Rating: PG-13
Genre: Psychological Angst, Songfic
Status: (1/1) � oneshot
Warnings: angst, suicide
Disclaimer: I wish I owned the snow, at the very least. I have a great and terrible longing for snow at the moment. I own the memories upon which I�m basing descriptions of lovely snowy valleys and mountains�and I hope to see those again very soon (in a week, actually).
�The Snow Queen� is a fairy tale by H. C. Andersen
�The Picture of Dorian Gray� is a novel by Oscar Wilde
The Song is "Cover Me With Snow" by Rebecca Bakken. It's definitely worth listening to. Check out her site, there are extracts of the songs you can listen to. It's on her album "The Art of How To Fall".
Note: Ever since I got to know this song, I wanted to write a story based on it. I had so many different pairings in mind (Harry Potter, Digimon, Yugioh,�) each reflecting a smaller or larger period in my fanfiction history.
And now, finally written down, it happened in the first year of my life we didn�t have any snow in December or January. Talk about global warming�.
But at least I think I finally found the perfect pairing. Enjoy.
Arabic Note: The Arabic Standard Romanization requires letters I have trouble finding in Microsoft Word and which do not work on most homepages (they also don�t show Arabic symbols so I won�t even try�). I have to improvise a little. I hope those of you who know it will forgive me. The translations are pretty much included in the text.
Thank you for the beautiful picture, mic! I adore it!
Cover Me With Snow
He had watched it from afar and admired its purity and newness, soft, as yet untouched. He had smelled it as soon as he had opened the door, a smell so memorable it had burned itself into his consciousness for instant recognition, fresh and cleansing. He had touched it and felt it vanish with the warmth of his palm, a magnificent transformation from something magical and delicate to something plain but rich and life-giving. He had tasted it, fey substance on his tongue, not really a taste, but oh those few moments it kissed his lips with its cold touch! He had even listened to it. It was the epitome of absolute silence, drowning out all other sound, except for the crunching beneath his feet whenever he moved.
From the moment he had first experienced it with all his senses, Quatre Rabera Winner had loved snow.
And when those flakes of fragile whiteness sailed from the sky for the second time this beginning winter, he tilted his head backwards to smile at them. �marhaban�, he whispered, �Welcome on Earth.�
*
Not a safehouse but a house that felt truly safe gave him shelter this time. Secluded from prying eyes for a different reason, it gracefully fit into the landscape of plains and soft elevations, enclosed by a strong and deadly mountain range. In the morning the sun rose behind the glaciers, painting them rose and orange and turning the snow in the valley into a silky blanket of sparkling diamonds.
Every morning Quatre got up early to watch the transformation of the twilight valley into the rich realm of the Snow Queen. It made him smile. When Duo had heard about his whereabouts, he had laughed and dug up the fairytale by Andersen, pretending to have to warn his unsuspecting friend of the dangers of ice and snow. Although, Quatre mused, it had not really been the Snow Queen but the splinter of the troll mirror that had turned the hero of the tale into a cold and aggressive boy. He sighed softly and longingly glanced at the golden rays of light creeping over the snow-covered hills towards the balcony where he waited for their liberating warmth.
Only a tiny splinter and yet it could cause so much evil�Quatre shook his head even as his face bathed in the caress of the fresh morning�s sunlight. With a final glance he left the balcony and went into the hallway to put on his coat.
By the time he stepped through the door into the yard of the small house, the sunlight had reached the roof and the long line of icicles swooping down from it like giant teeth, some of them reaching the size of a grown man, thick as an arm and sharp as glass. In the likeness of diamonds they refracted the light and occasionally one of the rainbow�s colours would shimmer amidst the whiteness of the snow.
It was delusive, Quatre thought, and all delusions were dangerous. He wondered if the troll mirror had indeed been a large block of ice full of refracted sunlight that had affected the judgment of everyone who dared glance at it by undoing all sense of good and evil with its beauty.
Turning to meet the sunlight head on he began to walk. An alleyway of trees welcomed him, and with a smile of wonder he looked up at the branches bending towards him beneath the weight of freshly fallen snow. His breath froze before his lips and he exhaled slowly, a few times, to watch it volatilise like smoke.
Ah, if only his entire being could float away like this! Or, if he could exhale a part of himself and watch it vaporise into thin air!
When his eyes fell upon the large mounds of snow along the way, he remembered his trip to the nearby town with Trowa the day before. They had watched small children playing on those very same mounds, gathered by snowploughs to clean the streets for tourists. Trowa had smiled at him and told him that it was nice to be normal for once, and that they could be just like those kids, free and full of joy. Of course, Quatre mused, Trowa knew just as well as he did that none of them were ever going to be normal or free, but he was touched that Trowa was trying so hard, that he had gone through all the trouble to rent this house for a week and invite Quatre to come with him to buy him some time away from his business.
Involuntarily, Quatre looked back at the house, expecting Trowa to look out of the window this very moment, his brown hair a calming presence behind the delusive icicles. But Trowa was still sleeping.
Perhaps he could try it, Quatre thought, being a child, doing what the children did. Perhaps it would help him let go.
He left the small path to step directly into one of the snow-covered plains. At first he was loath to mar the perfect white blanket, but then he began to enjoy the feel of his boots sinking into it, the soft crunching sound that accompanied each of his movements. A small distance from the street he stopped and turned back towards the house.
Watch me, Trowa, he thought to himself and had to smile a little. Watch me, I can do it. I can be a child, I will be able to let go. Then he allowed himself to fall backwards into the snow, caught by its foreign consistence, with a breathless sound of surprise falling from his lips. As he had seen the children do, he began to move his arms up and down in the snow and opened his legs to draw a snow angel into the perfect white surface.
Panting softly, he then stilled his movements and relaxed into the smooth cold substance that fascinated him so. A snow angel, he thought, I painted myself a snow angel�.
An icy wave of anger swept through his body all of a sudden.
I am not deserving of an angel�There is nothing angelic about me�It makes me sick.
As if to break free from the constricting emotion he began to roll around in the snow like a dog, destroying the angel as he did so, coming to lie face-down on the cold and eventually hardening ground when he had to gasp for breath. Slowly he turned his head to the side and inspected his arm, covered all over in wet white flakes. He pressed his cheek onto the ground and took a deep breath, never taking his eyes off his arm.
I'm gonna lay this body down
Cover me with snow
Chill my burning flesh,
Its scolding decency and pride
The cold took possession of his body and it felt good, calming and grounding after his outburst of rage. It soothed the burning pain in his chest, numbed it even, a little.
It stings, he thought to himself, just like an icy splinter of the troll mirror would feel within my heart.
No, the troll mirror was not made from ice, was not delusive and colourful. He knew the troll mirror so well, and it reminded him of a different story, a book he had read a while ago. The Picture of Dorian Gray. That was what the troll mirror was like. Looking into it, he could see himself, the boy of barely seventeen years, blonde hair, soft features, large blue eyes, the way everyone else saw him. But other than Dorian�s portrait, the troll mirror did not change. It was he who changed, and he alone who knew the darkness that resided within him, the part of himself Quatre was afraid of, the evil that had almost killed the most important person in his life�
Oh, the shards of this broken mirror would forever be stuck within his heart and nothing could undo their painful sting, the bitter memories they carried.
Cold war is over
Opening my pores
The flame each pore is breathing in
Is coming from my core
In a thousand nightmares he had continued to kill people, soldiers, innocents, whoever was unfortunate enough to cross his path. In a thousand nightmares he had felt the Zero system taking over so easily once more, no matter how desperately his mind was fighting it. In a million endless nightmares he had seen Trowa�s face just before the Vayeate had exploded.
His body beginning to shake, Quatre pounded his fists onto the cold unrelenting ground, trying to drive the images from his mind, until his hands were red and hurting. Squeezing his eyes shut, he tried to force the hot tears down his cheeks to finally find some relief and, to his surprise, they fell.
Icy cold flames were licking his motionless body as he remained lying on the ground. They stung on his skin like very hot or very cold water sometimes did and he welcomed each sting for it released another tear and freed another burning emotion from the very core of his being.
Sweet and gentle sleepiness
Coming from the cold
Come back faithful punishment
Cover me with snow
Cover me with snow
Finally the crystal tears stopped coming and he lay quietly upon the hard snowy mattress, shivering with cold but slowly feeling his body becoming numb with it. Neither joy nor pain could withstand the snow.
Yes, he deserved this, wanted it even. He was not supposed to look like an angel, to smile like an angel, and yet know he had done all those terrible deeds. No one was allowed to have an angel�s features but be a killer deep inside. Like Dorian Gray, who inevitably dug his own grave when he wished for eternal beauty.
Better let himself be buried within the cold whiteness and become numb and unfeeling. Never move again and forever ignore the stab of pain in his heart where the troll mirror�s shards stuck forever.
Quatre? � sad�q�?
The voice was small, only a whisper on the wind, almost too distant to be real. All of a sudden he shot up, momentarily unable to move his fingers and his legs, from the cold. Trowa, he thought, Trowa�.I�have to go back.
I'm gonna lay this body down
Cover me with snow
Walk these hours barefoot
Let the snowflakes be my gown
The days passed so slowly. �Eternity� was the word the hero of the fairytale had to spell from cold ice in order to be freed from the palace of the Snow Queen. Influenced by the splinters of the troll mirror, the tale claimed, he had been unable to do so. Quatre now understood why - eternity is hardest to grasp for those who are only expecting more suffering to come from it.
He also knew why Trowa had insisted he needed to get away from his business. It had been Winner Enterprises that had made it so easy for him to go on with life, to ignore the stabbing pain in his heart. Unconsciously he had feared free time, avoided it even, whenever he had the chance, pressing himself to the point of absolute exhaustion because that was the only way the frequency of the nightmares lessened.
Now, this distraction was gone. Here, alone in the mountains whenever Trowa left the house to purchase the few things they needed, everything was catching up with him. And the only escape he had discovered so far proved to be the snow, the cold substance he loved and admired.
Night was falling early during the cold season, and the hour of twilight approached swiftly in the afternoon. Already the sun prepared to meet the icy mountain peaks, casting a soft golden light onto the valley. Clouds began to envelop the sky when Quatre left the house, and behind the Eastern mountain range the violet night began to rise.
He had not bothered with a coat, or gloves. Snow was something he needed to experience with his bare skin, again and again to never forget the wonderful cold burn it could create. So, clad only in faded blue jeans and his new white pullover, he stepped into the snow-covered field next to the little path leading away from the house.
For long moments he walked, ever towards the mountains, boots sinking deep into the snow. Finally he stopped in the middle of ceaseless white and tilted his face up towards the sky which at this very moment offered him the first snow flakes. Gracefully, they sank down upon his face and he closed his eyes filled with longing.
Quatre looked down upon his feet protected from the cold by warm white boots he had bought after his arrival on Earth. Protected, he mused, shielded were they from the harshness of the world, and it felt unreal after all he had seen, merely a boy and yet a soldier within the disasters of a cruel war.
With a bitter smile he began to pull them off, let his socks follow and finally stood barefooted within the thick layer of snow. Shivers of cold shook his body. His feet felt frozen on the spot as the familiar burn spread over them. Quatre lowered himself onto the ground, sank into the snowy blanket and willed himself not to shy away from the icy cold, awaiting the sensation of the tiny snowflakes on his bare skin.
My fingers have no colours
Crystals in my hair
I feel so beautiful
My thoughts have turned to stone
Wetness settled upon his face, a fine layer only, and yet each flake freed something within him even as, one by one, they slowly froze his body. Numb� the boy captive to the Snow Queen within her icy palace had been numb. Even the vileness of the mirror�s shards in his heart, those shards which had influenced his character so terribly, lost their power to the cold.
Quatre lifted his hands to his face, inspected them, palm first, then the back. With satisfaction and wonder he noticed how they had become pale enough to seem transparent, veins appearing bluish beneath the delicate skin. He smiled and lay back down. From now on he could be one with the snow, with its perilous and deadly beauty, with its unforgiving certainty.
�An� b�rid�, he whispered. Yes, he was cold, but for him this word held a new significance. The cold erased his being, his emotions, the cold perfected him in a way life would never be able to, the cold finally made him the angel everyone wanted, needed to see in him. Beautiful he was, withdrawn from the world, devoid of any emotion except unheeding joy and somnolent satisfaction.
The snow sheltered him from the nightmares, from cruel reality, from the memories lurking at the edge of his conscious, from the guilt he would never be able to shake off.
Sweet and gentle sleepiness
Coming from the cold
Come back faithful punishment
Cover me with snow
Cover me with snow
Instead he felt guarded like a child, cradled by the white bed so well adjusted to the form of his body. In the arms of the Snow Queen he could sleep, despite the pain. Sleep would take him and free him of the anguish caused by the ice embracing his bare skin. Already it was fading to a dull ache. He would take each and every punishment as long as he could remain here within his shelter and entirely stop feeling.
Quatre?....sad�q�?.....n�r� dh-dhahab�?
The voice�.He was calling. Somehow he knew that Trowa was calling for him. Probably not with the words his heart desired, not in his mother tongue in which they sounded most beautiful to his heart. �My friend�.My golden light�And yet, Trowa was calling.
Somehow he managed to get up and put on his boots. Wet, half-frozen and hurting he staggered back towards the house.
It does for me what I could not
Even when I tried
It soothes my mind and leaves behind
All the times I've lied
In the middle of the night Quatre shot up from his sleep, with a whimper of pain upon his lips and madness in his eyes. The images would not fade, before his unseeing eyes there stood still explosions and mangled bodies, the dead covering the floor in piles of limbs and blood�
No, he could not forget. He could never forget. Nothing would ever save him, nothing could ever help. Nothing�but the snow.
How many times had he told the others he was alright? How many times had he tried to convince Trowa that he no longer blamed himself for what he had done to him? How many times had he seen Trowa among the dead in his dreams?
He would put an end to the lies. He would go to sleep now, within his bed of snow.
I'm gonna lay this body down
Getting rid of a body he did not want, a body of angelic features and golden hair that had never truly suited him�
Getting rid of a faked smile created for those who worried about him�
Getting rid of hands that would never forget the blood they had been covered in, of hands that would forever cling to the sheets at night, looking for the solid grip of a Gundam�s throttle�
Cover me with snow
Snowing heavily�the skies emptying and the snowflakes dancing within the light of the small streetlamps illuminating his path�.the night so wonderfully silent�and so very cold�
Giving a sigh as he sank into the white blanket�burying himself in it�.wanting to be covered entirely so as to dissolve his entire being into the snow�
Fall asleep with crystals falling silent from above
The stars shining down upon him from in between the clouds�.thick crystals of ice and snow sailing down upon the Earth�
�nawm�sleep�.
Quatre?....sad�q�?....n�r� dh-dhahab�?...ayna anta?
�Quatre! Where are you?!�
�the light of a torch�.
*
�The splinters��, he tried to explain to the shadows. �The splinters of the troll mirror�they are hurting me�.I wish I could blame them for everything�like the boy�in the fairytale�.but it was my fault��
The shadows moved and spread comfortable darkness. He was shaking with cold but it was not the cold he had experienced outside in the snow�
�Ana b�rid��, he whispered once more. The shadows gathered around him and a blanket was pulled comfortingly up to his shoulders�
�You okay?�, he thought he heard the shadows murmur softly.
He nodded. ��na bi-khayr al��n,� shukran.�
The shadows moved away. �Good�, they breathed upon a soft gust of wind.
*
�Ayna�ayna �na?�
�You are in your bed. In the small house between the mountains.�
��sar�r�?�
�Yes, your bed.�
��I thought�.I�.was covered with snow��
�You were when I found you�Quatre�sad�q�.�
�Trowa?�
Finally Quatre opened his eyes, and there he was�the shadow that had watched over him in the darkness�the one who would forever watch over him.
�Quatre�you claim to be my friend�sad�q�, that�s what you said�Why did you do this to me?�
He looked so weary, so worn out as he leaned against the wall, as he kept the distance he thought was needed.
�wallahi, Trowa, �na sad�quka! I am your friend, I promise! But I �I don�t deserve you.�
�Why would you think that?�
�Because I�I am guilty. You see, there are these shards of glass within my heart, and they will forever remind me�.�
�But Quatre�, Trowa said softly, as he pushed himself away from the wall and walked towards his companion on the bed. �The more you try to run from them, the further they will delve into your heart. You already did so many things to make up for what happened during the war. Am I not guilty also, Quatre, just as much as you are? And would you have me die outside in the snow?�
�No, never!�, Quatre cried and sat up as if reaching out for the other. �Never you!�
�Then allow me to feel the same way about you, Quatre�, Trowa replied simply, and as he spoke those words he sat down upon the bed and enfolded Quatre in his arms. When he finally pulled away, Quatre felt a small drop of wetness on his cheek.
A tear�A tear Trowa had cried for him, probably without being aware that he had done so�
At that moment Quatre remembered the boy�s sister. The only one who had been able to save him, with her tears. Those tears of affection and closeness had the power to wash away the troll mirror�s shards.
They would not wash away his guilt.
But when Quatre saw Trowa�s tear, his heart filled with warmth.
Cold snow had numbed his body, joy and pain alike, had provided an escape. But this warmth increased his joy thousandfold, until it was strong enough to fight the pain and misery that had taken permanent residence within his heart for so long. If only Trowa was forever there to be his strength then maybe�.
Trowa smiled. �I will always be there for you, Quatre.� Almost as if he knew �
�Sleep now. Your fever has to go down. There will be time to talk when you wake up again.�
When Quatre went to sleep it was not to the prospect of nightmares but with the memory of the kiss Trowa had bestowed upon his forehead, light as a snowflake, before he walked out of the door.
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