
Farewell, Valkyrie, and we shall meet again in Valhalla!~
And she disappeared up the Tree of the World, blinking out of existence.
I shouldered my warblade and closed my eyes, listening for the sounds of suffering, for the voices of those just footsteps from death.
***
Nick startled awake, breathing heavily with fear. The body next to him in the bed stirred, a sleepy voice in soothing tones:
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Walter. Nothing.” Nick said between heavy gulps of air.
Walter tried to wrap a soothing arm around him, but he gently, resolutely rebuffed it as he turned away on his side.
He felt guilty for his brusqueness, but he simply couldn’t bear to be held. Not now, when his thoughts wore upon him like a touch he well-remembered. Nick swore he would make it up to Walter in the morning. But had he looked, he would have seen a strange sparkle in Walter’s eyes and an enigmatic little smile on his lips.
TBC
Also, I'm still thinking of a title, so bear with some of the construction, please, as I try and get this series off to a start :)
Title: The Dreamer
Rating: Eventually some NC-17 because I need some smut in my life, but not this chapter...
Warnings: This is titanically AU, and not only that, crosses-over many many sources of inspiration, including but not limited to: other CSIs, the mythology of Enix's Valkyrie Profile, liberally adapted Norse mythology, Wagner's Der Ring des Nibelungen, Arborwin's Grayling, and other assorted inspirations.
Pairings: This is a large cast and I hope I'm up to the task of juggling so many balls in the air. However, because it is a large cast, there will be more pairings than just Nick/Greg (which, most likely, will take awhile to develop).
Disclaimer: I own absolutely nothing of these characters, which are all property of CBS. The ideas and situations contained here-in are also highly influenced (in the manner of pastiche) by Grayling and Valkyrie Profile. If in doubt, attribute no credit to me. :)
I was dreaming.
Dreaming for a long time.
And I dreamt the same dream, night after night, day after day, because I was always dreaming.
It is always the same: two boys -- young men, really, judging from the square of their shoulders -- running through a meadow of white lilies by moonlight.
I see their darting silhouettes against the luminous moon as they race through the field, hand in hand. The one thicker in shoulder and thigh leads the slighter, and as always, my heart catches on beauty as petals rain down on them like snow.
Until I am close enough to hear their pained breathing, see the bruises and makeshift splints marking the slighter one and the held-back tears of desperation in the eyes of the other. I hear the smaller one breathe around cracked ribs, around cramping muscles unaccustomed to such strenuous use. I hear him give up when his legs buckle under him, and he collapses among the waving flowers.
All I ever hear is the breathing. A terrified sound like lambs at the slaughter, it fills my mind, pressing in on all sides, a coffin. Trapped. The pain of it causes my own breathing and beating heart to rise. Even the cry of anguish the other boy howls to the moon is drowned out by the splintered rasp of shallow, fearful breathing.
I know the rest of the dream by heart. The stronger one will reach down to carry the other in his arms only to collapse himself in a few strides, grief and fear spilling across his face as he’s pulled down for a desperate kiss. He will leave the slighter one in the field and run off, scrubbing at his eyes with the backs of his hands, his shoulders heaving in despair.
My vision blackens. The dream is over. I am alone, and the pained breathing I hear is just my own.
*Valkyrie, awaken.*
It was the voice of the Moon at long last. After many long years of waiting. Of dreaming.
I awoke.
And I forgot everything.
***
Nick often stared at the moon on nights when it was full. It loomed so large atop the flat roofs of the city he could count the crags of its face. He knew them well, had given each a name well-earned after much time spent gazing, considering.
But it had been years since he had looked on it thusly, with wistful remembrance, and so the names were a little slower to come when summoned, a little rusty on the tongue of his mind’s mouth, a little unfamiliar.
He looked at the sleeping form in his bed, the moonlight spilling its fingers over the distressed sheets and blankets creating crags and peaks of its own, and he felt a tug at his heart that he hadn’t felt in many years.
Gregory
Tears came unbidden to his eyes and he fought his lungs as they burned and jerked in his chest. After all these years, the memories were just as fresh. As fresh as the wound of first love.
Only it was now gone and in the past. Nick turned his back on the moon and climbed into bed, careful not to disturb the other man.
But try as he might, his name
Gregory
would not leave him. He didn’t fall asleep until dawn.
***
When I awoke, I had forgotten all but one thing: I was Valkyrie, the Bringer of Souls.
I adjusted my armor, feeling the rustle of wings behind me as they settled against the platemail.
Wings?
With a great rush of air, I stretched them to their utmost span, blocking out the sunlight streaming from behind me, the great gust of wind billowing through the hip-length curls of my hair.
I was Valkyrie, the Bringer of Souls, summoned by the Moon and the Sun for battle.
I made my way to the Palace of the Moon to receive my tasks.
~It is good to see you again, Valkyrie. Your slumber has been long.~
The Sun extended her arms in embrace, which I took, stiffly. But for her statement, it could have been centuries or minutes in the emptiness of recollection since I last saw the Sun.
~You do not remember, then?~
I remembered nothing, but wondered at her private expression. It passed. The Sun led me into the Palace where the Moon awaited.
*Rise, Valkyrie. It is not in me to require subservience from you, the greatest of the Brothers of Fate.*
He looked troubled, that much I could tell.
*There is a storm to come. A war. Ragnarok.*
It was the foretold doom of our people, a mighty world-shattering war that would return the land to the nothingness from which it was hewn. I understood.
*Go to Midgard, the world of Earth to gather the worthy souls for battle. Valkyrie, I lay this task in your hands. May it weigh heavily on your mind.*
Ragnarok. The end. As one of the three Norns, the Brothers of Fate, I spun the threads of destiny for mortals, weaving them together to form city-tapestries of entwined lives, or weaving out threads to separate them, and I cut them when lives were at their end. I was familiar with ends.
But Ragnarok! The twilight of gods was foretold by the Dreamer and was beyond all our hands. Perhaps it would be futile to fight the Dreamer’s Prophecy, but the responsibility was given to me. I could not fail.
I bowed low to the Moon and followed the Sun out of the Palace.
~Valkyrie, come with me and we shall travel once, together. To Midgard, the land of the mortals.~
We walked to a grassy precipice overlooking a valley encumbered by mists before the Sun bade me halt. The breeze was steady, the soft grass rippling in its caress. The mountainside danced with the myriad greens, the blades of grass catching the sunlight by turn. I felt a strangely familiar tug at my mind, like a mirage in the corner of my eye that is gone when looked at directly.
The Sun gave me a knowing look as she sank to her knees, hands below her to feel for the sturdiest branches of the Tree of the World. Here, where the borders of Valhalla of the gods and Midgard of the mortals were most blurred, we could climb down the trunk of the Tree which joins the two.
Slipping down its branches, the sky of permanent night enveloped us, stars so close I could see their arcs of flame as they danced. Touching the Tree always filled me with a crackling tension, like being born from a humming quasar. Although our business was a serious one, I could not help but feel the familiar awe of floating unbounded through inky darkness, not knowing which direction was up and which was down. It was not unlike what I could recall of my slumber.
At long last, the night began to lift as we arrived in Midgard, nestled at the roots of the Tree of the World. The bustling sound of mortal lives and mortal haste starting to fill the dawn aurora, the melange of smells intoxicating and repellant. I could see the Sun was dispassionate, her face twisting in disdain, but it quickly smoothed to neutrality.
~I must return, Valkyrie, but I leave you to your task. Concentrate and you will hear who calls you.
Farewell, Valkyrie, and we shall meet again in Valhalla!~
And she disappeared up the Tree of the World, blinking out of existence.
I shouldered my warblade and closed my eyes, listening for the sounds of suffering, for the voices of those just footsteps from death.
***
Nick startled awake, breathing heavily with fear. The body next to him in the bed stirred, a sleepy voice in soothing tones:
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Walter. Nothing.” Nick said between heavy gulps of air.
Walter tried to wrap a soothing arm around him, but he gently, resolutely rebuffed it as he turned away on his side.
He felt guilty for his brusqueness, but he simply couldn’t bear to be held. Not now, when his thoughts wore upon him like a touch he well-remembered. Nick swore he would make it up to Walter in the morning. But had he looked, he would have seen a strange sparkle in Walter’s eyes and an enigmatic little smile on his lips.
TBC
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Date: 2006-01-28 05:58 am (UTC)