Seven Deadly Sins, fic 2
Jan. 21st, 2006 01:12 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanFandom: Gankutsuou
Characters/Pairing: Albert de Morcerf/Franz d'Epinay
Prompt: 3. Wrath
Word Count: 551
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Characters, situations, etc. are not mine.
Author's Notes: Mild spoilers for past episode 15 or so.
Albert had never been dissatisfied with his life before. Bored, sometimes. Vaguely restless, often. But suddenly, abruptly…
Obstinately, the sun shone. A light breeze off the Seine ruffled the boy’s long hair. Funny, he was a boy. Was still a boy. He had been trying so hard to be a man for ages, and now, in one awful, gut-wrenching moment, his innocence was gone and it still didn’t make him a man. It just made him angry. Consummately, ultimately…furious.
He wanted to run through the streets. He wanted to scream, to hit something.
Are you saying that my father is connected to this…this brute, Fernand Mondego?
Neither your father nor I is true nobility.
Do you think your father was after the king of Janina’s wealth?
Everything is inevitable.
He wrapped his arms around himself. How could it be such a beautiful, perfect summer day? Everything his parents had ever taught him; the value of honor, the responsibilities of the upper classes, care for the welfare of others… they stuck in his throat. Lies, all of them. Was their love a lie? Their love for each other…love for him?
And the deepest cut of all, deny it as he may…was the Count. He thought, above all things, he could rely upon the Count’s friendship. His understanding. The things they had shared… that he had done. Albert was the one who introduced the Count to Parisian society. Albert had brought all those he cared for to the Count, convinced that all would love the man…the monster…as much as he had. He felt tears sting the back of his eyes, but refused to shed them, let the heat of his anger dry them up. Even the coming duel was no satisfaction. Not really. There had been things he had told the Count, trusted him with. Things he hadn’t even…
Told Franz.
Albert stopped, abruptly, the noise of the city muted leaving only the soft lapping of the river against the banks. A figure was walking in his direction. The setting sun made it hard to see, at first, but the walk…the walk gave him away.
“Franz.”
He stopped, as if he had somehow heard the whispered call of his friend. Perhaps he had. “…Albert.”
The two boys…the two young men…ran to each other, faces breaking into involuntary smiles: Albert’s open, Franz’s friendly, comforting. But despite the smile, Albert could still feel the fury flickering inside him, and it ate the smile away. He ducked his head so Franz wouldn’t see. Franz…Franz who had known from the beginning. Who had been trying so hard to tell him. Franz whom he’d cast aside as soon as the Count appeared.
As bitter regret dissolved the hatred away, the tears returned. This time, Albert couldn’t hold them back, so he just leaned into his friend and wept, clinging to the last rock left in his shipwreck of a world. He wept like he had as a child, the first day they’d met, without reserve. Without caring who saw. How much more disgrace could there be than what he already endured?
Franz said nothing. He didn’t have to. He just let his friend cry away the anger into his shirt, silently knowing what he needed. And, for once, thought Albert, I’m actually as grateful as I should be.
Characters/Pairing: Albert de Morcerf/Franz d'Epinay
Prompt: 3. Wrath
Word Count: 551
Rating: G
Disclaimer: Characters, situations, etc. are not mine.
Author's Notes: Mild spoilers for past episode 15 or so.
Albert had never been dissatisfied with his life before. Bored, sometimes. Vaguely restless, often. But suddenly, abruptly…
Obstinately, the sun shone. A light breeze off the Seine ruffled the boy’s long hair. Funny, he was a boy. Was still a boy. He had been trying so hard to be a man for ages, and now, in one awful, gut-wrenching moment, his innocence was gone and it still didn’t make him a man. It just made him angry. Consummately, ultimately…furious.
He wanted to run through the streets. He wanted to scream, to hit something.
Are you saying that my father is connected to this…this brute, Fernand Mondego?
Neither your father nor I is true nobility.
Do you think your father was after the king of Janina’s wealth?
Everything is inevitable.
He wrapped his arms around himself. How could it be such a beautiful, perfect summer day? Everything his parents had ever taught him; the value of honor, the responsibilities of the upper classes, care for the welfare of others… they stuck in his throat. Lies, all of them. Was their love a lie? Their love for each other…love for him?
And the deepest cut of all, deny it as he may…was the Count. He thought, above all things, he could rely upon the Count’s friendship. His understanding. The things they had shared… that he had done. Albert was the one who introduced the Count to Parisian society. Albert had brought all those he cared for to the Count, convinced that all would love the man…the monster…as much as he had. He felt tears sting the back of his eyes, but refused to shed them, let the heat of his anger dry them up. Even the coming duel was no satisfaction. Not really. There had been things he had told the Count, trusted him with. Things he hadn’t even…
Told Franz.
Albert stopped, abruptly, the noise of the city muted leaving only the soft lapping of the river against the banks. A figure was walking in his direction. The setting sun made it hard to see, at first, but the walk…the walk gave him away.
“Franz.”
He stopped, as if he had somehow heard the whispered call of his friend. Perhaps he had. “…Albert.”
The two boys…the two young men…ran to each other, faces breaking into involuntary smiles: Albert’s open, Franz’s friendly, comforting. But despite the smile, Albert could still feel the fury flickering inside him, and it ate the smile away. He ducked his head so Franz wouldn’t see. Franz…Franz who had known from the beginning. Who had been trying so hard to tell him. Franz whom he’d cast aside as soon as the Count appeared.
As bitter regret dissolved the hatred away, the tears returned. This time, Albert couldn’t hold them back, so he just leaned into his friend and wept, clinging to the last rock left in his shipwreck of a world. He wept like he had as a child, the first day they’d met, without reserve. Without caring who saw. How much more disgrace could there be than what he already endured?
Franz said nothing. He didn’t have to. He just let his friend cry away the anger into his shirt, silently knowing what he needed. And, for once, thought Albert, I’m actually as grateful as I should be.
