Date: Fri, 29 Oct 1999 18:03:36 -0700 To: "FKarchiver@fkfanfic.com" From: "Amy K. Rambow" Subject: For the Archive: Poem: Longer than the Medicis (01/01) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Longer Than The Medicis, a _Forever Knight_ poem for Susan Garrett August 1999 by Amy Rambow (akr@lanminds.com) ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Set in the ninety-seven years preceding "Partners of the Month" past. Further claims, disclaimers and credits may be found at the end of the poem. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ I As she hunted them, their hostess, moving from seats near the minstrels to the circle of the old carol dance, she knew some saw her pointed shoes peek from her sweeping skirt while other eyes weighed her heavy jewels. She knew they saw the candlelight sparkle on the butterfly veil fluttering over abundant ebony curls: against every intent of the garment never concealing, rather revealing -- though only that which she willed them to see. She knew some saw the white chemise bursting through subtly slashed sleeves, while others measured the superbly-trained step of her servants and delicate decadence of her hall. She knew they saw all those things, only those and none else, the mortals Janette hunted, as she walked among them, smiling, and chose. II He saw all those things, their host, as he walked with her, then alone, in the candlelight -- skirting their guests, for he watched as they watched. He saw all those things, as she intended they be seen, but he alone saw more yet, more than she would ever willingly show. Like the mortals there, his eye and body read the smooth round curves under red brocade. Like the mortals there, he read the message she meant to tell: that she was a woman of station and wealth and beauty and sex, available, to the best of the best -- if they dared. But he alone of them knew how little it meant, that moment of blood, the length and the depth of a meal. He knew, yet tonight Nicolas scowled at those who wanted her as badly as he had when his blood beat hot and human like theirs. III For he saw much more than the others could. He knew when to look for the flashing mind behind the languid eye, when to listen for the supple laugh in the solemn mien. He knew the greed that was the vampire in Janette, and the greed that was the child. Nicolas knew her in strength and command, his conqueror, and loved her so. As well, he knew Janette in the warm woman's heart whose banked embers refused to be smothered beneath immortal stone, and loved her so. He knew the most the mortals saw of her this sultry summer night was a shadow of voluptuous temptation in red, but she was all that is bright in his eyes. As much better than they as he knew her, by that much more did he desire her, and his gaze followed her across their hall. IV Janette frowned sternly as she felt his eyes fix upon her, an articulate look by which she told him to choose his meal while the music played. The ambassador's entire retinue stood before him, and what was one stray foreigner come dawn? Smiling again at her guests all around, her hand brushed the arm of the second son of a once noble house, now fallen low, with only its high name and gentle blood to sustain it -- and its blood, to Janette, smelled sustaining indeed. Yes, this warm blood would fill her with raw power, high pleasure, until the empty body was found stabbed, its light purse cut; she trained her servants well. Janette found safe comfort in the knowledge that this hunt and this night would roll behind like all other hunts and nights. All but one. V And still she felt that one's eyes upon her. Her Nicolas. Her choice, her dream, her love. She felt his gaze caress her high, bare brow, then slide down her throat and breast to the hand holding folds of gown gathered at her waist. Amused, the hostess tipped back her proud head to meet his eyes. To be trapped in his eyes. When had the knight become so much of her? How had this Nicolas grown into all that lifted her heart and brightened her world? Worshipful, his gaze asked nothing of her, nothing for her to allow or deny. If she took the mortal there, before all, Nicolas would not stop her, but with her, by her word, would run from the broken code or confront it. The mortal heart at hand withered to a clumsy cacophony while those bottomless eyes drew her to drown. VI Nicolas watched her eyes rise to him, blue sparks as scorching as the summer winds, as oblivious to their guests as he for all she admonished his attention. Ignoring their guests was, her frown declared, wasteful and rude, and she would have neither in her home or her hall or her hunt. Apologetically, Nicolas bowed. He had no wish to tamper with her pose in front of their guests, in front of their world. Nicolas had no wish to reveal the vampire behind her human screen, nor the human longings still smoldering under the glacier of vampiric ice. He would not break her masks, his smile said. Later, when he and she were all the world, and she held him in her arms and her blood, she would cast them off herself in his heart. VII The shudder which ran through her slender frame at the growing threat in that dear promise was not visible, not even to him, as she returned her gaze to her party, her guests and her hunt. But the slick, sweet scent of mortal blood slid away from her now, a faint tendril of mist lost in the fog of the feel of Nicolas's patient eyes. His passion was ever both their pleasure, but his devotion? To her, a terror. When had he become so much of her self? How had she fallen so far into trust? What could she do, that he would cease to stare, holding her fast with that still-shining soul, loving her with all he was and could be, asking nothing but that she love him too? He asked nothing, just everything she was. And if she stayed, someday she would give it. VIII Stronger than someday, Janette pressed the thought down below her pride, down below her need, down below this love like none she had known. With a half smile, half nod, she ensured that the younger son of the noble blood would linger as the others departed. But through candlelit hours of music and talk, she could feel Nicolas waiting, waiting, waiting for her, his molten voice singing a long, slow kiss through the chamber. Like the moist air, his waiting embraced her, and when at last she drew her mortal meal behind a pillar in the emptied hall, she sighed to see into eyes untested, not her Crusader's, bold, bright and fallen, pure and depraved, each to its utmost end, so like the consuming love he offered which she had just begun to learn to fear. IX Where the doors stood open to the garden, his back to the all-but-empty chamber, Nicolas waited. Where the heavy fruit burst for ripeness and the vines split for sap, he waited for her. Where the mossy earth rolled softly into the sheltering dark, the knight kept vigil. Only by her choice, her word, her decision, could he free her as he wished, unlocking the still-warm heart she so rarely dared show even herself. And so when she came to him there at last, bathed in the scents of their garden that night, slowly bursting apart under his lips then melting back together in his arms, he could not have imagined that one day she would take back the key to all she was. He loved her forever, and in the blood, which bore no mask, she loved forever too. --- END Claims & Disclaimers: ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ _Forever Knight_ is the creation of James Parriot and Barney Cohen, and is currently the property of Sony Incorporated. No infringement is intended. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ This poem is dedicated to Susan Garrett on the occasion of her birthday, 1999, with warm wishes for her health, happiness and writing! ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ My thanks go to Jane, Shelley and Cynthia for their observant comments on drafts of this poem. For anyone inclined to count, the piece is pentameter blank verse in nine stanzas of eighteen lines each. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Janette, "Partners of the Month" past: "We _have_ been building, Nicolas -- longer than the Medicis. Ninety-seven years is longer than any mortal marriage." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Janette, "Partners of the Month" present: "I couldn't accept the depth of his feeling for me. I wasn't used to that." ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The clothing and styles described in the poem come from James Laver's _Concise History of Costume and Fashion_, Scribners, 1969. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Please do not post, archive or distribute this piece in any way without the author's permission. If you wish the author's permission, please ask her. As of October 29, 1999, the FK fanfic page at has permission to archive this poem. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Comments and constructive criticism are always appreciated. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Please direct comments to Amy Rambow at (akr@lanminds.com). ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Amy K. Rambow akr@lanminds.com http://users.lanminds.com/~akr/fk/