Fic: Do I Dare Disturb the Universe? Chapter 11 - Interlude: A Magic Lantern
Title: Do I Dare Disturb the Universe?
Author: frkmgnt1
Rating: M for Mature themes as of Chapter 11
Pairing: Snow/Lightning, Snow/Serah
Word Count so far ~72,500
Description: Snow has something he needs to say. Lightning cannot hear it.
Genre: Angst angst and more angst. Romance (Oh my god! I wrote Romance. WTF?)
Disclaimer: I don't own FFXIII
"By grace of Etro, let thunder herald your arrival. Come forth, sunderer of falsehood.
A name in blood, a pact of truth. Odin shall rise his bond eternal and unyielding."
"My weapon is light, my steed is thunder. I am the herald of truth. I am Odin."
Interlude:
A Magic Lantern
When the call comes, Odin feels both surprised and unsurprised. Odin is unsurprised that his Lady would be in need of his aid; Odin is surprised that she finally realized all she need do is call for aid, and he would grant it her.
For long months - an eternity - Odin hears his Lady's lamentations and tastes her sorrows. He has despaired of her unwillingness to summon him to her side. In the quiet hours of the long dark, his Lady would whisper to the Eidolith of her loneliness and longing for his companionable company, her desire for his aid and solid presence. Still, she would never summon him, and so he waited, ever-frustrated, ever-worshipful as she questioned the health of her mind and soul for longing for his company. It was as though she believed their bond ended the moment her false purpose was completed.
Humans make no sense to Odin.
When an Eidolon pledges themselves, they and the one to whom they are pledged become Gestalt. They are two souls forever united, bonded to one another by magic and grace in purpose and will. They are always separate but never parted, and all the greater for that union.
Odin knows now that it helps when all parties understand the Union and pledge.
Of course she would long for him: unless and until they two are sundered one from the other, his absence will press and weigh upon her.
And hers on him.
Humans are very frustrating, and his Lady, for all her magnificence, is but a human.
Always is she whispering words of longing to him, but never will she just summon him. The foolish Lady seems determined to go to her grave rather than call upon him to aid her.
Odin spent an eternity resting silently in a place of honor in his Lady's chambers. He had been well-contented that he would be permitted to watch over her at her most vulnerable, and would always know that she was safe. When she decided to quit her sanctuary and pilgrimage to the Ragnarok pillar, Odin stirred and waited for her to ask him to lend his blade and steed. What could be more befitting for his Lady than for they two to traverse the whole of this accursed world together?
Instead, she secreted him away into her pack, and he had to bear witness to her struggles and wounding.
Humans make no sense.
Sometimes he wishes he could cut away his love for his Lady as easily as he can cut down her enemies, but understands that it is bitter foolishness and not serious desire. Odin knows that he would sooner cut off his own arms and legs than sever the bond to his Lady. For what is he if he's not her faithful Knight? His sword, shield, steed and self are all hers, and will be unto the end of all space and time.
That is the nature of his bond: eternal.
When they two were buried beneath a mountain of ice and snow, he was certain that her desperation and her will to survive would finally be great enough for her to call out to him. To his unending aggravation, admiration and astonishment, she did not. Instead, she forced him to bear witness to her panic as the cold robbed her of first her senses, then most of her life. He tasted her despair as her body cried out for warmth and air.
Odin shamed himself that day: he lent her a measure of his strength unbidden. She needed him, and was unable to call for him as the cold had robbed her of her best senses. At least, that's what Odin told himself to justify the small lapse. No one need know that he allowed a trickle of his might to leak out of the Eidolith and into her body. Just a touch, and only until her allies discovered her.
Odin spent those long hours wondering where the Lady's Warrior was. The Warrior had always protected Odin's Lady, and Odin had accepted him as his Lady's Lord. As her Knight, it is Odin's duty to serve the Lady, and the Lord of her heart, and so Odin had sworn a silent oath to do so. But as his Lady lay freezing and dying in the frozen wastes with no Warrior Lord in sight, Odin realized his foolish mistake.
Humans are inconstant; faithless.
Wretched.
Odin felt his Lady dying, and knew that he could either act and be named Outcast Oathbreaker, or allow her to pass from this world, unaided, and be named failure. Odin despaired.
And then he heard them.
Her allies had arrived, sent to retrieve her by the Warrior Lord, restoring all of Odin's faith. Odin should not have doubted.
Humans may be wretched, faithless, inconstant creatures; but these are no mere humans. They are, all and each of them, Gestalt; bonded and chosen, and thus, worthy of Odin's loyalty in service.
Odin watched as the calm, quiet one - the Patriarch - fixed the damage that Odin's small measure of power couldn't prevent. Heard his confusion as to how his Lady managed to survive at all, let alone avoid the worst ravages of frostbite.
Odin smiled, proud of his service, and gladdened that his Lady would make a swift recovery.
And swift it was. Before Odin realized what happened, the Lady had bent her will towards a new task. Chosen a new purpose and mission to which she committed herself.
And Odin, of course.
Once again, his Lady became a Warrior Goddess bent on the total destruction of an evil. Though this evil was all too human in nature, Odin once again swore to aid her in completing her mission, and knew it was only a matter of time before they two would again fight as one.
Odin longed to ride to battle together, but instead, she climbed into some…machine (at least it was warm, Odin conceded), to make the journey to their new battleground.
Odin was certain to conceal the majesty of the Eidolith from the eyes of the Defilers as she infiltrated their ranks. He noted each one that dared lay covetous hands upon her body. He would help her collect those hands later, he knew. And he waited.
And waited.
His Lady was clever, but too impatient, and she must have allowed some hint of her plan to show on her face, because one of the Defilers - a Snake and Trickster - rendered her unconscious. Odin heard the awful sound of the unworthy weapon colliding with his Lady's skull, and the subsequent wet thud of her body falling to the filthy floor.
She was unarmed, a prisoner, and not resisting, and he struck her in a rage simply because he could. Coward.
Snake.
Odin could not bear it.
Uncalled, unbidden, he still allowed a tiny bit of his magic to slip, touch the unclean weapon, and deliver a mighty shock to the Trickster Snake.
Snakes don't like electrical burns, it seems. Good. Odin doesn't like Snakes, either.
And perhaps this Trickster Snake will learn to avoid touching what is not meant for, and does not belong to, it.
Odin waited patiently for his Lady to awaken. The injury was minor; Odin had seen her shake off far worse damage in the past. And she had almost roused, when the Defiler came for her.
Odin is still angry that she didn't call for him. It is his duty to defend his Lady! And when she struggled with the monster who would defile her, Odin almost - almost - came unbidden. He was right beside her; it would have been so easy. One stroke of Zantetsuken, and the filth would be no more. He'd make a necklace for her of the teeth it used to bite her so viciously.
Wretch.
But she did not require his aid, and Odin was glad that he hadn't shamed himself and her by violating the oath. His Lady is, after all, his Warrior Goddess.
But oh, when she blessed him with the lifeblood of her enemy, he knew that she forgave him for his moment of faithless doubt; would have forgiven him had he so transgressed and aided unasked. So he quieted himself and listened.
He felt her disgust, tasted her rage as she surveyed the depravity of the Defilers' camp. He waited for her to call him to cut a path through the enemies. He would drop their bodies at her feet as an offering of devotion, a symbol of his pledge of loyalty. He was hers, as was his sword, and he would use it to strike down her enemies, or lend it her so that she might strike them down herself.
She was glorious when she wielded his weapon from astride his steed.
When she finally called him, her heart was not full of righteous fury, her mind not bent on justice without mercy. No, his Lady felt only desperate terror, and so Odin, too, felt terror.
He hates this feeling. It is far too human for his tastes. He longs to destroy all those responsible for inflicting such misery upon them, and erase the terror from their soul(s). He would hand her the hearts of her enemies, and together, they would feast.
When he arrives, they are in a crematorium. His Lady has been weeping. She cleaves to the Warrior, her Lord love. He is dying; nay he is dead, though, he yet breathes. Odin feels grief; because her Lady loves this Warrior, Odin too loves this Warrior.
That is the nature of Gestalt.
"Odin," she says, and Odin feels her surprise. Her joy. "Please."
She has never begged him, should never beg him. Her will is his will, for he is hers. He will rend whatever monster made her forget this one supreme Truth. The marks on her face from where the Snake ambushed her; the bite on her shoulder from where the Defiler transgressed. None of these injuries require his skill, so Odin turns his attention upward. The battlefield is above, and he longs to paint it in the blood of the wicked. He will cut them down, carve a path through them so his Lady and her charges might walk free.
His mind is already on the field when her hand lands upon his.
Zantetsuken remains unsummoned. He remains on his knees before his Lady.
His Lady has only ever touched him when he hands her Zantetsuken, or when he takes the form of Sleipnir for her. Her distress must be greater than he first ascertained.
"Please, help him."
Ah! Now Odin understands: she called him to aid not her body, but her heart. Odin had dismissed the Warrior as dead, but perhaps he'd been too hasty. Odin takes her hand and places it on her Warrior's chest, and Odin can see it all.
Ruination.
Odin's healing magic is for his Lady only. That is not his rule, but the rule of the bond. He can only heal her because they are bonded.
"Please," she begs, and weeps.
She is a Warrior goddess, soaked in the blood of her Warrior god. She seeks to preserve his life, and end the lives of those who brought him so low. She…loves him, and Odin loves her. Odin has loved her since the moment he yielded, and pledged himself and his powers to her for eternity.
That is the nature of Gestalt.
Humans are so fragile. Even his Lady's Lord, this Warrior god she so adores, who Odin has fought beside more than once. The damage is almost absolute; the destruction of his body near total. Odin worms his way into the Warrior's memories and finds a maelstrom of horror and agony. Boots that kick and stomp, whips that cut and poison, and knives, and brands, and cruel, cruel laughs as they tell him all the horrors they'd visited upon the body of his love...
Unending hours of unending agony, and the Warrior never named his Lady or himself. Never begged for reprieve nor death.
He is worthy, and powerful, and his Lady craves and yearns for him, and thus, so too does Odin.
That is the nature of Gestalt.
The damage to the interior of his body is astonishing, even to one such as Odin, who neither faces nor fears mortal death. Were the Warrior God a lesser man, or Odin's Lady a lesser Warrior, or were their love untested and unproven, he would already have passed into the next life. But Odin's Lady is mighty, and the spark of life that burns within her Warrior Lord's breast was kindled of, and by, her.
And therein lay Odin's path to the Warrior.
Odin's healing magic is only for the preservation of his Lady's life, but this Warrior's life is the Lady's life, and Odin will use their Gestalt to turn her into a conduit to heal her love. Make him hale, and then….
…Oh, then!
Then, Odin and his Lady - nay, his Warrior Goddess - will have their vengeance. She is incandescent in her hatred and rage. Odin can taste the sweet justice they will mete out.
But first things first: his Lady's Warrior. Her Lord love.
Odin takes his Lady's hand and places it on her love's heart, covers it with his own. Then he sketches his sigil over her heart in the blood of her lover, places his hand on the mark, and opens the floodgate of his power.
His Lady is sublime, overflowing as she is with his magic. Perhaps he ought to have started slower, trickling his magic through her before flooding every corner of her soul, but she is strong, and time is short; she's exquisite in her agonized ecstasy.
Odin watches as the Warrior's wounds knit themselves closed - his Lady is a perfectionist when it comes to the tapestry of this man's skin - then, as his ribs once again take shape beneath the newly knitted flesh of his torso; watches as his breathing steadies and evens out, and the heartbeat stabilizes. Odin's magic cannot erase all the bruising, nor replace all the lost blood, but it can sustain him until his body replenishes what it has lost.
He will live. He will heal. That is all Odin can do for now.
Odin is exhausted before his Lord is healed. The damage was too extensive for Odin to repair it all at once, no matter how doggedly determined his Lady may be.
It is the work of but a moment, and he breaks the connection, gathers his Lady to him. She rests in the cradle of Odin's arms for now, and he expends the last of his reserves restoring her to herself.
A lesser being would have been destroyed utterly by the spell he worked through her. She will awaken momentarily.
His Warrior Goddess.
He hears a small gasp, and seeks the threat, finds a small human girl eyeing him with wonder and horror from the doorway. He knows this girl is one of his Lady's charges. One of Odin's charges. Odin places a finger against his lips in a shushing gesture - one he has seen countless humans use to varying effect - and she widens her eyes, nods, and then runs from the room.
Humans. They will never make any sense to Odin. Ever.
A creak above alerts Odin to the threat a moment before the voice yells, "Oi! You still alive down there, Hero? I hope so! I wouldn't want you to miss the barbecue!" Liquid rains down in all corners of the room, and through the opening in the ceiling. Odin recognizes the odor as one of the foul concoctions that humans use to power their machinery.
Machines, Odin's lip curls in disdain. Always humans and their machines of death.
The defiler above him smells of the Warrior. He wears his vestments and his blood. This one is to be Odin's reward for doing his Lady's bidding, he decides. He's certain she would not begrudge him just one good kill, after his loyal service this night.
The foul concoction splashes on the Warrior's newly healed chest. Odin has seen enough. He craves action, and has tolerated more than enough from this plague on Pulse. He pulls the Warrior away from the foul flow, rises to his full height and reaches. The pretender thief - for he could only ever be such while adorned in his Lord's vestments - gasps, "What the f-"
Odin grabs him by the head and yanks. His neck breaks before Odin can even drop him, and Odin feels cheated once again by the fragility of these…humans. To die of something so minor while his Lord survived hours of torture at this one's hands just proves to Odin how unworthy any of these pathetic creatures are. Unworthy to look upon his Lady and Lord, never mind put their hands upon their skin. Never mind covet them in such a disgusting and base manner.
Were Odin human, he would spit upon the corpse. But Odin is Esper, and Eidolon. He is Gestalt, and has sworn to an eternal bond with a fearless Lady, and is now sworn to protect her Warrior Lord.
Odin strips the thief pretender of his stolen identity, and tosses what remains away, like the refuse it is.
This man should be thankful that it was Odin who snuffed out his miserable, worthless life. Had his Lady found him draped in the vestments of her Lord love, nothing in any realm would have saved him from a long, slow, agonizing death. For a moment, Odin almost laments having killed him.
But no! He earned this kill. His Lady would not deny him, nor ever begrudge him, he is certain.
Odin reaches up and slams the trap door again. When the other Defilers seek this one out, they will assume he fell into the room and broke his neck right before the place burned.
That ought to buy Odin time to recoup his powers, and his Lady and her love time to recover from the spell he worked through them.
He then lifts both his humans and carries them out of the crematorium, covers them with the Lord's vestment. Odin feels something familiar secreted away in the armor, and he is well pleased.
The Shiva sisters will keep watch over his Lady and Lord for now. They two will guard against danger, and the cloak itself will guard against the ravages of cold. It should be only a few moments until they rouse, after all. Odin was quite thorough and careful in crafting and working this spell.
Odin rises, turns the lock to the house of the dead, and sends a small spark through the metal of the key into the room. Odin can feel the heat of the resulting fire through the door, and is pleased that his Lady and Lord will be warmer than he first thought.
Odin surveys his work, feels well satisfied at his accomplishments. His Lady will reward him, he is certain. She'll call him to help strike down her enemies, and never again will they two be parted. Odin slips away to rest, and to await his Lady's call to arms.
End Note: I know this isn't the chapter everyone wanted. It's not the chapter I planned originally. I'll be honest, I wanted Odin to feature heavily in the chapter but, he's mute. I wasn't going to just randomly have him talk. So, I went with an interlude from the POV of my Troubadour Eidolon, Odin. The love in this chapter is courtly love: romantic, non-sexual love between a knight and a Lady. Tokens of affection, etc. Chivalry, but the 12th century to 14th Century stuff, not the car doors and pay for your dinner stuff. Look it up if you're interested. There's entire genres of fiction based on it - A Knight's Tale in the Canterbury Tales is a good place to start. Dante too. Or Google Troubadours. Whatever.
Or just enjoy the chapter. That's fine. But you know me with the references.
That's how I interpret the Gestalt, and Odin's eternal and unyielding bond: Courtly Love. If I ever write it again, it'll be the same.
I know that all this was made irrelevant by the mythology of the sequels. This is my interpretation. You can disagree with it, but I called an AU for a reason.