Disclaimer: The characters of FK are not mine, they
belong to TPTB.
Permission to archive given to FanFic2 and the FTP
site.

This is one sappy piece of romance but it just
wouldn't leave me alone. So get your hankies.
Fluff and chocolates to:
dorisweiss_2000@yahoo.de

Ghost of a Rose (after the song by Blackmore's Night)
By Luc, July 14, 2003

Brabant, 1246

Finally. The heavy eyelids dropped and the fleshy head
of Raymond rolled sideways. She waited anxiously and
only after his breath had become steady and he was
snoring softly, did she dare move from the bed.
She threw a heavy cloak over her linen shift and
silently slipped outside.
She didn't need any light to find her way to her
secret hideout among the trees near the little stream.
She went there almost every night, when her husband
and her little son were asleep, to gaze at the stars
and to think back to another starry night long ago.

She sat down on one of the large stones that were
lining the banks and pulled her feet up under her
cloak. It was early June and the days were warm but
the night air was still quite chilly. She sat silently
for a long time watching the moonlight play on the
water, only disturbed by hungry fish who broke the
surface to snap at flies.
Her own reflection in the water was nothing but a dark
shadow. The only discernable feature were strands of
her honey-colored her blown about by the gentle
breeze.

Softly she began to hum one of her favorite songs. A
song she had learned from her mother when she had
still been a little girl. It was a sad song about a
love that could never be and she had listened with
rapt attention as her mother's clear voice formed the
words.
Her brothers had ridiculed her for dreaming about love
and more than once her father had told her that it was
her duty to marry the man he would choose for her. The
only one who seemed to understand her had been
Nicolas.

*The valley green was so serene*
*In the middle ran a stream so blue*
*A maiden fair*
*In despair*
*Once had met her true love there*
*And she told him, she would say:*

*"Promise me*
*When you see*
*A white rose*
*You'll think of me*
*I love you so*
*Never let go*
*I will be - your ghost of a rose..."*

A twig snapped and she held her breath, listening
intently for any other sound. But there was nothing
but the mournful hoot of an owl high up in the trees.
She turned her eyes back to the water and slowly tears
started to roll down her face.

***

He stood still, immovable like a statue, careful not
to make another sound. He silently cursed himself for
becoming so reckless. She had almost seen him lurking
in the shadows of the woods.
For weeks he had waited here in the dark, waiting for
her petite form to appear at the water's edge.

They had returned to these parts of Flanders some
months back because he had some business to attend to.
Nicholas had been reluctant at first and rightly so.
There were many in these parts of the country who had
known Nicholas and who would find it more than strange
to see him unchanged after so long a time. Nicholas
only came out of their lodgings to hunt.
But he hadn't been able to resist the temptation. He
knew from her letters to her brother that she was
married to a man of wealth and some nobility, but one
who didn't match her rank.

It hadn't been difficult to find the mansion where she
lived with her little family and since then he had
come every night to watch her leave the house, walk
down to the stream and sit there for hours on end. She
hadn't changed much. Her hair shone a honey gold, even
by the silvery light of the moon, and she radiated the
same light that had drawn him to her when he had first
seen her almost two decades ago. It was as if time had
past by her, only brushing over her sweet little face.
He could see small lines around her eyes and around
her mouth, but her eyes were still full of life.
He would stand disguised behind some shrubbery and
watch her as she sat there humming quietly to herself.

He could hear that her voice had become shaky and he
knew she was crying. It took an iron will not to run
to her, cradle her in his arms and take her away with
him. Something he had wanted to do from the moment her
soft little hand had touched his scorched face.

He sighed. Tomorrow night they would leave again and
he wanted to stay here as long as possible to drink in
her image, to lock it away in his old heart forever.
For he knew that he would never see her again. It was
too dangerous to return to Brabant again during her
lifetime.





Ghost of a Rose 2/2
by Luc, July 14th 2003

He was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't noticed
that Fleur was now sobbing.
"Oh, Lucien, I love you still …"

He was taken aback. How could she remember him? He had
seen the dazed look in her eyes as Nicholas had
ordered her to sleep and forget. It was impossible.
Yet she sat there crying, calling his name into the
night.
Before he could think, he could hear his own voice
reply, "And I love you, ma petite Fleur."
With a sharp cry she rolled off the boulder and landed
hard on her back. She tried to scramble backwards but
the earth was slick and her hands and feet fought in
vain for purchase.

He rushed over to her to make her stop screaming, to
make her believe that it was really him. She fought of
his hands in panic, kicking at him, but he finally
caught her hand with his, shook her slightly and
locked his gaze with hers.
"Fleur, please, calm down! It is me, Lucien, I'm here,
I'm real."

His voice had the desired effect. Fleur stopped
struggling and relaxed a bit.
He let go of her and she reached for his face with her
fingers, a gesture so very similar to the one of the
night nearly twenty years before.
"Lucien? I … I can't believe it! It really is you.
You've come back! You've come back to me!"

Sobbing she wrapped her arms around his neck and
buried her face in his cloak.
He stroked her hair and rocked her like a child.
Then he put his fingers under her chin and tilted her
face up. Her eyes were the same celestial blue he
remembered. The same eyes as Nicholas'. Every time he
had looked into his eyes he had seen her and his heart
had cramped in pain.

"Yes, my little Fleur, but I can't stay with you. I
must leave tomorrow."
"Tomorrow! Lucien, no!"
"I must. And I will not come back again. It was unwise
to come back at all but I couldn't leave without
seeing you once more."
She looked at him and nodded slightly.
"I understand, Lucien. It is your nature that makes it
dangerous for you. People might get suspicious."
He nodded and admired her silent strength. She was a
strong, intelligent woman.
She snuggled against his chest and whispered, "Then
let's make the most of the time we have."

"Fleur, would you sing the song for me? The one you
have been humming?"
And she sang. A tale of lovers who could not be
together.
"There is still a chance for us, ma vie," Lacroix
mumbled into her hair.
"You mean…?"
"Yes. I could make you what I am. We could be together
forever."
She stroked his cheek gently, then leaned in to kiss
him softly on the lips.
"I cannot be, Lucien. I have a child and a husband. I
could never leave my little André. And you promised
Nicolas…"
"Yes, and damn him for it…," he snarled, but Fleur put
her finger to his lips.
"No, don't blame him. He did what he thought was
right. I don't blame him either. If it hadn't been for
his intervention, I wouldn't have my son now. And he
was worth all the pain."
"What about your husband?"
"He is a good man, Lucien."
"Do you love him?"
"No, I never stopped loving you. You were the first
man I ever loved and you will always be the only one."
She kissed him again and this time passion overcame
them both.

"Make love to me, Lucien, just this once."
"I could hurt you, I would have to take your blood."
"I am not afraid of you, Lucien. I trust you."

She lay back on the leaves, her eyes shining with
love. And he promised himself that he would not betray
that trust as he bent down to claim her mouth with
his.

*Her eyes believed in mysteries*
*She would lay amongst the leaves of amber*
*Her spirit wild, heart of a child*
*Yet gentle still, quiet and mild and he loved her*
*When she would say...*

*"Promise me*
*When you see*
*A white rose*
*You'll think of me*
*I love you so*
*Never let go*
*I will be - your ghost of a rose..."*

***

*When all was done*
*She turned to run*
*And danced into the setting sun as he watched her*
*And ever more *
*He thought he saw*
*A glimpse of her upon the moors forever -*
*He'd hear her say...*

*"Promise me*
*When you see*
*A white rose*
*You'll think of me*
*I love you so*
*Never let go*
*I will be - your ghost of a rose..."*

They lay together, wrapped in their cloaks, watching
the sky turn from black to deep blue in silence. They
both knew that the moment to say goodbye had come.
Fleur picked up her creased shift and put it on.
"I must leave, Lucien. Raymond and Andre will wake up
soon."
He got up too.
"Yes, the sun is about to come up."
For another minute they stood together, arms wrapped
around each other, unwilling to let go. He kissed her
gently, licking over the sore on the inside of her lip
where he had bitten her at the height of passion. She
could always tell her husband that she had bitten
herself in her sleep. There were no other marks to
betray her.

Fleur returned his kiss and then she whispered into
his ear what she had sung to him only a few hours
before.

"Promise me, when you see a white rose, you'll think
of me. I love you so, never let go. I will be - your
ghost of a rose..."

Then she turned and ran away through the forest
without looking back.

***

Scarcely a year later, while they were staying in
Paris once again, Nicholas
had received a letter from his brother-in-law that a
severe fever had killed both Fleur and her husband and
that his sister had left him in charge of the boy.
Lacroix had kept a good distance from Nicholas for
over a week, always on the verge of wringing the young
one's neck. He could have screamed his anguish to the
stars but he kept it inside of him. But he knew one
thing – he would never forgive Nicholas for it.

***
"Love exists, rages within. A silent scream of endless
pain. Hellish alchemy indeed, without equal. Not
death, not Hell itself, but a precious, precious
flower long withered and gone."
He switched the microphone of and stared at the rose
petals that lay on his desk. He carefully scooped them
up and put them in his pocket. Then he went to the
roof of the CERK building and stared at the glittering
Toronto skyline.
He reached into his pocket, took out the petals and
threw them into the biting February wind.
"My ghost of a rose – always."
Then he took to the air.

-Fin-

comments to:

cousinlucilla@freenet.de