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monaboyd Apr. 20th, 2006 11:36 pm)
darkfaery1.livejournal.com posting in monaboyd Apr. 20th, 2006 11:36 pm)Title: My Immortal
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
darkfaery1
Pairing: Monaboyd
Rating: NC-17 for slash sex, strong violence including torture and execution (past lives).
Summary: Billy and Dom are the best of mates, but strange dreams cause Dom to question the true nature of their relationship. As Dom attempts to prove that these intense 'dreams' are real past life memories, Billy is plagued by nightmares of his own.
Disclaimer: This tale is just for fun, no money has changed hands. It is a complete figment of my imagination.
Author's Notes: The title of this story as well as any quotes used are taken from the haunting ballad, My Immortal by Evanescence.
Just so there's no confusion, here is a guide to Dom and Billy's past-life identities:
c. 1098 A.D.
Brother Guillaume - Billy
Étienne Bernard - Dom
c. 1594 A.D.
Will Mercer - Billy
Geoffrey Galbraith - Dom
…you used to captivate me
by your resonating light
but now i'm bound by the life you left behind
your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams
your voice it chased away all the sanity in me…
~*~
December, 1098 A.D. The Citadel of Antioch, Asia Minor (modern-day Turkey)...
"You must do this, Étienne," my uncle, Count Raymond tells me. "It is the only way for you to be free of his perversion."
It is a cold day and the meager fire does little to remove the chill from the stone chamber. I carefully study my uncle's grizzled countenance for any sign of pity. "What if I refuse?"
"You heard as well as I Bishop Adhemar's counsel," Count Raymond says. "If you do not you risk your very soul. Do you wish to burn in Hell beside him?"
A small smile tugs at my lips. I should like that very much, I think. Count Raymond guesses my musings and slaps me across the face, then falls to his knees sobbing.
"Please Étienne," he begs. "Jerusalem will be ours in the spring. Do not throw away your soul for the likes of that foul priest. Say you will do this and fight by my side when we reclaim what is God's from the stinking Saracens."
Tears spring to my eyes and I embrace the old count. My heart has been torn to pieces. I left Toulouse last year with such high hopes for renown and glory after hearing the call to Crusade by Pope Urban himself. Perhaps it is because I have never been so far from my sisters and mother that draws me to the gentle monk. Perhaps it is Brother Guillaume's depthless green eyes that seem to bore into my soul; his comely face as desirable as any woman's I have seen; or is it his mouth? So beautiful it is whether he is speaking of the Glory of Christ or the beauty of the home we both miss so dearly, or when he is pressing his lips to mine in a lover's kiss.
I raise my head and meet my uncle's eyes. "I will do it, my lord. I swear to you and to God I will do my duty."
I take my leave of Count Raymond and descend into the bowels of the citadel where Brother Guillaume is being held in a cell. The guard, a good man of my province called Jean La Hire, bars my way.
"I am sorry, my lord, I cannot let you pass," he says with sympathy in his voice, "my Lord Raymond's orders."
"Have mercy, Jean," I beg. "I merely wish to ask the man's forgiveness for what I must do on the morrow. Surely my uncle cannot object to that."
The guard nods reluctantly and unbolts the door. My nose is assailed by the stench of human waste in the fetid cell. I wonder if they have not cleaned these cells of Saracen offal before they cast poor Brother Guillaume inside. Anger wells up inside me, but I banish it. I am unwilling to spoil our last moments together by indulging it.
Guillaume is on his knees, his beautiful mouth moving in silent prayer. My inelegant steps over the dry rushes startle him.
Guillaume's face is so thin and he is dressed in filthy rags. His hands are like a skeleton's and he already has the look of death about him. Even before the Christians captured Antioch, famine plagued us. No doubt my uncle thought it foolish to waste food on a condemned man. Tears begin to run down my cheeks.
They had shorn Guillaume's hair off with a razor, none to gently as the dried blood on his scalp would indicate. Heavy irons encircle his wrists almost comically. He could slip out of them easily, his limbs are so wasted. His smile is not changed though; it brightens his green eyes and brings a bit of color to his cheeks. "My dearest Étienne."
I fall to my knees and embrace him. "My love, how could I let them do this to you?"
"It is not your fault," he whispers gently. "I chose my fate."
"If it were not for my lust this would not have happened," I counter. "I am the one who led you to this. Why do you allow them to believe otherwise?"
"I am older and supposedly wiser than you." A small ironic chuckle escapes his lips. "As a servant of Christ more is expected of me than of a young knight. Besides, Count Raymond needs you. God needs you to help free Jerusalem."
I begin to sob with grief. "I care not for God or Jerusalem, I care for you alone. I cannot do what they demand of me."
Guillaume embraces me and places a kiss on my forehead. "You must not say such blasphemous things, Étienne. You must do your duty." He takes my face in his hands and meets my eyes. "I would have it no other way."
I do not sleep all that night. It is raining when I rise. My darling Guillaume is led out into the fortress's courtyard, shivering from the wet and cold. Count Raymond and his household surround the block where Guillaume awaits his fate.
Bishop Adhemar reads from a parchment Guillaume's alleged crimes--witchcraft, heresy, sodomy--and pronounces him excommunicate. At a nod from Count Raymond, I step forward and stand over Guillaume, a Brother of the Church no longer. I look to Heaven and make the sign of the cross, then unsheathed my sword. I raise my blade above my head. Guillaume turns and looks up at me, a sweet smile on his perfect lips. He then bows his head and bares his neck.
My sword falls...
Dom screamed, "NO!" He bolted up in bed, his entire body drenched in sweat. He was momentarily disoriented, but the gentle breeze rustling the curtains of his bedroom recalled him back to Hawaii. "Fuck." Dawn was just breaking. He had to get up soon anyway, so he rolled out of bed. He stumbled to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, then looked at himself in the mirror.
Plain, old Dominic Monaghan stared back at him. He wasn't some knight that went around chopping people's heads off. Chopping Billy's head off. He shivered. He wanted to call Billy, but Dom already knew what he would say. Still, the nightmare had been so bloody real… He grabbed his mobile.
He tapped his foot as Billy's phone rang once, twice…
"Hey, Dom."
"I had that dream again."
Billy sighed. "The one where you're a knight and I'm--?"
"A priest, yeah."
"What about it? Were we rutting each other in some hut in Turkey?"
"Asia Minor," Dom corrected. "It was so fucking real, Bills, but this time it was different." He paused, his heartbeat quickening as he recalled his vision. "I killed you. I chopped off your head."
"That wasn't very nice," Billy said, not at all concerned.
"It really happened," Dom said in frustration. "I just know it."
"You know I don't believe in that past life shite."
"I don't either, but--"
"Dom, I thought we'd settled all this in New Zealand. We're friends in this life, that's all that matters. These dreams don't mean anything."
Dom was annoyed at the way Billy said 'friends', but he wasn't quite sure why. They were just friends, gay Hobbit rumors notwithstanding, but these dreams--these memories--stirred feelings in Dom that frightened him. If he pushed this, he could risk losing Billy's friendship. But how could he ignore the fact that he had an erection from just hearing Billy's voice?
"Yeah, I know you're right," Dom lied. "Sorry, it just seemed so real."
"No problem," Billy replied. "Take a shower, have some tea, then call me, all right?"
Dom took Billy's advice, but when he called Billy later, Dom didn't mention the fact that he had masturbated once in the shower and twice while he was having tea, gazing at a snap of his best mate.
To be continued…
Author:
darkfaery1Pairing: Monaboyd
Rating: NC-17 for slash sex, strong violence including torture and execution (past lives).
Summary: Billy and Dom are the best of mates, but strange dreams cause Dom to question the true nature of their relationship. As Dom attempts to prove that these intense 'dreams' are real past life memories, Billy is plagued by nightmares of his own.
Disclaimer: This tale is just for fun, no money has changed hands. It is a complete figment of my imagination.
Author's Notes: The title of this story as well as any quotes used are taken from the haunting ballad, My Immortal by Evanescence.
Just so there's no confusion, here is a guide to Dom and Billy's past-life identities:
c. 1098 A.D.
Brother Guillaume - Billy
Étienne Bernard - Dom
c. 1594 A.D.
Will Mercer - Billy
Geoffrey Galbraith - Dom
…you used to captivate me
by your resonating light
but now i'm bound by the life you left behind
your face it haunts my once pleasant dreams
your voice it chased away all the sanity in me…
December, 1098 A.D. The Citadel of Antioch, Asia Minor (modern-day Turkey)...
"You must do this, Étienne," my uncle, Count Raymond tells me. "It is the only way for you to be free of his perversion."
It is a cold day and the meager fire does little to remove the chill from the stone chamber. I carefully study my uncle's grizzled countenance for any sign of pity. "What if I refuse?"
"You heard as well as I Bishop Adhemar's counsel," Count Raymond says. "If you do not you risk your very soul. Do you wish to burn in Hell beside him?"
A small smile tugs at my lips. I should like that very much, I think. Count Raymond guesses my musings and slaps me across the face, then falls to his knees sobbing.
"Please Étienne," he begs. "Jerusalem will be ours in the spring. Do not throw away your soul for the likes of that foul priest. Say you will do this and fight by my side when we reclaim what is God's from the stinking Saracens."
Tears spring to my eyes and I embrace the old count. My heart has been torn to pieces. I left Toulouse last year with such high hopes for renown and glory after hearing the call to Crusade by Pope Urban himself. Perhaps it is because I have never been so far from my sisters and mother that draws me to the gentle monk. Perhaps it is Brother Guillaume's depthless green eyes that seem to bore into my soul; his comely face as desirable as any woman's I have seen; or is it his mouth? So beautiful it is whether he is speaking of the Glory of Christ or the beauty of the home we both miss so dearly, or when he is pressing his lips to mine in a lover's kiss.
I raise my head and meet my uncle's eyes. "I will do it, my lord. I swear to you and to God I will do my duty."
I take my leave of Count Raymond and descend into the bowels of the citadel where Brother Guillaume is being held in a cell. The guard, a good man of my province called Jean La Hire, bars my way.
"I am sorry, my lord, I cannot let you pass," he says with sympathy in his voice, "my Lord Raymond's orders."
"Have mercy, Jean," I beg. "I merely wish to ask the man's forgiveness for what I must do on the morrow. Surely my uncle cannot object to that."
The guard nods reluctantly and unbolts the door. My nose is assailed by the stench of human waste in the fetid cell. I wonder if they have not cleaned these cells of Saracen offal before they cast poor Brother Guillaume inside. Anger wells up inside me, but I banish it. I am unwilling to spoil our last moments together by indulging it.
Guillaume is on his knees, his beautiful mouth moving in silent prayer. My inelegant steps over the dry rushes startle him.
Guillaume's face is so thin and he is dressed in filthy rags. His hands are like a skeleton's and he already has the look of death about him. Even before the Christians captured Antioch, famine plagued us. No doubt my uncle thought it foolish to waste food on a condemned man. Tears begin to run down my cheeks.
They had shorn Guillaume's hair off with a razor, none to gently as the dried blood on his scalp would indicate. Heavy irons encircle his wrists almost comically. He could slip out of them easily, his limbs are so wasted. His smile is not changed though; it brightens his green eyes and brings a bit of color to his cheeks. "My dearest Étienne."
I fall to my knees and embrace him. "My love, how could I let them do this to you?"
"It is not your fault," he whispers gently. "I chose my fate."
"If it were not for my lust this would not have happened," I counter. "I am the one who led you to this. Why do you allow them to believe otherwise?"
"I am older and supposedly wiser than you." A small ironic chuckle escapes his lips. "As a servant of Christ more is expected of me than of a young knight. Besides, Count Raymond needs you. God needs you to help free Jerusalem."
I begin to sob with grief. "I care not for God or Jerusalem, I care for you alone. I cannot do what they demand of me."
Guillaume embraces me and places a kiss on my forehead. "You must not say such blasphemous things, Étienne. You must do your duty." He takes my face in his hands and meets my eyes. "I would have it no other way."
I do not sleep all that night. It is raining when I rise. My darling Guillaume is led out into the fortress's courtyard, shivering from the wet and cold. Count Raymond and his household surround the block where Guillaume awaits his fate.
Bishop Adhemar reads from a parchment Guillaume's alleged crimes--witchcraft, heresy, sodomy--and pronounces him excommunicate. At a nod from Count Raymond, I step forward and stand over Guillaume, a Brother of the Church no longer. I look to Heaven and make the sign of the cross, then unsheathed my sword. I raise my blade above my head. Guillaume turns and looks up at me, a sweet smile on his perfect lips. He then bows his head and bares his neck.
My sword falls...
Dom screamed, "NO!" He bolted up in bed, his entire body drenched in sweat. He was momentarily disoriented, but the gentle breeze rustling the curtains of his bedroom recalled him back to Hawaii. "Fuck." Dawn was just breaking. He had to get up soon anyway, so he rolled out of bed. He stumbled to the bathroom and splashed cold water on his face, then looked at himself in the mirror.
Plain, old Dominic Monaghan stared back at him. He wasn't some knight that went around chopping people's heads off. Chopping Billy's head off. He shivered. He wanted to call Billy, but Dom already knew what he would say. Still, the nightmare had been so bloody real… He grabbed his mobile.
He tapped his foot as Billy's phone rang once, twice…
"Hey, Dom."
"I had that dream again."
Billy sighed. "The one where you're a knight and I'm--?"
"A priest, yeah."
"What about it? Were we rutting each other in some hut in Turkey?"
"Asia Minor," Dom corrected. "It was so fucking real, Bills, but this time it was different." He paused, his heartbeat quickening as he recalled his vision. "I killed you. I chopped off your head."
"That wasn't very nice," Billy said, not at all concerned.
"It really happened," Dom said in frustration. "I just know it."
"You know I don't believe in that past life shite."
"I don't either, but--"
"Dom, I thought we'd settled all this in New Zealand. We're friends in this life, that's all that matters. These dreams don't mean anything."
Dom was annoyed at the way Billy said 'friends', but he wasn't quite sure why. They were just friends, gay Hobbit rumors notwithstanding, but these dreams--these memories--stirred feelings in Dom that frightened him. If he pushed this, he could risk losing Billy's friendship. But how could he ignore the fact that he had an erection from just hearing Billy's voice?
"Yeah, I know you're right," Dom lied. "Sorry, it just seemed so real."
"No problem," Billy replied. "Take a shower, have some tea, then call me, all right?"
Dom took Billy's advice, but when he called Billy later, Dom didn't mention the fact that he had masturbated once in the shower and twice while he was having tea, gazing at a snap of his best mate.
To be continued…
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I can't wait for more.
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I was wondering, in your introduction you have indicated that in his past lives Billy's name will remain a derivative of William. Why didn't you make the same choice with Dom? (There are 16 variants of his name including French, Latin and English.) I'm sorry, I am a complete and total name dork. Me=BIG Dork!. I don't mean to sound like I am slamming your choices, or come off as a smarty pants. It is your fic and you may call him Wilma if you wish. It's honestly just a curiousity, names fascinate me.
The story is captivating. The thought that poor Étienne must choose his duty over his love is heartbreaking and Brother Guillaume understanding and forgiving him was beautiful.
I also liked Billy's 'dreams are just rubbish but calm down call me so I know you are okay' attitude. The mush, he cares.
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I was wondering, in your introduction you have indicated that in his past lives Billy's name will remain a derivative of William. Why didn't you make the same choice with Dom?
Funny you should ask that. :) It's a great question, one that I don't take offense to in the least. I really wrestled with the names quite a lot before I decided on them. Obviously it would have been silly for them to have their present first and surnames throughout history, but I wanted to at least use names that were associated with them to lessen confusion. I also had to take in account period and geographical use of particular names.
As I'm sure you know, William was only behind John and James as the most common boys name throughout Medieval and Renaissance Europe, so the choice to use derivatives of William for Billy was an easy one. Though Dominic (or Dominique) would have worked just fine for the Crusader knight, it was problematic for 16th Century Protestant Scotland. By that time, the use of Catholic saints names were in sharp decline (except for the old standbys, John, James and William), so Dominic would have been a very uncommon name in that place in time, especially for a young man. Since I wouldn't have the same consistency with Dom's name, I decided to go a different route.
Now for my thought processes on the names I did choose for Dom: He played a French character named Étienne in "Monsignor Reynard" and one of his many real middle names is Bernard, hence Étienne Bernard. Dom played Geoffrey in "Hetty Wainthropp". The surname Galbraith is just a good Scottish name.
My brain in action. :)
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Thank you for explaining your process to me. I truely am fascinated. I like that you snuck in some of his character names as well as Bernard.
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