Author: WILSONE1 at Internet-E-Mail Date: 2/10/98 7:37 PM Priority: Normal BCC: WILSONE1 at GAA TO: FKFIC-L@lists.psu.edu at Internet-E-Mail Subject: Last Knightmare (01/01) ------------------------------- Message Contents ------------------------------- Usual authorial maunderings: Well, once again the discussion on Forkni-l rotated around to another series of heated debates concerning the ever controversial episode 'Last Knight'. I personally have nothing to say about the quality of the episode, being of extremely muddled opinion myself; depending on the tides, wind direction and the amount of chocolate most recently consumed. But I was intrigued by some of the 'alternate explanations' for the episode. Several people pointed out its dreamlike quality and many fine arguments were made to suggest that it could very well have been another of Nick's guilt-induced deliriums, Natalie's hallucination caused by exsanguination, or even a fever-dream of Screed's. There was however, one key FK character that I don't recall mentioned as a possible source of the 'Last Knightmare', and so I did it myself. I hope it finds favor with some of you at least. Spoilers: Oh yeah. Ashes and Last Knight all over the place. Disclaimers: As usual, I'm making a hash of other people's property. If they want me, they know where to find me. Permission to archive ====================================================================== Last Knightmare - A Story in One Part Erika 1998 ====================================================================== "You are my closest friend." They were the words he had always wanted to hear, a validation of everything he had put himself and Nicholas through during eight hundred years and a thousand battles. But he did not want to hear them this way, not as a good-bye. He gripped the staff in his hands, willing himself to snap it into kindling and drag Nicholas away from this latest bout of guilt and self-denial. He could not. With those words, Nick had rendered him powerless to assert his authority. Nick had declared them to be equals and demanded the respect that LaCroix could no longer deny him. He stared down at the bowed head of his brother, his son; his favorite and now his only child and the great wall of icy reserve crumbled. "Damn you, Nicholas!" He snarled, almost sobbing and swung the staff around in a great arc, aiming unerringly for his child's heart, which might as well have been his own. In that space of time during which the sharpened point of the staff hung poised above the curve of Nicholas' back, the delighted laughter of a young girl echoed through the room. "Alone, father," The voice hissed with pleasure. "Now you will be alone, just as you left me. You will suffer as you made me suffer, for a thousand times a thousand years. You will know what it feels like to choke for eternity on the black dust of utter loneliness." He cried out as the staff in his hands changed shape and he found himself holding a bloodstained sickle. The head of his daughter/Master struck the floor with a dull thud, followed by the slow, almost graceful collapse of her body. The sickle clattered to the floor and he brought his hands to his face, horrified at what he had been compelled to do. "Divia!" He whimpered, sinking to his knees. "Forgive me." The eyes of her disembodied head locked onto his and the mouth curled into a sneer. "Never." It spat venomously and her headless corpse pushed itself up onto its hands and knees and began blindly combing the floor, searching for its lost head. LaCroix scuttled away from the touch of those lifeless hands into a corner of the tomb and watched as they found what they sought and carefully replaced the head atop its severed spine. Fully restored, Divia got to her feet and dusted herself off. She glanced dismissively at her father, but her eyes lit up when she saw the discarded sickle on the floor. She picked it up, tested its weight and approached the cowering LaCroix with slow deliberation. "Well, father," she drawled with malicious pleasure. "What is that phrase you were always so fond of? 'Quid pro quo', I believe?" ***** LaCroix awoke with a start, glancing quickly at the familiar details of his rooms in the back of the Raven. He sat up and touched his fingers hesitantly against the unfamiliar sensation of wetness on his forehead. He grimaced in distaste at the blood smeared across the tips of his pale fingers and reached for the bottle and glass that he kept on the bedside table. His hands trembled slightly as he poured and try as he might, he could not steady them. He took a quick swallow of blood, hoping that might calm his nerves. "Alone, father. Just as you left me." The voice seemed to whisper directly into his ear and the glass slipped out of his hand to shatter on the floor. He looked around wildly, but there was no one else in the room. Sitting quietly for a few moments, he reached out along that faint line of awareness that had been silent for over eighteen centuries. Nothing. There would always be nothing. She was dead. Sealed in a forgotten tomb beneath an ancient symbol of the sun that would keep her contained for all time and perhaps even beyond. He rose, hesitated briefly and then strode over to the phone. He drummed his fingers as it rang and tried not to sigh in relief as the other end picked up. "Nicholas, how nice to find you up and about so early." He smiled humorlessly at Nicholas' curt response. "Of course I called for a reason. I would not presume to waste your *precious* time. The fact of the matter is, I am going on a trip." He raised an eyebrow in slight irritation. "If you listen for a moment, I will tell you how my travel plans concern you. I would like for you to come with me." He closed his eyes and shook his head at Nick's explosive response. "No no no, you silly boy, I am not suggesting a permanent relocation. I would simply like you to accompany me on a very difficult and deeply personal journey. I am asking you for a favor, Nicholas. Will you come with me, please?" A short time later, he replaced the receiver and slid carefully into the chair behind the desk. "Thank you, Nicholas." He breathed softly. "I am glad that I will not have to do this alone." **** Four nights later in Egypt **** The night was windy and dark. There was no moon to illuminate the treacherous cliffs of the isolated canyon. Even so, two figures had found their way down the ragged slope without the use of lamps or flashlights. The wind whipped at the loose desert robes they wore, threatening to peel them from the cliff, but they seemed unconcerned as they stood beside a gaping fissure in the solid rock wall. There were signs that grave robbers had recently been at work here. "Are you sure this is it?" Nick asked. "Quite sure." LaCroix answered shortly. "It is not a place I am ever likely to forget." "No, I suppose not." He looked at his Master somewhat curiously. "Can you feel her at all?" LaCroix was silent for a moment, peering without eyes into the impenetrable blackness before them. "No, no," he sighed softly. "I can hear only the faintest shadow of an echo reverberating through time. She is not awake." "Well, that's good, isn't it?" LaCroix just looked at him and he shrugged in apology. "So are we going in, or are we just going to stand here until sunrise?" LaCroix clenched his hands into tight fists, but he refrained from striking out at his insensitive offspring. He had told Nicholas much, but he had not told him everything. LaCroix could not expect Nicholas to understand the depths of the horror that filled him as he stood on the threshold of this place. The place of his nightmares, where his greatest fears and his greatest shame lay buried. His greatest love as well. For he had loved Divia. He had loved the human child she had been and the immortal creature she had become. It was she who had saved his life, giving him everything he had ever wished for in the process. In return, he had given her his loyalty, his companionship and his undying gratitude. But she had wanted more. She had wanted all of him; body, heart and soul. He feared that she would suck him dry as if he had been one of the innumerable victims of her unquenchable thirst. She had preferred children, he remembered with a small shudder. She also liked to play with them beforehand. "To improve the flavor." He muttered. "What was that?" Nick asked, looking at the expression on LaCroix's face with no little concern. "Are you all right? Maybe I should go in first." "No." He barred the way with an implacable hand. "No, I will go first. You may follow, a few steps behind, if you please." The way had been partially cleared, but sand and rubble still cluttered the passage. LaCroix moved as if oblivious to any obstacles. Even the larger boulders were simply shoved aside. He stopped before a blank wall and Nick hurried to catch up. He watched as LaCroix brushed his hand across an unbroken clay seal. "I recast a new seal before I left. I wanted to discourage any one who might come after." Nick glanced at the seal, puzzling out the hieroglyphics. "Eternal torment fall upon he who dares break this seal. His spirit will wander forever without peace in darkness everlasting." He turned to LaCroix with a slight quirk to his mouth. LaCroix lifted a shoulder. "I made that up long before I ever met you. Who knew?" And he broke the seal. Motioning Nick to help push, the great stone door ground open slowly. Nick straightened up somewhat painfully and looked as his Master with new respect. "How did you manage to get that closed by yourself when you were so young?" "I was... strongly motivated." LaCroix replied. "Come, the chamber is at the end of this hall." The great stone sarcophagus stood undisturbed, the markings on its surface disguised beneath layers of dust and sand sifting from the rocks above. LaCroix put his fingers under the top edge of the lid, while Nick did the same at the foot. Lifting upwards, they turned the heavy stone on its axis, so that the top and bottom thirds of the sarcophagus were now open to the air. Nick moved to stand beside LaCroix and they both gazed upon the sarcophagus' occupant. "She... she looks like she's sleeping. I don't see any signs of injury. Are you sure--" "--Quite sure," LaCroix interrupted. "She is still inanimate." He moved closer and looked at the pale, peaceful face of his daughter with something like yearning. "Given a little more time, however... you can feel the power in this place, can't you?" Nicholas shivered. "I feel... something. Like the memory of a thousand children crying out for mercy--" "--And finding only torment and death. Yes, that's exactly what it is." His expression hardened. "I remember it well." And he pulled a sharpened stake from his robes and placed it above Divia's heart. "You mean she...?" His face twisted in disgust. "No wonder you had to kill her. She must have been truly evil." "Pray you never know the whole of it, Nicholas." LaCroix muttered under his breath and drove the stake down into his daughter's heart. Her eyes and mouth snapped open and a great scream burst forth. "Father, noooooooo!" Her hands reached up in pleading supplication. Then she gave a terrible gasping choke and fell limp once again. LaCroix was pressed against the wall of the tomb, trembling uncontrollably. "Nicholas," he was finally able to force out. "Would you please wrap her in your cloak and bring her with us." Nick looked at him with wide, shocked eyes and he straightened up with some effort. "It appears that she was further along in her recovery than I anticipated. We came none too soon." He walked past the coffin without looking and stopped in the doorway. "Nicholas, please. There is one last task to be performed and our time is growing short. I only ask this of you because I find... that I cannot." With the muscles in his jaw knotting tightly, Nick stripped off his cloak and draped it over the small figure in the sarcophagus. Tucking the loose ends beneath her, he picked her up and walked to where LaCroix was waiting. "Thank you." His Master said quietly and led them back up into the clean desert air. On a large, flat rock, with the wind whipping wildly, they touched a lighted torch to the edge of the cloak and stood shoulder to shoulder as fire engulfed the small figure. A great tornado of sparks swept up into the sky, burning brightly for a moment before turning black and falling to mix with the eternal sands of the desert. LaCroix turned to his son, searching Nick's face for any sign of the resignation and despair he had seen in his nightmare. "Life is precious, Nicholas." He told him, reaching out to place a hand on Nick's shoulder. "Please remember that." Nick's eyebrows quirked a little in confusion, but he nodded and placed his hand over LaCroix's. "I know it is. I never thought you did, though." "There's a lot you don't know about me, Nicholas." "Maybe on the way home, you could tell me some of it." LaCroix's eyes widened in surprise and then he smiled with genuine pleasure. "Maybe I could indeed." END ====================================================================== Industrial strength dream-catchers may be sent to: Erika