I really shouldn't have done this.
Jan. 20th, 2004 01:39 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
camwynBut I stopped at Starbucks this morning and bought a cafe mocha, and I think the caffeine and theobromine kicked something open in my head. Consider this another story that will never, ever happen. This one's a crossover.
The basement smelled of mildewed dust, of years, of magic. Here the air had not stirred for - who knew? He couldn't say. He'd never come this way before, never seen these rooms, never known they existed.
Funny, he thought as he searched, how much weight there could be in a single gleaming stone. The red gem in his pocket couldn't have been larger than a small boy's hand, but it weighed so very much. It'd been put aside carelessly against the day of its use, then abandoned for a time- and now, now when there were so many other obligations to fulfill, it had fallen into his hands. This basement was no place for the stone, and never would be, but there had to be a better way to bring it to its rightful resting place than stuffed in his pocket!
In a corner, something caught the feeble, flickering light. He tensed warily, then relaxed. There was no one else here- he'd seen to that. It was safe to investigate.
The thing in the corner turned out to be a mirror, the old kind as tall as a man. Its oval frame was carved intricately with fantastic beasts and designs. Along the top there ran an inscription, but he paid it little mind. The dust of too many years covered the letters; he started to turn away.
In his pocket, the stone niggled at him. He thought for a moment of what he already knew the house to hold, and turned back. Curiously, he wiped away some of the grime from the glass with his free hand.
At first he saw nothing but himself staring back- russet hair going grey at the temples, blue eyes, a face worn by generations. That stood to reason, and reassured him. He moved to wipe a bit more of the glass clean; his hand stopped.
There was something else.
The mirror's surface remained as cool and still to the touch as glass ever ought, but behind him, the shadows were lightening. He turned about swiftly, but no- nothing there. The same darkness through which he'd come. When he looked back to the mirror, the reflected room was as bright as day. And it was not the basement. . .
He saw himself reflected, yes, stunned and pale. He also saw a room he knew all too well, a room far away on the other side of the world. It'd been long - too long- since he'd stood in that room, in that cabin under the winter-bent trees. The knowledge of it struck through him like an icicle; he closed his eyes, willing the homesickness away. It did not work. Even if it had, it would have done him no good, for when he opened his eyes there was another in the mirror.
A woman stood there, smiling back at him, at his reflection's side. For her sex she was tall; the top of her head would just brush the bottom of his chin. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a loose bun, straggler hairs escaping here and there to fall along her neck, and her clothes were simple, practical. Of course she did. Of course her hair wasn't perfect. No one could expect her to look like something out of the newspapers, groomed and polished until she shone. Not with the bundle in her arms, which squirmed a little as he watched, putting one pudgy infant's fist out and waving it in the air in a vain quest for something to grab.
His hands clenched into white-knuckled fists for a moment, the burden in his pocket forgotten. He knew, he knew, he knew it wasn't real- she'd died three years ago- there was no baby-
But he looked again, one more time, just to see. And then he turned his attention to the top of the mirror instead, concentrating with all his might on clearing the carven words of dust.
"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi," he sounded aloud, very carefully. He thought about it for a moment, lips moving silently as he worked the phrase out from end to beginning. Then he nodded.
How his grandfather had come by the thing, he'd never know. But it wasn't what he was looking for; and so, despite his heart screaming at him to stay just a little while longer, the Sergeant turned his back on the mirror and headed up the stairs, light in hand.
The basement smelled of mildewed dust, of years, of magic. Here the air had not stirred for - who knew? He couldn't say. He'd never come this way before, never seen these rooms, never known they existed.
Funny, he thought as he searched, how much weight there could be in a single gleaming stone. The red gem in his pocket couldn't have been larger than a small boy's hand, but it weighed so very much. It'd been put aside carelessly against the day of its use, then abandoned for a time- and now, now when there were so many other obligations to fulfill, it had fallen into his hands. This basement was no place for the stone, and never would be, but there had to be a better way to bring it to its rightful resting place than stuffed in his pocket!
In a corner, something caught the feeble, flickering light. He tensed warily, then relaxed. There was no one else here- he'd seen to that. It was safe to investigate.
The thing in the corner turned out to be a mirror, the old kind as tall as a man. Its oval frame was carved intricately with fantastic beasts and designs. Along the top there ran an inscription, but he paid it little mind. The dust of too many years covered the letters; he started to turn away.
In his pocket, the stone niggled at him. He thought for a moment of what he already knew the house to hold, and turned back. Curiously, he wiped away some of the grime from the glass with his free hand.
At first he saw nothing but himself staring back- russet hair going grey at the temples, blue eyes, a face worn by generations. That stood to reason, and reassured him. He moved to wipe a bit more of the glass clean; his hand stopped.
There was something else.
The mirror's surface remained as cool and still to the touch as glass ever ought, but behind him, the shadows were lightening. He turned about swiftly, but no- nothing there. The same darkness through which he'd come. When he looked back to the mirror, the reflected room was as bright as day. And it was not the basement. . .
He saw himself reflected, yes, stunned and pale. He also saw a room he knew all too well, a room far away on the other side of the world. It'd been long - too long- since he'd stood in that room, in that cabin under the winter-bent trees. The knowledge of it struck through him like an icicle; he closed his eyes, willing the homesickness away. It did not work. Even if it had, it would have done him no good, for when he opened his eyes there was another in the mirror.
A woman stood there, smiling back at him, at his reflection's side. For her sex she was tall; the top of her head would just brush the bottom of his chin. Her blonde hair was pulled back in a loose bun, straggler hairs escaping here and there to fall along her neck, and her clothes were simple, practical. Of course she did. Of course her hair wasn't perfect. No one could expect her to look like something out of the newspapers, groomed and polished until she shone. Not with the bundle in her arms, which squirmed a little as he watched, putting one pudgy infant's fist out and waving it in the air in a vain quest for something to grab.
His hands clenched into white-knuckled fists for a moment, the burden in his pocket forgotten. He knew, he knew, he knew it wasn't real- she'd died three years ago- there was no baby-
But he looked again, one more time, just to see. And then he turned his attention to the top of the mirror instead, concentrating with all his might on clearing the carven words of dust.
"Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi," he sounded aloud, very carefully. He thought about it for a moment, lips moving silently as he worked the phrase out from end to beginning. Then he nodded.
How his grandfather had come by the thing, he'd never know. But it wasn't what he was looking for; and so, despite his heart screaming at him to stay just a little while longer, the Sergeant turned his back on the mirror and headed up the stairs, light in hand.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2004-01-20 04:13 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2004-01-20 05:35 pm (UTC)Yer evil.
no subject
Date: 2004-01-20 05:45 pm (UTC)