Cloths of Heaven
(i)
(i)
Crawford looked up from his map when Farfarello entered the palanquin, “there’s someone here asking to see you.”
Crawford glared at him, but it rolled off his back, Farfarello usually knew better than to disturb him. “There is no need for you to disturb me unless it is the Nemesis himself come to barter for Mamoru’s kingdom.”
“He has no interest in Inabayama, and believe me, I’ve asked.” Aya said from the doorway. He looked different, as if when he had left Herensea he had been a sculpture half finished, and the two years had broken the artist who had finished his masterwork in pain and self doubt. His hair had darkened to the colour of a rich merlot wine; his skin was satin soft and his eyes velvet deep. He was also more beautiful than Crawford had expected.
Crawford could not have prepared himself for the man that his Ran had grown into. He wore tight grey leather pants and a heavy white wool duster. His only concession to the autumn chill was a silk scarf around his neck.
A tall man with distinguished facial tattoos that looked like slashes in his cheeks stood beside him. He wore a sleeveless jacket and his leather trousers were only knee length, instead of boots the man wore sandals. He didn’t look like he felt the cold at all. “It’s good to see you, Crawford.” Aya said, “Free, Farfarello, will you leave us alone for a while?”
The tall man, Free, nodded and went to stand outside but Farfarello looked first at Crawford who nodded, and then as he walked past Aya growled at him. It was a feral sound more suited to an animal than a man.
“One would think,” Aya said sitting down on one of the campaign chairs, “that he was angry at me.”
“It’s been two years, Ran,” Crawford said, “why have you chosen now to come back to me?”
“Aya,” he corrected, “Ran died with Inabayama and I became Aya.”
“You took your sister’s place,” Crawford said, “now you’ve taken her name.”
Aya shrugged, it was a roll of the shoulders that Crawford didn’t remember. Ran had been shy and introverted but Aya was self confident and brave, at least on the outside. “Chloe said things have a strange habit of coming full circle.” He lifted the lead figurine of the Nemesis and moved it about in his long white fingers.
“Are you here to see my plans?” Crawford asked, finding safety in rage.
“No,” Aya said, “there is a terrible irony in that, Esset has used me as an excuse to start this war, but other than it endangers you it has little importance to me.”
“You would have been horrified before.” Crawford argued.
“My heart turned to ice when Inabayama fell. I wished for death and I was found unworthy.” He looked at the tiny figure in his hand, “things like war can’t impinge on my suffering, Crawford, even when fought in my name.” He sighed, “I didn’t come here to argue with you.”
“Then why, Ran, why?” The rage burned white hot in him.
“A million reasons,” Aya said rolling his shoulders again, “A thousand million reasons. You were the anchor I chose to hang my life on and without you I wandered aimlessly and lost.” He stopped looking for answers in the miniature he held, “I wanted to come back so many times, a thousand times I wrote to you and burned the letter. I hated myself for what I did to you, but I lacked the courage to come home.”
“Then why now?” Crawford’s rage was white hot but his demeanour was icy. Icy disdain was something they had always had in common. Ran’s temper had been like the frozen winds of the tundra to the north, though his anger boiled and bubbled like a volcano within him.
“I don’t blame you for being angry,” Aya said ruefully. “I,” then the words were gone, they had abandoned and betrayed him.
“You left,” Crawford snarled.
“And I would again,” Aya answered, “but I still missed you every moment of every day. I ached for you, for your courage and your strength but I had to do my duty.”
“You were always honest with me, Ran, don’t lie to me now.” Crawford’s hands were closed into tightly balled fists.
“No,” Aya corrected, “we both lied, to ourselves and each other. I,” he stopped again terrified of the words, “sometimes,” he said, “I’m still the boy in Fujimiya colours terrified to meet you.” HE snorted out a dry laugh, “and more than anything right now I want to move around this table and to press my cheek against your thigh and for you to forgive me.”
“For leaving or joining the Nemesis?” Crawford asked.
“I never joined him,” Aya said, “my sin was greater than that, not knowing who he was I loved him.” There was a pregnant pause as Aya placed the figure back on the table, exactly where it had been, then he sighed. “Were I a greater man I might not have done what I did, then maybe I could choose.” His eyes were downcast and distant, “my king raised me to be a captain of the Heaven Guard, then sold me in Aya’s place. All my life I have done my duty by Inabayama and I have failed. I made you a lousy bride and I was a failed assassin.” He stopped, “I wanted to see you before the battle,” he said, “I wanted to explain.”
“And what does the Nemesis feel about your sudden desire for atonement?”
“He said that as long as I returned to him that I was free to leave.” Aya answered.
“With your bodyguard outside I could rape and murder you.”
“I’d let you,” Aya answered brusquely. “I have always loved you, from that first supper when you were so kind, but you hurt me,” he stopped again, the fire slipping from his eyes, “badly.”
“You left me,” Crawford corrected.
“You treated me like a possession. You used me and then you lied to me.” Aya said, “I knew it even then, but I loved you anyway,” he knocked over the figurine so it didn’t look at him with it’s painted eyes, “I wanted more than anything to hate you for it,” he sighed, trying to rein in his temper, “I never could, and I can’t now.”
“What are you saying?” Crawford asked.
“If you could tell me anything, if I was haunting you, demanding one truth, one answer, what would you tell me? If I was Birman, or the maidens of judgment, I,” he stopped again, “I need a truth, Crawford.”
“And why should I give you one?” Crawford asked, he obviously didn’t want to give one. It was easier to hide behind his rage.
“Because,” Aya said failing to control his rage, “I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he said, “as much as I loved you I thought that you owned me,” his teeth were gritted tight against the words, “I thought you’d just replace me.”
“How dare you?” Crawford yelled, “I love you.”
“You never told me that,” Aya answered.
“I didn’t think I needed to,” Crawford answered darkly, “I did everything I could to make you happy, I tried to protect you.”
Aya took a deep breath to try and calm his temper, “I didn’t come here to fight with you.”
“Then why?” Crawford asked.
“I wanted to say I was sorry,” Aya shouted, “to tell you that,” In a moment Crawford was around the table and his kiss silenced him. He expected Aya to fight him but he didn’t, he gave himself over to the hands in his hair and the lingering taste of the sweet red wine between them. When Crawford pulled back he rested his forehead against Aya’s, “I’m so sorry,” Aya sobbed against his mouth, “I’m so very, very sorry.”
“I was dead without you,” Crawford murmured back, “I only live when I’m with you,” he ran his palm over Ran’s hair, “leave me again and I’ll die.” Aya kissed him to silence him. Crawford pulled back so that he stood over him forehead to forehead. “I missed you so much, I missed you so much.”
Aya was characteristically silent.
“Do you want this?” Crawford asked, he had never forced Ran, ever, and he wouldn’t stop now.
“Yes,” Aya’s voice was broken, “but,”
“The Nemesis?” Crawford asked. “I can’t share you, you know that,”
Aya didn’t answer.
“I won’t let you return to him,” Crawford said, his grip on Aya’s head tight now, almost enough to hurt, “You’re mine, you’ve always been mine.”
“I’m not a possession, Crawford,” Aya said ruefully. “I’m only me, god help me it’s not enough, but it’s the best I can do.”
“You are my love,” Crawford corrected, “you are my bride. If you try to leave me again I’ll have Farfarello take you to Eressea before dawn.”
Aya lowered his eyes, “don’t hurt Free,” he said, “that is my price,” he looked up at Crawford, “he,” he stopped, “he’s not involved in this,”
“Then why bring him?” Crawford asked, knowing he could give him over to the tender mercies of Farfarello.
“Because he’s my friend.” Aya answered, “because of you all he’s never lied to me, he’s never betrayed me, and because he trusts me. He keeps nothing from me, and he let me go to kill the Nemesis even though I couldn’t do it.”
“How?” Crawford asked, his grip on Aya’s wrist must have been painful. “Why can you forgive him genocide but you can’t forgive me for trying to keep you safe.”
Aya laughed. It was a dark and joyless sound. “I didn’t forgive either of you,” he said, “I’m a contemptible horrible human being, Crawford, and I don’t know why you both love me, I can’t even decide which one of you I love, I lack the courage for suicide. All my life other people have made my decisions and I’m in over my head.” Crawford loosened his hold somewhat hearing those words, “you don’t need to hate me,” Aya said softly, “I hate myself enough for the three of us.”
That stirred something in Crawford, “then maybe I love you enough for you to love yourself.”
“And in five years together you never told me that.” It wasn’t accusing, it was a simple statement of fact. “There was a time that I would have given anything to hear those words from you but now they hurt.” He kissed Crawford again, “don’t tell you love me, don’t tell me I’m beautiful, because I’m not, just,” he stopped, “just don’t let me go.”
“And the Nemesis?” Crawford asked, he watched Aya react like he had been wounded.
“He will understand.” Aya said, “he is the best of the three of us.”
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