Labyrinth of Stones and Roses by Starsea

The Broken One

Chapter Three: The Broken One

I watch the Western sky, the sun is sinking,
The geese are flying South: it sets me thinking;
I did not miss you much, I did not suffer,
What did not kill me just made me tougher…

Sting
Ghost Story


Darien sat in a cosy armchair in his new home. The ‘lodge’, as Mina had called it, was really more of a cottage, but he didn’t mind that. It was a nice change from the his spacious, minimalist Notting Hill flat.

Along with Andrew, Lita and Mina had helped him unpack. Rae and another new friend, Amy, had made tea and set out biscuits. There had been no more asking of awkward questions on either side, but Darien had felt the girls assessing him again. Andrew, bless him, hadn’t changed a bit. He’d told Darien that he’d pick him up this evening at eight so they could drive down to his father’s pub, and introduce him to the local community.

Darien had almost said ‘no’, but reminded himself that this was just a drink, no need to get uptight. Besides, he was practised at dodging Andrew’s well-meaning but clumsy matchmaking. He chuckled, and got a grunt in reply. He looked down. “And of course you worked hard too,” he said sarcastically to the lump of black fur that was curled up on his lap.

This was Luna, who had turned up in the middle of settling in, and proceeded to get in everybody’s way by curling around their ankles and jumping in every single open box.

“Can’t somebody do something about that cat?!” Darien had finally yelled in frustration.

“You’ve obviously never been around cats before, have you?” said Mina with a slight smile. “They do exactly what they want when they want. She’ll soon get bored and bother Amy and Rae for food.”

Mina’s prediction had been right. Luna had been happily crunching biscuits when they finally appeared for tea. She obviously knew her way around this cottage, but Darien, sensitive to the atmosphere, had not asked any more questions.

He looked down at her. Luna had immediately settled on his lap when he sat down, purring quite smugly at her good fortune. She was a beautiful feline, even by his ignorant standards. Small but elegant, with a sinuous body, her fur was thick and black, and she possessed startling china blue eyes. These, and the shape of her head, pointed towards Siamese blood somewhere. Certainly, she had a dash of aristocracy, Darien decided, tickling the velvet ear. Luna grunted again, curling up tighter in pleasure. Not only was Darien’s lap huge, he also had the good sense to sit near the fire. She was in heaven.

Darien leaned back, gazing through the window. The clouds had been dyed vermillion, damson and gold for the sunset, the highlight of the day. He had never had the time to watch in London, a part of country living that he actually missed. Now he watched as the colours intensified, responding to the sun’s descent below the horizon, until it was completely gone, and they hung in the sky like a tapestry before fading into dignified pinks, lilacs and creams.

Honks made him start. Luna raised her head. One last flock of geese flew in a V towards the west. It reminded him of many things. He had always loved geese, despite their temperamental natures and comical looks. Along with ducks and platypi, they were one of nature’s great visual jokes. (He didn’t count penguins: they were graceful underwater.) His last memory of his parents was on the way to a wildlife reserve, chatting and laughing, teasing him and saying that they’d hatched a duckling by mistake… Blankness. Pain. The bright unforgiving light of a hospital room. “Both dead. We don’t know if he’ll make it.”

Darien shuddered, flung the memory away. Luna opened one eye in protest at the movement and meowed shortly before closing it again.

Strange that should still surface after all this time. A little needle of pain. A secret thorn in his flesh. ‘Orphan’ had lost much of its stigma, but it still brought pity. And Darien was proud, both naturally and because of his situation. He refused to let people think he was inadequate simply because he didn’t have his blood parents. He would show them: and he had. He had worked hard, and he had succeeded because he was tough, not upset by the whims of life and people as others were. But it had turned out to be an empty prize.

He saw the geeze become black spots in the colourful sky. Fleeing east. Just as he had done. Darien sighed. Despite all his vain attempts to convince it otherwise, his conscience was not best pleased at how he had treated Beryl.

I feel the winter come: his icy sinews;
Now in the firelight, the case continues
Another night in court, the same old trial,
The same old questions asked, the same denial.

The shadows closely run, like jury members;
I look for answers in the fire’s embers.
Why was I missing then, that whole December?
I give my usual lie: “I don’t remember.”

“She’s a bitch!” he protested angrily, as it all started again.

‘No,’ it said wisely in reply. ‘You know that’s too easy. And it’s hypocritical. Just because it went wrong, and she can’t let go, you characterise her as a “bitch”. That’s like somebody thinking you’re disadvantaged because you’re an orphan.’

“I’m not going through this again!”

‘Then why are you arguing with me?’

Darien closed his eyes in defeat. He knew that this would keep on happening until he faced up to Beryl and told her once and for all that it was over, but he just wasn’t ready yet. So he had to endure the same argument over and over. Every evening.

A log cracked in the fireplace, a sharp noise of derision. It reminded him of the very first time he and Beryl had met. Ironically, it had been in the country, a large manor house just outside of London that had been turned into a hotel. In the great hall, a huge hearth had burned with logs of oak and ash. Looking at it, Darien had thought that a child could easily have slept there, ready to turn a spit or poke the embers if they weakened. He had been thinking about that boy (it would probably have been an orphan, like him) when a voice said, “Darien Shields?”

The voice was female, honeyed, with a tinge of a foreign accent. Later, she would tell him it was French, and that she had grown up in Paris, but back then he couldn’t quite identify the pronunciation, and it intrigued him. He turned in response. “Yes?”

A woman stood before him in a long shimmering purple dress. It was low cut, but that suited her voluptuous figure. Her white arms were slender and curved, her hands thin with long fingers. She held a glass of mulled wine in between them. Her hair was loose, and fell down her back in gleaming waves of auburn that was lightened to red-gold by the leaping flames of the fire. It framed a pale but stunning face, sensual lips and straight nose, deep-set amber eyes. A smile hovered around her mouth.

“Beryl Malward,” she said, offering a hand. “I’ve wanted to meet you for a while, but there was no-one to introduce me. So I did it myself.”

He noticed her eyes were alternately light, then dark, and wondered what she was thinking. It wasn’t until much later he looked back and realised it had been the firelight, uneven and misleading, but at the same time warning him. He took her hand and felt a shock inside his body, like a bolt through his soul. An overwhelming sense of déjà-vu washed over him. “Princess,” he whispered, the word barely audible.

This time, Beryl smiled fully, tempting him. “Let’s go somewhere we can talk,” she suggested.

Darien shut his eyes tightly. It had been love of course. Since they had touched, he had wanted her, like a thirst in his soul. They had talked about everything over punch, outside in the frosty air. That night, she had come back to his flat and stayed over. After that, they were automatically a couple. He had been blissfully happy, physically satisfied, even ventured to think about an engagement ring…

‘So why are you sitting here miles away from her? It makes no sense.’

This was the problem. Most of Darien’s inner processes ran on cold hard logic and common sense. They had got him through life with the minimum of fuss and they had reaped the benefits, so they were used to being obeyed. The break-up with Beryl was on pure instinct, that poor neglected sapling that was usually in the dark. This decision had not helped it win any popularity. His conscience and reason were furious: Beryl was rich, hard-working, she had social connections and they were great together. She had been right about that. It made him sick. So what if she drove him crazy? There was more to life than success…

‘Since when?’ demanded his conscience. ‘And why didn’t you inform her you wanted to take the relationship in a new direction, instead of destroying it?’

Because it felt right.

And, as usual, there was no answer to that. He had been in the right, but he had used his power to hurt and infuriate her. For that he could not quite forgive himself. He only hoped that Rae was somehow right: that this place would bring out the best in him. God knows, the worst had certainly seen enough of the limelight as far as he was concerned.

Not that he believed in all that new-age mumbo jumbo. Tarot readings, fire meditations - ha! He had no idea what Wicca was. Why would Mina mention it? She seemed sensible in her way. This place was strange. But he liked that… It suited him, more than they could ever guess, even if they used cards.

A knock on the door made him glance up. Quarter to eight?! How long had he been sitting here reminiscing? He stood up immediately, automatic, and Luna tumbled to the floor. She squalled loudly in protest, blue eyes looking ready to cry with the injustice of it all. Fortunately, Darien was good at avoiding female manipulation.

“Coming!” he called, and the little secret slid to the back of his mind.

* ~ *

Earlier…

Rae flipped over the next card. Everyone gasped. Amy’s hand covered her mouth.

“Rae…” she whispered. “Ruin?”

Lita swallowed hard, and felt a sharp pain in her heart. She recognised that image all too well. A person lying on the ground, being stabbed.

Mina shook her head. “What does it mean?” she demanded hoarsely.

Rae analysed the cards.

“Ten of Swords,” she said slowly. “He brings the culmination of our pain. It will get worse, much worse, but better.” She turned the next card, and everyone gasped again.

“The Tower? What, is this guy jinxed?” said Lita, amazed.

Rae shook her head. “No. He will bring destruction to the prevailing order, but it’s good. It will be swift and sudden, after all the pain, and he will clear the way for new things.”

Everyone glanced at each other. They wanted to believe her, but the image of the tower struck by lightning, besieged by waves, held resonance for each of them. And many painful memories.

Rae continued, her heart beginning to beat hard. Hope was rising in her like a kind of yeast, no matter how hard she sat on it. 'Please,' she begged the Goddess, 'please let this be true…' The next card: an angel blowing a trumpet. Waters parting. A couple standing before the angel holding hands. Dolphins leaping. Rae almost laughed with the pure joy that poured through her veins.

“Judgment. Everything wrong will be righted. Karma will complete the circle. Justice will be done to everyone. I only hope that he’ll be worthy…”

“Worthy?” repeated Lita.

“He will be judged too, Lita. I hope that he’ll have improved on himself by then. This kind of thing can’t be revoked. Final outcome…”

She took hold of the card, felt energy flow through her. Then it was turned, and Mina almost choked.

The Lovers.

* ~ *

Around midnight…

Since the pub closed at eleven, Darien was back home early. ‘Like Cinderella,’ he thought sourly, as Luna greeted him with an insistent meow. Mina had told him to be the boss and not let her walk all over him, but he gave her a saucer of water anyway, which she happily lapped up. Darien then locked the doors, tramped upstairs and got ready for bed. Luna followed, and ended up curled on the pillow.

“Damn cat,” Darien grumbled, washing his face. “What are you, my stalker?”

Luna was too asleep to answer; at least, she seemed too asleep. She was good at acting, and it could have all been a pretence.

Darien didn’t know that of course. He brushed his teeth, bone weary and almost collapsed onto the bed. He knew the cause of this fatigue, and it made him feel a perverse desire to resist sleep as long as he could. So he got out his bedside read (Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil) and resolutely began his nightly two chapters. Then his conscience managed to get hold of his eyelids, and grease them with oil.

Darien groaned as his eyes closed slowly for the fiftieth time.

“Alright, alright! I’m going already! Bloody hell…” He turned off the light and lay down, muttering to himself. The muttering stopped almost immediately. His brain was about to have its revenge…

When Darien opened his eyes, he was lying in bed. Only, this bed was a double bed, and a massive one at that. He could just about see the endboard, which was mahogany and carved in an elaborate coat of arms that must be his, he reasoned, as he had done so before, many, many nights. The sheets were soft cotton, the blankets linen, and the bedspread was golden, with purple embroidery. He estimated that he was lying against about four pillows. As always, he experienced a feeling of comfort, of knowledge that he was exactly in the right place. He had never felt so during his real life, and the emotion was always accompanied by a tinge of envy and loneliness.

The knock on the door always startled him. “Endymion?”

A man strode in and yanked open the curtains. “Rise and shine, lazy bones.”

“I’m not lazy,” Darien grumbled. He could never properly see this man, apart from blond hair and a white uniform with gold stripe. But he knew from the mixture of exasperation, warmth and respect that the man was obviously a great and intimate friend.

“Breakfast is being served…sent me up to get you.”

In the dream, Darien heard the name, but he always forgot it. This was incredibly annoying, because what he did remember was that the name belonged to someone very important, extremely close to him.

“I’ll get dressed.”

“Great. I’ll tell them you’re coming.”

A wink (sometimes Darien could see the eyes, sometimes he only felt the gesture) and the man was gone.

The dream, of course, did not allow Darien to go downstairs and meet the other people, which was one of his deepest desires every time he woke up in the bed. It melted into darkness. Into confusion. He fell, and reached out in shock, tumbling through space.

I got to get a message through
I don’t know where we’re going
I wrap my arms around your naked shoulders,
Take cover for the night.

The next thing that happened was a warm body against his. Warm, smaller, asleep and at peace. Totally trusting: he was terrified that anybody should trust him so much, and at the same time, his arms wrapped tightly around narrow shoulders, skin as smooth as milk. His face was buried in hair, gossamer fine, and scented with a perfume he had never been able to find. It was delicate, and yet it stirred him powerfully. A mixture of desire and affection, as he whispered, “I’ll protect you.”

Bright light, and the body gone from his bed. Standing near the window, silhouetted in a slim hourglass. The shape and the light playing on the skin made Darien choke, and he called out her name.

It was a name that he played with, shortening it in affection, lengthening it in desire, but he could never remember. His tongue and lips were wiped clean by amnesia.

I see you in the morning sun
Oh step inside and lay beside me
Tender, can you close my eyes and blind me,
Oh just give me a smile...

Before I fade to silver
Silver-blue for you…

She came back to him, a smile playing on sweet lips. Soft pink lips moisturised by his kisses. Lips pressed gently against his eyelids, breasts swelling against his chest, fingers gently playing with the strands of his hair, trailing over his cheeks.

“Endymion…”

The way she spoke his name, like a prayer, an incantation of the most sacred power. Love. A word that he barely used in his other life, an emotion that haunted this one. His arms slid round her waist, so small, delicate-

I’ve turned into the Broken One
Who lost the inspiration.
I want to give you all my love
Like water to a blood red rose.
The Passion – I can’t deal with her.
The Pain – well, I can do without him.
And this is like the Milky Way,
An ocean that only grows and grows…

Holding her in his arms afterwards, he felt the difference. The huge gap between Endymion and Darien. Endymion knew who he was, what he was, and he was content. He was satisfied. He had everything.

And Darien envied him for it so bitterly. Surely he shared this experiences and emotions for a reason? He refused to believe that this might be a past life. He and this guy had nothing in common.

Nothing.

Except… this girl. The longing for her. The desire to give her everything. It terrified Darien. It enthralled Endymion. His life had been so easy that a challenging emotion only excited him. But Darien knew all too well how easily life could break you inside.

‘No,’ he said silently, over and over, ‘no, I can’t do this.’

Then she would wake up, with those eyes of silver-blue, and he would fall again - they would both fall again, deeper and deeper.

Because she asked nothing, she only gave. So unlike everyone else he had known in his life. So unlike Beryl.

And babe, I fade to silver
Silver-blue for you,
I turn and fade to silver,
Silver-blue for you.

I wrap my arms around your naked shoulders,
Take cover for the night.

He always swore not to think that thought, but he always did. And when that name came into his mind, she started to disappear. He cried out her name, reaching, but she dissolved in his hands like mist, her eyes lingering, full of sorrow and bewilderment, eyes of silver tears as the darkness flowed back, suffocating, omnipotent. Unbeatable.

And Darien awoke in his narrow bed, the coverlet over his face, Luna purring in his ear. He touched his cheek. As always, it was wet.


DISCLAIMER: Sailor Moon belongs to Naoko Takeuchi, not me.


Author’s Notes: The song punctuating Darien’s dream is called Silver Blue by Roxette. I love Roxette. They are one of my favourite bands. Their ballads are beyond compare. I wanted to explore Darien’s character and his motivations in this chapter, so I hope you understand him a little better, for those who didn’t quite get his relationship with Beryl. Remember, read and review! Even if it’s only a line to my e-mail address or my dotmoon inbox under Starsea, comments are always appreciated! :)

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