Angels and Devils
Originally posted to Raythoo LJ group, Aug. 2006.
Ok, my first proper Wraeththu fic, posted here with much trepidation! Please read Author’s note about AU’ness! And thank you, Ms Constantine, for the gift of your wonderful characters.
Warning: Loss of temper in a public place, harish snarkiness.
Spoilers: For *thinks* book 3 onwards really.
Summary: How can Ashmael and Terzian ever tolerate each other, under ANY circumstances?
Disclaimer: I love and respect Storm Constantine’s Wraeththu characters and humbly use their names here. Any screw ups and deliberate mangling of story are all mine.
Authors’ note: This is based on an IM RPG and is about as AU as it is possible to get – REALLY.
Angels and Devils
The parade was vast, stretching from the barracks, through streets used mostly by the Gelaming army, snaking along the glittering waterfront and up through the wide avenues of Immanion, close to the lofty heart of the city, alone on its leafy hill. Phaonica dreamed in the sun, a shining enchantment, aloof as its first Tigron. But today, even it, reflecting the mood of the city, seemed to be smiling.
Everyhar had turned out to watch, dressed in their finest. Hara stood in flowing robes, or artfully cut, impeccably worn concoctions of close fitting leather and silk, some with wide eyed harlings in their arms. Terzian noted they did not point as the parade passed them. Gelaming did not point, not even at him, the Varr, the curiosity. Instead the adults bent to explain in hushed tones.
One child, Gelaming beautiful, tugged at his hostling’s arm, looking up as the har on the powerful black horse rode by, dressed from head to toe in black leather, knee high boots adorned with shining buckles glittering in the sun. He was lean, sharp featured, mercilessly beautiful, his dark blond hair cut short, that in itself a curiosity to the harling, who was used to hara with flowing hair, cut in elaborate styles. This har’s hair was short, functional, aggressively male. Yet that maleness was enhanced by the subtle elegance of the feminine, carefully hidden. He was stunning.
“Who is that?” the child wanted to know, intrigued and delighted, eyes shining.
Elegant lips curled, eyes bore hints of reluctant memories, but otherwise, his hostling’s face betrayed nothing. “That is Terzian har Varr.”