As I Lay Here Gazing
Dec. 5th, 2012 06:17 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
archiveofarethusaTonight, as far as Valentio was concerned, was the first perfect night of his life. All those other perfect nights were small, indistinct points in the back of his mind. The constellations hung in bright portraits across a gallery of black and blue sky, the slow chill of early autumn helped along by soft winds which served an occasional counterpoint to the symphony of night bugs. And there was Cygnelius at his side, warm and comfortable, valiantly pretending not to be just as enthralled with it as he was. Valentio remembered every awed word Cygnelius would slur the rare nights he let himself get drunk, how he spoke of revolutions and entropy and star stuff like some spoke of their patron gods.
"There, you see that one there? It appears briefly on the horizon for about a month near Eula, then disappears from the view of the castle," Valentio said, his voice swimming in the wine he’d had earlier. "Its name is Orpheo. Every five years Eula and Orpheo forget why they repel each other and are drawn back into each other. They have their own fest in Dannareth - not really for the stars, as such, as much as for the idea of them. Gravity that pulls in spite of everything."
"You should know better than most that gravity is never in spite of," Cygnelius said, lightly reprimanding, and Valentio laughed and pulled him closer. "I guess I do," he said.
"I don’t know why I bother with you when you so egregiously twist scientific fact to the purposes of gross sentimentality," Cygnelius sniffed, adjusting himself to Valentio’s proximity. "I presume it’s safe to assume that Orpheo and Eula’s fest is tonight, then."
"Through sleet, snow, plague, and kings who rule from the gallows," Valentio said.
"He'll hang from his ridiculously morbid throne tomorrow if all goes well," Cygnelius said. "And, well, if things go poorly, trust the chosen of Death when I say the dead have their own concerns. Not that I'll let either of us die. I refuse to give the universe the satisfaction. It'd be a pretty awful world without you, anyway."
"And here I was thinking you didn't approve of gross sentimentality," Valentio said.
"Tonight may be my last chance to let you know," Cygnelius said. "This plan wasn't my first choice. It wasn't even my fifth; there's too much left to the whims of fate. I want you to know that you've been a worthier friend than any I've known and a good man and," Cygnelius paused, the words on his tongue thorned and bitter with truth. "What we are - it isn't and has never been an in spite of. I'm glad you saw whatever you did in me that first week. Whether we live or die tomorrow, don't you ever forget that. Especially since I'm not repeating it."
"Don't worry, I'll be loud and repetitive enough about it for the both of us," Valentio grinned. "We're binary, and you can never take that back."
"There, you see that one there? It appears briefly on the horizon for about a month near Eula, then disappears from the view of the castle," Valentio said, his voice swimming in the wine he’d had earlier. "Its name is Orpheo. Every five years Eula and Orpheo forget why they repel each other and are drawn back into each other. They have their own fest in Dannareth - not really for the stars, as such, as much as for the idea of them. Gravity that pulls in spite of everything."
"You should know better than most that gravity is never in spite of," Cygnelius said, lightly reprimanding, and Valentio laughed and pulled him closer. "I guess I do," he said.
"I don’t know why I bother with you when you so egregiously twist scientific fact to the purposes of gross sentimentality," Cygnelius sniffed, adjusting himself to Valentio’s proximity. "I presume it’s safe to assume that Orpheo and Eula’s fest is tonight, then."
"Through sleet, snow, plague, and kings who rule from the gallows," Valentio said.
"He'll hang from his ridiculously morbid throne tomorrow if all goes well," Cygnelius said. "And, well, if things go poorly, trust the chosen of Death when I say the dead have their own concerns. Not that I'll let either of us die. I refuse to give the universe the satisfaction. It'd be a pretty awful world without you, anyway."
"And here I was thinking you didn't approve of gross sentimentality," Valentio said.
"Tonight may be my last chance to let you know," Cygnelius said. "This plan wasn't my first choice. It wasn't even my fifth; there's too much left to the whims of fate. I want you to know that you've been a worthier friend than any I've known and a good man and," Cygnelius paused, the words on his tongue thorned and bitter with truth. "What we are - it isn't and has never been an in spite of. I'm glad you saw whatever you did in me that first week. Whether we live or die tomorrow, don't you ever forget that. Especially since I'm not repeating it."
"Don't worry, I'll be loud and repetitive enough about it for the both of us," Valentio grinned. "We're binary, and you can never take that back."