FIC: The Desert Prince 7
Sep. 15th, 2003 04:41 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
lobelia321Well, I transferred the fascicle to a disk (!) and uploaded it to t'hubster's laptop and connected via his dial-up and goodness me what a bother to post one fic. The posting delay, of course, occasioned an entire re-write of the chapter. Let's hope that was to the advantage of the series. Anyway: enjoy it!
Title: The Desert Prince: A Fable
Part: 7 (Back to Part 6 .)
Author: Lobelia; lobelia40@yahoo.com
Other info and cast list: See Prologue.
~~~~~
Fascicle the Seventh
I know not how the rest of those incantations passed, nor how I managed to rise at the end of them and walk towards the blue-green gate as if the day were the same as it had been when first I awoke.
Silent was the crowd and hot was the sun upon our heads. I, too, was silent. I, too, shuffled along in that throng of men. I shuffled along next to my beloved friend, my Sean ben Bean, but I did not look at him. I did not look at anyone. I kept my gaze on my feet for I was afraid that if I did not anchor my steps with my eyes, I would falter and fall and never get up again.
Once we had passed through the gate, the silence broke. All about us, friends burst out laughing and greeted each other, backs were clapped and hands clasped, there were jokes and gesticulations. All about me, relief broke the dams of fear as water bubbles out of the desert springs after a severe drought.
Only I could not laugh. The serpent of fear lay coiled about my heart, and the eagle of terror pecked at my liver. And yet, even as I walked as a man half-dazed, I could not be sure whether I was unsettled more by the might of the Duke or by the power he had touched to life inside me.
The voices of my companions rang out as if from far away. I heard the jovial tones of Uncle John and the measured replies of my Sean, and then the louder pitch of a direct address as a hand fell on my back. I started.
But it was only John ben Rhys. "Young son," he chuckled, "methinks that you are quite befuddled by what has passed. And I will not deny that it is a sore trial for anybody, especially one so young and one so new to the ways of this fortress. But come now and take cheer, it is over and it is time for our luncheon. You both must come and join me. I have figs and curds and unleavened bread, and plenty of wine, always that, and I will save the best vintages for you!"
I had kept the folds of my turban wrapped around my face, and I kept them there now. So John could not know that I was more than just befuddled. He could not fathom what had happened to me in the Duke's courtyard. He could not -- but my beloved friend could.
I saw my friend, my Sean ben Bean, glance at me. I felt his hand upon my arm, and I heard his voice, low and tender, meant only for my ears and no one else's:
"Are you unwell, Orlando? You do not seem yourself."
I did not reply. I could not. Fear had come to roost in the house of my heart. Fear cast a shadow over my words and placed a lock upon the door of my soul. It was the first of the evils wrought by the Desert Duke and perhaps, despite all that followed, it was also the worst. For it drove a barrier between my beloved friend and me. Fear throttled my words, and when it had finished throttling them, it released them one by one but twisted and turned and full of confusion.
"It is nothing," I murmured into my turban's folds. "I feel only a little faint. The heat, the travails of the journey, the unfamiliar food... It will pass."
"So, my dear friends!" boomed the voice of John ben Rhys and, terrible as it may sound, I was relieved at the interruption. "Are you coming or not?"
My beloved friend was still looking at me with the quiet intent of his eyes. Then he turned, and I heard him say, "Be thanked, John, and let my gratitude sweeten your meal. Later, we will join you but now we must rest and prepare for this afternoon's work."
There was some more back and forth, in the manner of polite men pressing for acceptance on the one hand and declining it on the other, but in the end our jolly companion left, and with him all the merriment of that crowd of men.
We turned a corner into an empty lane. My friend slipped the cloth from my face. He said nothing then but he looked at me for a long spell. He looked at me with his clear and serious eyes. He looked at me with all the love of a lifetime, and under that look I quailed and shook. The turmoil in my heart fell into my belly, and from my belly it rose up and heaved into my mouth. I doubled over and was sick on the paving slabs, like a cur kicked in the kidneys by a pack of beggar boys.
Quietly, my beloved Sean handed me a kerchief and I cleaned my mouth and nose. He waited until I had righted myself, then he placed his hand upon the side of my neck. The gesture brought tears to my eyes. It was a memory of times long gone, a gesture from my boyhood when my beloved friend had to chide me for some misdemeanour or other. For he had been my guardian as long as I could remember, and he had cared for me as an older brother cares for his charge. How often had he come upon me -- me with my hand in the honey jar or my foot in the stirrup of a fellow merchant's camel --, how often had he come upon me in such moments, placed his hand upon the side of my neck and spoken gentle words of reprimand.
Never had my beloved Sean raised his voice at me, and never had he taken his hand to me. And even now, in the hour of our greatest peril, he simply smiled a sad smile and said, "You did what is forbidden. Is this not so?"
Words then came forth, but not the right ones. Although, if I think on it now, I cannot divine what would have been the right ones. And perhaps there were no right words for that time and that place.
"Yes," I whispered. "Oh, my beloved friend, yes, I did what you begged me not to do. I lifted my eyes and I looked up at the Desert Duke. Forgive me for I have brought death upon our heads."
I opened my mouth to go on. I opened my mouth to tell my friend of the other thing that I had learned, of the strange power within me, but instead, I fell on my knees and pressed my lips to his shoes.
He pulled me up. "Orlando," he said. "There is no need for this. You are not to blame. It is my fault for bringing you here. You were not ready for it. My dearest heart, angel of my eyes..." He clasped me to his bosom then, only briefly, and then held my hands as he spoke. "Did anybody see you look upon the Duke?"
"Yes," I replied in anguish. "Yes, of course. The Duke himself saw me! Oh, all is lost."
"Softly, my angel. You have faced great danger, and you have survived. And that gives us hope. For at least we know this: the tales of the Desert Duke's evil eyes are nothing more than that -- mere tales to keep the people in fear."
"Oh no!" I cried. "It is true that we are now in mortal danger. It is all too true!"
"Yes, I fear you are right. I doubt not that the Duke will seek to persecute and kill us. He will not want the secret of this tale to be revealed. He will need to keep his subjects superstitious and afraid."
I shook my head for I knew the Duke's power to be real and true and more terrible than any tale but still I said nothing. I had not told my beloved friend of my inner secret before, and I did not tell him of it then, now that it had been twisted into something that frightened even me.
And who can be certain that he would have believed me? Regret is easy but, as I now know, choosing the right path is hard, and there was none and nothing to guide me.
"Listen well, Orlando," my Sean said to me in that shadowy lane. "I see no guards -- yet. I hear no clank of metal on metal -- yet. There may yet be time to flee this place, and here is what we will do."
My Sean spoke in quiet but urgent tones as he laid his plans before me. And I, I listened and nodded, and slowly I felt the blood return to my limbs. For despite the fear in my heart and the shadow in my soul, the voice of my friend could still soothe me and the balm of his love was strong. Each of his words stilled my unquiet pulse, and each of his words showed me again the true nature of my beloved friend.
For he was undaunted and fearless, and his mind was as logical and clear as one of the irrigated gardens in a sultan's palace.
Here is what my beloved friend's plans were: We must leave at once but without undue haste lest we be noticed. He would go to our friend, John ben Rhys, and leave him with money to settle our bills. He would also ask around to discover if there were ways to get out of the castle without passing through the main gates. Then he would go to the stables and saddle our mules, and I should meet him there at moonrise.
"Moonrise?" I said. "That is many hours hence. Can we not leave earlier?"
"My dear heart," he replied. "I understand your impatience. I feel it, too. But the nearest oasis is two nights' ride away. If we leave in the heat of day, we will end up as fodder for the vultures. Remember that this citadel is guarded not only by high battlements and guards but by the desert itself. We must take plenty of water and we must not exhaust our steeds for the desert sun is fierce and the way is long."
I saw the sense of this although my heart quaked.
My friend went on. "You, Orlando, must hide among the crowds. Mingle and wander. Do not return to our lodgings. Do not draw notice to yourself."
It was strange, strange and unreal, to be making plans like this while nothing moved in the lane except a scarab scuttling along the gutter and flies settling on where I had fouled the stone. There were few voices from the main streets beyond as people had repaired to their taverns and tables for the midday meal. It seemed hard to believe that our lives had changed from one moment to the next.
My life had changed. But Sean's had not.
I started to whisper fiercely. "My beloved friend," I urged, "the best-laid plans may fail. If I am caught and if I am not at the stables this evening, promise me that you will not wait for me. Promise me that you will leave at once and not look back. It is not you they want to keep here."
"Do not speak like this," my beloved Sean replied. "You know that I will never leave you. You know that I will fight to the death for you."
"I know," I said then, "and it is just what I am afraid of."
I also knew that he would not be swayed, and although my mind wished that he would go without me, my heart was glad.
"Now we must part," Sean said, "until tonight. Here, take this pouch. It contains half our takings of this morning's trade. It may prove to be of use. Perhaps one of the guards may be bribed."
I did not believe that money would buy us freedom. Indeed, in the depths of my being, I did not believe that any part of my beloved friend's plan would come to pass but nevertheless I clung to my friend's hope and to his conviction that through cunning and circumspection we might yet escape this cursed citadel.
"Let us not tarry longer," my beloved friend said. "It is best, I think, if you keep on the move. Speak to nobody, and if you must, tell them nothing of importance. Tell them we are planning to stay here for many days yet and act carefree as if you suspect nothing."
I embraced my friend, and he embraced me, as comrades-in-arms embrace one another before a battle. But then my beloved friend pressed his lips to my forehead and muttered, "Take heart, little treasure. Tyrants are powerful but they are not all-powerful. They often have enemies, and these enemies may become our friends. So take heart and we will see each other soon."
My throat felt too tight for speech. My beloved friend had not called me his 'little treasure' for many years, not since I was a child in cap and slippers.
"Be bold," said my beloved friend, my Sean ben Bean.
And then we parted.
I drew the folds of my turban about my face once again and tried to walk upright as I made my way back to the thoroughfare. A man rounded a far corner. A sparrow hopped along the ground, hugging the shade of the walls. All was calm in the noonday heat. But that was the worst of it, that was the worst of all. I made myself grey as a mouse but I was a mouse caught in a trap, and the Duke was just toying with us as he left us to scuttle around the maze of his deceitfully peaceful realm.
I tried to go unnoticed but I had been noticed already. I had been noticed by the Duke's gaze, and that I knew. But I had been noticed by other pairs of eyes, and those I did not know. The Duke was not the only one vigilant in the Desert Citadel. His castle was full of spies and full of eyes. And the eyes and the spies had been following me, they had been keeping watch, they had kept alert and attentive, and they would not let me escape.
~~~~~
TBC
Title: The Desert Prince: A Fable
Part: 7 (Back to Part 6 .)
Author: Lobelia; lobelia40@yahoo.com
Other info and cast list: See Prologue.
~~~~~
Fascicle the Seventh
I know not how the rest of those incantations passed, nor how I managed to rise at the end of them and walk towards the blue-green gate as if the day were the same as it had been when first I awoke.
Silent was the crowd and hot was the sun upon our heads. I, too, was silent. I, too, shuffled along in that throng of men. I shuffled along next to my beloved friend, my Sean ben Bean, but I did not look at him. I did not look at anyone. I kept my gaze on my feet for I was afraid that if I did not anchor my steps with my eyes, I would falter and fall and never get up again.
Once we had passed through the gate, the silence broke. All about us, friends burst out laughing and greeted each other, backs were clapped and hands clasped, there were jokes and gesticulations. All about me, relief broke the dams of fear as water bubbles out of the desert springs after a severe drought.
Only I could not laugh. The serpent of fear lay coiled about my heart, and the eagle of terror pecked at my liver. And yet, even as I walked as a man half-dazed, I could not be sure whether I was unsettled more by the might of the Duke or by the power he had touched to life inside me.
The voices of my companions rang out as if from far away. I heard the jovial tones of Uncle John and the measured replies of my Sean, and then the louder pitch of a direct address as a hand fell on my back. I started.
But it was only John ben Rhys. "Young son," he chuckled, "methinks that you are quite befuddled by what has passed. And I will not deny that it is a sore trial for anybody, especially one so young and one so new to the ways of this fortress. But come now and take cheer, it is over and it is time for our luncheon. You both must come and join me. I have figs and curds and unleavened bread, and plenty of wine, always that, and I will save the best vintages for you!"
I had kept the folds of my turban wrapped around my face, and I kept them there now. So John could not know that I was more than just befuddled. He could not fathom what had happened to me in the Duke's courtyard. He could not -- but my beloved friend could.
I saw my friend, my Sean ben Bean, glance at me. I felt his hand upon my arm, and I heard his voice, low and tender, meant only for my ears and no one else's:
"Are you unwell, Orlando? You do not seem yourself."
I did not reply. I could not. Fear had come to roost in the house of my heart. Fear cast a shadow over my words and placed a lock upon the door of my soul. It was the first of the evils wrought by the Desert Duke and perhaps, despite all that followed, it was also the worst. For it drove a barrier between my beloved friend and me. Fear throttled my words, and when it had finished throttling them, it released them one by one but twisted and turned and full of confusion.
"It is nothing," I murmured into my turban's folds. "I feel only a little faint. The heat, the travails of the journey, the unfamiliar food... It will pass."
"So, my dear friends!" boomed the voice of John ben Rhys and, terrible as it may sound, I was relieved at the interruption. "Are you coming or not?"
My beloved friend was still looking at me with the quiet intent of his eyes. Then he turned, and I heard him say, "Be thanked, John, and let my gratitude sweeten your meal. Later, we will join you but now we must rest and prepare for this afternoon's work."
There was some more back and forth, in the manner of polite men pressing for acceptance on the one hand and declining it on the other, but in the end our jolly companion left, and with him all the merriment of that crowd of men.
We turned a corner into an empty lane. My friend slipped the cloth from my face. He said nothing then but he looked at me for a long spell. He looked at me with his clear and serious eyes. He looked at me with all the love of a lifetime, and under that look I quailed and shook. The turmoil in my heart fell into my belly, and from my belly it rose up and heaved into my mouth. I doubled over and was sick on the paving slabs, like a cur kicked in the kidneys by a pack of beggar boys.
Quietly, my beloved Sean handed me a kerchief and I cleaned my mouth and nose. He waited until I had righted myself, then he placed his hand upon the side of my neck. The gesture brought tears to my eyes. It was a memory of times long gone, a gesture from my boyhood when my beloved friend had to chide me for some misdemeanour or other. For he had been my guardian as long as I could remember, and he had cared for me as an older brother cares for his charge. How often had he come upon me -- me with my hand in the honey jar or my foot in the stirrup of a fellow merchant's camel --, how often had he come upon me in such moments, placed his hand upon the side of my neck and spoken gentle words of reprimand.
Never had my beloved Sean raised his voice at me, and never had he taken his hand to me. And even now, in the hour of our greatest peril, he simply smiled a sad smile and said, "You did what is forbidden. Is this not so?"
Words then came forth, but not the right ones. Although, if I think on it now, I cannot divine what would have been the right ones. And perhaps there were no right words for that time and that place.
"Yes," I whispered. "Oh, my beloved friend, yes, I did what you begged me not to do. I lifted my eyes and I looked up at the Desert Duke. Forgive me for I have brought death upon our heads."
I opened my mouth to go on. I opened my mouth to tell my friend of the other thing that I had learned, of the strange power within me, but instead, I fell on my knees and pressed my lips to his shoes.
He pulled me up. "Orlando," he said. "There is no need for this. You are not to blame. It is my fault for bringing you here. You were not ready for it. My dearest heart, angel of my eyes..." He clasped me to his bosom then, only briefly, and then held my hands as he spoke. "Did anybody see you look upon the Duke?"
"Yes," I replied in anguish. "Yes, of course. The Duke himself saw me! Oh, all is lost."
"Softly, my angel. You have faced great danger, and you have survived. And that gives us hope. For at least we know this: the tales of the Desert Duke's evil eyes are nothing more than that -- mere tales to keep the people in fear."
"Oh no!" I cried. "It is true that we are now in mortal danger. It is all too true!"
"Yes, I fear you are right. I doubt not that the Duke will seek to persecute and kill us. He will not want the secret of this tale to be revealed. He will need to keep his subjects superstitious and afraid."
I shook my head for I knew the Duke's power to be real and true and more terrible than any tale but still I said nothing. I had not told my beloved friend of my inner secret before, and I did not tell him of it then, now that it had been twisted into something that frightened even me.
And who can be certain that he would have believed me? Regret is easy but, as I now know, choosing the right path is hard, and there was none and nothing to guide me.
"Listen well, Orlando," my Sean said to me in that shadowy lane. "I see no guards -- yet. I hear no clank of metal on metal -- yet. There may yet be time to flee this place, and here is what we will do."
My Sean spoke in quiet but urgent tones as he laid his plans before me. And I, I listened and nodded, and slowly I felt the blood return to my limbs. For despite the fear in my heart and the shadow in my soul, the voice of my friend could still soothe me and the balm of his love was strong. Each of his words stilled my unquiet pulse, and each of his words showed me again the true nature of my beloved friend.
For he was undaunted and fearless, and his mind was as logical and clear as one of the irrigated gardens in a sultan's palace.
Here is what my beloved friend's plans were: We must leave at once but without undue haste lest we be noticed. He would go to our friend, John ben Rhys, and leave him with money to settle our bills. He would also ask around to discover if there were ways to get out of the castle without passing through the main gates. Then he would go to the stables and saddle our mules, and I should meet him there at moonrise.
"Moonrise?" I said. "That is many hours hence. Can we not leave earlier?"
"My dear heart," he replied. "I understand your impatience. I feel it, too. But the nearest oasis is two nights' ride away. If we leave in the heat of day, we will end up as fodder for the vultures. Remember that this citadel is guarded not only by high battlements and guards but by the desert itself. We must take plenty of water and we must not exhaust our steeds for the desert sun is fierce and the way is long."
I saw the sense of this although my heart quaked.
My friend went on. "You, Orlando, must hide among the crowds. Mingle and wander. Do not return to our lodgings. Do not draw notice to yourself."
It was strange, strange and unreal, to be making plans like this while nothing moved in the lane except a scarab scuttling along the gutter and flies settling on where I had fouled the stone. There were few voices from the main streets beyond as people had repaired to their taverns and tables for the midday meal. It seemed hard to believe that our lives had changed from one moment to the next.
My life had changed. But Sean's had not.
I started to whisper fiercely. "My beloved friend," I urged, "the best-laid plans may fail. If I am caught and if I am not at the stables this evening, promise me that you will not wait for me. Promise me that you will leave at once and not look back. It is not you they want to keep here."
"Do not speak like this," my beloved Sean replied. "You know that I will never leave you. You know that I will fight to the death for you."
"I know," I said then, "and it is just what I am afraid of."
I also knew that he would not be swayed, and although my mind wished that he would go without me, my heart was glad.
"Now we must part," Sean said, "until tonight. Here, take this pouch. It contains half our takings of this morning's trade. It may prove to be of use. Perhaps one of the guards may be bribed."
I did not believe that money would buy us freedom. Indeed, in the depths of my being, I did not believe that any part of my beloved friend's plan would come to pass but nevertheless I clung to my friend's hope and to his conviction that through cunning and circumspection we might yet escape this cursed citadel.
"Let us not tarry longer," my beloved friend said. "It is best, I think, if you keep on the move. Speak to nobody, and if you must, tell them nothing of importance. Tell them we are planning to stay here for many days yet and act carefree as if you suspect nothing."
I embraced my friend, and he embraced me, as comrades-in-arms embrace one another before a battle. But then my beloved friend pressed his lips to my forehead and muttered, "Take heart, little treasure. Tyrants are powerful but they are not all-powerful. They often have enemies, and these enemies may become our friends. So take heart and we will see each other soon."
My throat felt too tight for speech. My beloved friend had not called me his 'little treasure' for many years, not since I was a child in cap and slippers.
"Be bold," said my beloved friend, my Sean ben Bean.
And then we parted.
I drew the folds of my turban about my face once again and tried to walk upright as I made my way back to the thoroughfare. A man rounded a far corner. A sparrow hopped along the ground, hugging the shade of the walls. All was calm in the noonday heat. But that was the worst of it, that was the worst of all. I made myself grey as a mouse but I was a mouse caught in a trap, and the Duke was just toying with us as he left us to scuttle around the maze of his deceitfully peaceful realm.
I tried to go unnoticed but I had been noticed already. I had been noticed by the Duke's gaze, and that I knew. But I had been noticed by other pairs of eyes, and those I did not know. The Duke was not the only one vigilant in the Desert Citadel. His castle was full of spies and full of eyes. And the eyes and the spies had been following me, they had been keeping watch, they had kept alert and attentive, and they would not let me escape.
~~~~~
TBC
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
wklpfjklspfts!!!!
Date: 2003-09-15 09:58 am (UTC)prostitute myselfdo anything to make you write faster!!!Re: wklpfjklspfts!!!!
Date: 2003-09-15 10:19 am (UTC)Re: wklpfjklspfts!!!!
Date: 2003-09-15 11:01 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-09-15 11:08 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-09-15 01:53 pm (UTC)Yes, post-colonial!slash... I am so totally un-pc here, it is quite shocking. My excuse is that it is po-mo pastiche and not realism. And with what post-9/11 cunning I avoid Islam! It's actually starting to be a headache because don't these people have a faith? Where are the minarets? Again, my excuse: ah, 'tis a dream world!
Thank you!
Date: 2003-09-15 11:34 am (UTC)Re: Thank you!
Date: 2003-09-15 01:57 pm (UTC)And I am absurdly pleased that you, queen of plotting, are in my thrall.
And the jury? I think it's in.
*walks along the red fb-carpet*
Date: 2003-09-15 12:32 pm (UTC)I must say, I expected the climax of the situation in his part. Because the ending of the last one made me shake and shiver with anticipation. Ok, it's not in this part, but I have the strong feeling it'll be worth the wait.
*inhale, exhale*
First of all, this story - hmmm - it's poetic, which I adore.
*re-reads this part*
Heh, don't we all love the metaphor of the snake? Though, in my opinion, the eagle of terror pecked at my liver beats the serpent of fear lay coiled about my heart. God! The Desert Prince is a story of metaphorical highlights!
What I love the most:
With what utter sadness and melancholy Orlando reflects upon his past, upon his lost relationship to his beloved Sean ben Ben. Totally gripping! Ahhh!
The voices of my companions rang out as if from far away. I heard the jovial tones of Uncle John and the measured replies of my Sean, and then the louder pitch of a direct address as a hand fell on my back. I started.
That made me jump. It captures Orlando's state of fear, the other people's relief ...
Great characterization of John!
And then you describe the whole atmosphere in front of the gate even more vividly.
He looked at me with all the love of a lifetime, and under that look I quailed and shook. The turmoil in my heart fell into my belly, and from my belly it rose up and heaved into my mouth.
Awww. And the following passage about Orlando's boyhood. *sigh*
Sean ben Bean's love for Orlando comes across as so inexpressibly pure. In return, Orlando admires Sean, feels safe when he's in his company. It's - dare I say? - romantic. Yesyes, certainly. *loves it*
*claps hands together* *sighs dreamily*
"I see no guards -- yet. I hear no clank of metal on metal -- yet. There may yet be time to flee this place, and here is what we will do."
And, again, the tension reaches toward unbearable heights.
The way they part, Orlando's disbelief ... *sniffs*
I tried to go unnoticed but I had been noticed already. I had been noticed by the Duke's gaze, and that I knew. But I had been noticed by other pairs of eyes, and those I did not know. The Duke was not the only one vigilant in the Desert Citadel. His castle was full of spies and full of eyes. And the eyes and the spies had been following me, they had been keeping watch, they had kept alert and attentive, and they would not let me escape.
I just have to quote the last paragraph. Because it's terrifying and filled with oppressing danger. We know what Orlando - at that point - doesn't know. Yes, he feels it like a terrible shadow looming over his shoulder, but, but... it's breath-taking.
*gasps*
This story's just wonderful to read, what else can I say?
Yes.
You must continue - swiftly. Because we all want to know what will happen next! Damn! Write now, I will send you Lakritz-bonbons in heaps. I will decorate your computer with them, I shall lay a trail of them to it. Whatever you want.
Now - I really hope this feedback was not too bad. *eek*
*disappears into the shadows*
Re: *walks along the red fb-carpet*
Date: 2003-09-15 02:14 pm (UTC)As you know, my techie problems prevent me from replying at length, so here is my condensed reply. I am just so amazed that people find this thrilling and scary and tense. I had not realised I could do plot tension and am madly gratified. It's a whole new world of fic for me. And thank you for noticing the metaphors.
tell me if my assumptions are wrong.
Heh, certainly not! What do you expect from the woman who begat the author thread and who believes that the author's interpretation is no more valid than anybody else's? ;-)
(no subject)
Date: 2003-09-17 01:34 pm (UTC)*brings back the Karl icon*
(no subject)
Date: 2003-09-17 02:52 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2003-09-17 01:58 pm (UTC)*worships you*
*tosses roses. No, wait showers you with Lakritzkätzchen*
God, I lovelovelove this story - just read the last three parts and I'm completely overwhelmed. This is such a rich and compelling fairy tale you're telling here. It has all the essential ingredients: pure evil, pure love, broken rules (do NOT look), mysterious powers and mysteries. But the characters are more complex, especially Orlando, unconsciously, but almost unavoidably courting desaster (he seems so doomed in this, the sense of foreboding that runs through all the chapters makes me shiver - most delightfully :). In any case, I'm thrilled to see where you'll take this.
But what I love most about this fic is the language; rich, red-golden prose, perfect for this AU.
*hurries off for a second read*
*is desperate to read more*
(no subject)
Date: 2003-09-17 02:58 pm (UTC)I feel all glowy inside now. :-)
I am just so pleased that this Orlando is compelling at all. He is to me but I'm never sure whether it *translates* to others. And I'm also so glad you don't mind or even like the language. At times, it is very difficult to maintain the non-realist tone (because I tend more towards realism), at other times it seems an indulgence, a sort of word luxury to wallow in but not one that will interest anyone else. It's a bit of a tightrope walk because of course it's not entirely fairy tale -- it's a bit pastichy, and it's slash after all...
Also I never knew I could do suspense and am just endlessly gratified.
Thank you so much for reading, enjoying and telling me!