Fic: Asunder
May. 3rd, 2009 05:13 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dolevalanTitle: Asunder
Fandom/original: Original
Rating: PG
A/N: Loosely based on a prompt from forever ago, "snake in the garden."![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
rougen's Company-verse again, yay.
My father knew she was imprisoned. He had to; it was inconceivable that he wouldn't. Mother might have, but probably not; it wasn't her area, professionally, and I doubt Father would tell her. It had been kept totally out of the media, which was his doing, directly or otherwise.
As for me? I was the good son. I would keep my mouth shut, for the sake of my wife and son, if not my own.
But I couldn't get my sister out of my head.
I'd mourned her a long time. Part of me wanted to hate her for putting me through the hell of thinking she'd died. For losing her. Twice, now. They might be merciful enough to send her to a penal colony instead of just executing her, but either way it was equally certain I'd never see her again.
She'd been almost mute, I understood, since they picked her up. She'd spoken, when she spoke at all, in flat monosyllables. She wouldn't give them anything; even if they tortured her, they'd get little. She was - is - a remarkable woman. Even beyond the bonds of family, I could recognize that much.
Besides. It was quite clear, at least to me, that she no longer cared whether she lived or died. Whatever her initial grievances or motivations, it was obvious that she had been deeply in love with the man who blew himself up on the train platform. Blew himself up helping us to get to my wife.
It had all gone so wrong.
And the look on Stella's face, as we'd listened to...
There couldn't be a life for her here, anymore, but we could have given her her liberty. Banish her, let her start over somewhere else.
"We" being Father. He could save her, if he chose.
But he won't. I could see it without asking. It was a betrayal he'll never forget, nor forgive. A blotch on his perfect, powerful family. His perfect, powerful life.
An example will have to be made.
---
Nicolas looked like he was the one being executed as they arrested me. He'd always been more sensitive than Father would have preferred, though he'd learned to channel it.
I could equally see that he'd never break away from the Company. He'd get a slap on the wrist, but given his wife was in jeopardy, there would certainly be indulgence for the incident.
There had been a time I might have wished Nicolas nearby. Longed for the chance to talk with him. But my brother and I had taken different turnings long ago. Had I fully understood and accepted that...
...no. Blaming myself for Marcus would be pointless and egotistical. Besides, I would be in the same condition as he, shortly enough. I was only getting a trial at all because of my family; they'd lose Nicolas in spirit, if not in fact, if they didn't prove I was a thorough, dangerous traitor. It wouldn't be difficult. The sedition charges alone would be enough to seal my fate. I wished it was over.
I could hear it raining. No windows, but I had to be on an exterior wall, to hear so clearly. I couldn't help a small smile, unbidden. A recent afternoon. It had rained, and we'd been uncharacteristically irresponsible. We'd ignored the world crumbling around us and been together as the rain pounded the window of our flat.
I didn't worry about the cause. He and I were replaceable. They'd carry on.
But I did pity my brother, for all he had his family and his money and his security. Because I, at least, had gotten out. I'd lived my own woman, and I'd die that way. And that was more than he would ever have, and more than he'd ever know he was missing.
Fandom/original: Original
Rating: PG
A/N: Loosely based on a prompt from forever ago, "snake in the garden."
rougen's Company-verse again, yay.My father knew she was imprisoned. He had to; it was inconceivable that he wouldn't. Mother might have, but probably not; it wasn't her area, professionally, and I doubt Father would tell her. It had been kept totally out of the media, which was his doing, directly or otherwise.
As for me? I was the good son. I would keep my mouth shut, for the sake of my wife and son, if not my own.
But I couldn't get my sister out of my head.
I'd mourned her a long time. Part of me wanted to hate her for putting me through the hell of thinking she'd died. For losing her. Twice, now. They might be merciful enough to send her to a penal colony instead of just executing her, but either way it was equally certain I'd never see her again.
She'd been almost mute, I understood, since they picked her up. She'd spoken, when she spoke at all, in flat monosyllables. She wouldn't give them anything; even if they tortured her, they'd get little. She was - is - a remarkable woman. Even beyond the bonds of family, I could recognize that much.
Besides. It was quite clear, at least to me, that she no longer cared whether she lived or died. Whatever her initial grievances or motivations, it was obvious that she had been deeply in love with the man who blew himself up on the train platform. Blew himself up helping us to get to my wife.
It had all gone so wrong.
And the look on Stella's face, as we'd listened to...
There couldn't be a life for her here, anymore, but we could have given her her liberty. Banish her, let her start over somewhere else.
"We" being Father. He could save her, if he chose.
But he won't. I could see it without asking. It was a betrayal he'll never forget, nor forgive. A blotch on his perfect, powerful family. His perfect, powerful life.
An example will have to be made.
---
Nicolas looked like he was the one being executed as they arrested me. He'd always been more sensitive than Father would have preferred, though he'd learned to channel it.
I could equally see that he'd never break away from the Company. He'd get a slap on the wrist, but given his wife was in jeopardy, there would certainly be indulgence for the incident.
There had been a time I might have wished Nicolas nearby. Longed for the chance to talk with him. But my brother and I had taken different turnings long ago. Had I fully understood and accepted that...
...no. Blaming myself for Marcus would be pointless and egotistical. Besides, I would be in the same condition as he, shortly enough. I was only getting a trial at all because of my family; they'd lose Nicolas in spirit, if not in fact, if they didn't prove I was a thorough, dangerous traitor. It wouldn't be difficult. The sedition charges alone would be enough to seal my fate. I wished it was over.
I could hear it raining. No windows, but I had to be on an exterior wall, to hear so clearly. I couldn't help a small smile, unbidden. A recent afternoon. It had rained, and we'd been uncharacteristically irresponsible. We'd ignored the world crumbling around us and been together as the rain pounded the window of our flat.
I didn't worry about the cause. He and I were replaceable. They'd carry on.
But I did pity my brother, for all he had his family and his money and his security. Because I, at least, had gotten out. I'd lived my own woman, and I'd die that way. And that was more than he would ever have, and more than he'd ever know he was missing.
