Show Me, chapter 3
Oct. 9th, 2016 06:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scripsiTitle: Show Me
Fandom: Versailles
Rating: Explicit
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 1931
Chapters: 3/3
Characters/pairing: Fabien Marchal/Sophie de Clermont.
Warnings: None for this chapter, explicit sex and spanking for chapter 2.
Summary: Sophie needs Fabien Marchal to survive, but she is not prepared to let him dictate all the terms.
(Chapter 1)
(Chapter 2)
Sophie untangled her hair with her fingers, turning away from Fabien as she put it up again with jerky and impatient movements. Earlier she had resisted him when he had told her to leave, now she wanted nothing else. She wasn’t sure why she felt so upset, her plan had, after all, worked out perfectly. If she could persuade Fabien she was prepared to do anything he wanted, regardless of his demands, then she could convince him to teach her to do it better. He may not trust her, but if she could become someone he relied upon, then she would be safe. But she hadn’t been prepared to enjoy herself so much tonight. Sophie hadn’t known her body could burn like this and she felt ashamed it had been with a man she hated.
She felt a surge of self-disgust and when she turned around, Sophie could see her own feelings mirrored in Fabien’s. It was only for a moment before he schooled his features into their usual unreadable state, but it was enough for all Sophie’s conflicting emotions to turn into anger.
“Can I go now?”
It was an unfair question, and she knew it.
“As if I have done anything to keep you. What’s the matter? You have satisfied your little whim, and now you can’t wait to leave. You really are just like your mother.”
“I’m nothing like her!”
“And still your conduct suggest you were a good little disciple to her. Undoubtedly she would have been very proud over you tonight.”
The scornful words rankled and without considering the consequences, Sophie raised her hand to strike him. All for nought, he caught her arm and twisted it painfully behind her back.
“You are hurting me!”
“You liked it well enough only moments ago.”
“And it exited you. Did you enjoy doing that to my mother too? Did you beat her before you killed her?”
Fabien suddenly turned very still. His eyes seemed to grew darker, and what little colour there was in his face drained away. It was a frightening change, and Sophie realised she had gone too far. She had pushed Fabien the whole evening, hoping she could rattle him out of his self-control. He had destroyed her life, and she had wanted so badly to shake him out of his infuriating calm. Now the sinking feeling in her stomach told her she had been a fool. Even if he had frightened her before, she hadn’t been nearly as afraid as she should have been. She had been playing with fire and now she would be burned. His free hand clenched as if he was readying himself to hit her. It wouldn’t be smarting slaps against a well-padded bottom this time, but blows which broke noses and shattered cheekbones. In panic Sophie tried to jerk free, but he only tightened his grip and she mewled in pain.
But then a little colour seeped back into Fabien’s face, and some of the tension left his body. Without letting go of her, he picked up a candle, and left the room, forcing Sophie with him. She stumbled, prevented from falling only by the hard grip around her arm.
The purpose of the room Fabien brought her to was clear as soon as she stepped inside. The air was rank, a stench of dried blood and fear. A feeble candle flame was not enough to light up much of the interior, but she saw enough to terrify her. She had heard of this room, it was a favourite topic in a certain form on unsavoury gossip at court. Fabien Marshal's torture chamber who very few emerged from alive. He dragged her to a long table and let her go, raising his arm so the light fell on a collection tools laying there. After a quick glance Sophie tried to turn away, but a vice like grip at the back of her neck forced her to look again. Without apparent hurry he explained to her every gruesome use the instruments had. Sophie was crying in sheer terror now, convinced that as soon as he stopped talking, he would demonstrate exactly what he could do with them.
He put down the cable on the table, but instead of picking up one of the tools, he reached into his doublet and removed a small bottle and held it up before Sophie’s eyes.
“Do you know what this is? It is everything I have on the table, in just a few drops. Not that you realise it, not at first. It begins with a slight discomfort, easy to ignore. Then the pain comes, stabbing into your guts like a knife. You cough blood, and the pain grow worse, radiating through your whole body. Your head will start to ache and the light hurt your eyes, making it difficult to see. Then comes the vomiting, but it does not relieve the pain, it amplifies it. Your mouth grows dry, and makes your tongue swell, making speech painful and slow. Even breathing becomes a burden, but you welcome it because it means you are still alive. The poison in this little flask nearly became my end. Tell me, would I not be in my right to hate the person who did this and to seek my revenge?”
Sophie, desperately trying to stifle her sobs, managed a nod. Fabien pocketed the bottle again and finally let her go. She lurched back, away from him. Her back met the cold stone walls, and she half turned, pressing her heated face against it. Now she could close her eyes against the surrounding horrors, but she could not close out Fabien’s voice as he continued to speak.
“It was your mother who poisoned me. She tricked me to drink it, and then she sat at my sick bed, telling me sweet lies. So caring and so gentle and watching me die slowly and painfully without ever betraying her true nature. I got away, but I was not her only victim. And it could have been worse, it could have been the King. Her guilt was beyond question- did you think she died because of my wounded pride? Yes, I ordered your mother’s death, and I looked her in the eye when she died. But I never raised my hand against her and she didn't die in here.”
The room went very silent when he stopped speaking. Sophie felt cold and tired, wishing she was somewhere else. Wishing, most of all, to be a child again whose mother would be there for comfort and safety. But there was no one left to fend for Sophie but Sophie herself. If she disappeared as her mother had, there would be no one who would care. She had mishandled what little accord there had been between her and Fabien and she doubted she could do much to repair it. But she had to try and steeling herself she looked up at him.
“I know why you must think I’m like her, but you are wrong. I have nothing but disdain for what she really believed in, and for what she did. She raised me to be a good Catholic and a loyal subject to the King. It may have been a lie for her, but for me it is the truth. That is who I am. But she was still my mother, and I loved her. I think of what happened to her every day and I dream nightmares about it at night. I would do anything for peace of mind, to get some kind of closure. If I could see her grave-”
“There is no grave.”
Sophie shuddered at the implication of that, but continued. “Where she died then? If it was not in this room, then could I go there? I beg of you, please, will you show me?”
Fabien watched her for a moment, then he took the candle and left the room. He left the door open, and after a brief hesitation Sophie followed him back to his office. He had picked up his cloak and now he wrapped it around her shoulders. Her surprise over the gesture only lessened slightly when he opened a door and stepped outside. He led her out into the vast garden of Versailles, the full moon giving them such good light he blew out the candle. The night air felt pleasantly cool against Sophie’s face, but her high heeled silk slippers were not meant for walking and would be ruined. It was a long walk, first through the immaculate gardens close to the palace, and then through the more informal pastures beyond. Sophie looked at Fabien’s silent back and wondered what he was thinking about. He had always seemed so completely in control, and she had never considered what he had felt about it all. His anger seemed to have abated, and she didn’t feel afraid anymore, only bewildered.
At long last they reached a place close to where the forests began. The moonlight rendered the world black and white, but Sophie knew it would be painted in soft greens during the day. It was a beautiful place, peaceful even, and Fabien stopped.
“Here,” he said, indicating a spot on the ground. “She kneeled down here.”
Sophie stepped closer, feeling a peculiar mixture of curiousness and revulsion. There was nothing to see, too many weeks had passed and wind and rain would have erased any traces a long time ago. She fell down on her knees herself and looked up at the man before her.
“Like this?”
Fabien made a small movement, almost like a flinch. “Yes.”
“Was she afraid?”
“Everyone is afraid when they face death. But she died with dignity and grace.”
Sophie put her hand on the ground, wondering what her mother had thought in her last moments. Had she thought of Sophie at all, regretting she would never see her daughter again? Or had she only thought of the schemes she had failed to succeed at? Sophies’ eyes filled with tears again. Beatrice had lived in a world Sophie had known nothing about, working for a goal Sophie could never have shared.
“I know what the death of a traitor entails. It is filled with pain and public humiliation. Why did you spare her that fate?”
“Perhaps I’m not quite as monstrous as you think I am.”
His words made her look away. It suddenly seemed all too possible he could carry his own private regrets, and she didn’t know what to say. It would have been comforting if she had believed her mother innocent and only the victim of Fabien’s viciousness. She had always known it was not that simple, but before she had ignored it. After tonight she knew she could no longer be an oblivious little girl, hiding in half-truths. Sophie felt exhausted, but there was still one more thing she wanted to do before the night was over.
“Thank you,” she said, eventually. “I have grieved there was no last rites for my mother and no Mass. I never realised before they are rituals which meant nothing for her and she would not have wanted them even if it had been possible.”
“No, she wouldn’t.”
“It means something to me, though. I’m going to the chapel now to pray for her soul. For my sake as much as hers. Will you join me?”
There was a brief pause before he nodded. “Yes, I will.”
Fabien held out his hand helped Sophie to her feet, and side by side they returned to the castle together.
Fandom: Versailles
Rating: Explicit
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 1931
Chapters: 3/3
Characters/pairing: Fabien Marchal/Sophie de Clermont.
Warnings: None for this chapter, explicit sex and spanking for chapter 2.
Summary: Sophie needs Fabien Marchal to survive, but she is not prepared to let him dictate all the terms.
(Chapter 1)
(Chapter 2)
Sophie untangled her hair with her fingers, turning away from Fabien as she put it up again with jerky and impatient movements. Earlier she had resisted him when he had told her to leave, now she wanted nothing else. She wasn’t sure why she felt so upset, her plan had, after all, worked out perfectly. If she could persuade Fabien she was prepared to do anything he wanted, regardless of his demands, then she could convince him to teach her to do it better. He may not trust her, but if she could become someone he relied upon, then she would be safe. But she hadn’t been prepared to enjoy herself so much tonight. Sophie hadn’t known her body could burn like this and she felt ashamed it had been with a man she hated.
She felt a surge of self-disgust and when she turned around, Sophie could see her own feelings mirrored in Fabien’s. It was only for a moment before he schooled his features into their usual unreadable state, but it was enough for all Sophie’s conflicting emotions to turn into anger.
“Can I go now?”
It was an unfair question, and she knew it.
“As if I have done anything to keep you. What’s the matter? You have satisfied your little whim, and now you can’t wait to leave. You really are just like your mother.”
“I’m nothing like her!”
“And still your conduct suggest you were a good little disciple to her. Undoubtedly she would have been very proud over you tonight.”
The scornful words rankled and without considering the consequences, Sophie raised her hand to strike him. All for nought, he caught her arm and twisted it painfully behind her back.
“You are hurting me!”
“You liked it well enough only moments ago.”
“And it exited you. Did you enjoy doing that to my mother too? Did you beat her before you killed her?”
Fabien suddenly turned very still. His eyes seemed to grew darker, and what little colour there was in his face drained away. It was a frightening change, and Sophie realised she had gone too far. She had pushed Fabien the whole evening, hoping she could rattle him out of his self-control. He had destroyed her life, and she had wanted so badly to shake him out of his infuriating calm. Now the sinking feeling in her stomach told her she had been a fool. Even if he had frightened her before, she hadn’t been nearly as afraid as she should have been. She had been playing with fire and now she would be burned. His free hand clenched as if he was readying himself to hit her. It wouldn’t be smarting slaps against a well-padded bottom this time, but blows which broke noses and shattered cheekbones. In panic Sophie tried to jerk free, but he only tightened his grip and she mewled in pain.
But then a little colour seeped back into Fabien’s face, and some of the tension left his body. Without letting go of her, he picked up a candle, and left the room, forcing Sophie with him. She stumbled, prevented from falling only by the hard grip around her arm.
The purpose of the room Fabien brought her to was clear as soon as she stepped inside. The air was rank, a stench of dried blood and fear. A feeble candle flame was not enough to light up much of the interior, but she saw enough to terrify her. She had heard of this room, it was a favourite topic in a certain form on unsavoury gossip at court. Fabien Marshal's torture chamber who very few emerged from alive. He dragged her to a long table and let her go, raising his arm so the light fell on a collection tools laying there. After a quick glance Sophie tried to turn away, but a vice like grip at the back of her neck forced her to look again. Without apparent hurry he explained to her every gruesome use the instruments had. Sophie was crying in sheer terror now, convinced that as soon as he stopped talking, he would demonstrate exactly what he could do with them.
He put down the cable on the table, but instead of picking up one of the tools, he reached into his doublet and removed a small bottle and held it up before Sophie’s eyes.
“Do you know what this is? It is everything I have on the table, in just a few drops. Not that you realise it, not at first. It begins with a slight discomfort, easy to ignore. Then the pain comes, stabbing into your guts like a knife. You cough blood, and the pain grow worse, radiating through your whole body. Your head will start to ache and the light hurt your eyes, making it difficult to see. Then comes the vomiting, but it does not relieve the pain, it amplifies it. Your mouth grows dry, and makes your tongue swell, making speech painful and slow. Even breathing becomes a burden, but you welcome it because it means you are still alive. The poison in this little flask nearly became my end. Tell me, would I not be in my right to hate the person who did this and to seek my revenge?”
Sophie, desperately trying to stifle her sobs, managed a nod. Fabien pocketed the bottle again and finally let her go. She lurched back, away from him. Her back met the cold stone walls, and she half turned, pressing her heated face against it. Now she could close her eyes against the surrounding horrors, but she could not close out Fabien’s voice as he continued to speak.
“It was your mother who poisoned me. She tricked me to drink it, and then she sat at my sick bed, telling me sweet lies. So caring and so gentle and watching me die slowly and painfully without ever betraying her true nature. I got away, but I was not her only victim. And it could have been worse, it could have been the King. Her guilt was beyond question- did you think she died because of my wounded pride? Yes, I ordered your mother’s death, and I looked her in the eye when she died. But I never raised my hand against her and she didn't die in here.”
The room went very silent when he stopped speaking. Sophie felt cold and tired, wishing she was somewhere else. Wishing, most of all, to be a child again whose mother would be there for comfort and safety. But there was no one left to fend for Sophie but Sophie herself. If she disappeared as her mother had, there would be no one who would care. She had mishandled what little accord there had been between her and Fabien and she doubted she could do much to repair it. But she had to try and steeling herself she looked up at him.
“I know why you must think I’m like her, but you are wrong. I have nothing but disdain for what she really believed in, and for what she did. She raised me to be a good Catholic and a loyal subject to the King. It may have been a lie for her, but for me it is the truth. That is who I am. But she was still my mother, and I loved her. I think of what happened to her every day and I dream nightmares about it at night. I would do anything for peace of mind, to get some kind of closure. If I could see her grave-”
“There is no grave.”
Sophie shuddered at the implication of that, but continued. “Where she died then? If it was not in this room, then could I go there? I beg of you, please, will you show me?”
Fabien watched her for a moment, then he took the candle and left the room. He left the door open, and after a brief hesitation Sophie followed him back to his office. He had picked up his cloak and now he wrapped it around her shoulders. Her surprise over the gesture only lessened slightly when he opened a door and stepped outside. He led her out into the vast garden of Versailles, the full moon giving them such good light he blew out the candle. The night air felt pleasantly cool against Sophie’s face, but her high heeled silk slippers were not meant for walking and would be ruined. It was a long walk, first through the immaculate gardens close to the palace, and then through the more informal pastures beyond. Sophie looked at Fabien’s silent back and wondered what he was thinking about. He had always seemed so completely in control, and she had never considered what he had felt about it all. His anger seemed to have abated, and she didn’t feel afraid anymore, only bewildered.
At long last they reached a place close to where the forests began. The moonlight rendered the world black and white, but Sophie knew it would be painted in soft greens during the day. It was a beautiful place, peaceful even, and Fabien stopped.
“Here,” he said, indicating a spot on the ground. “She kneeled down here.”
Sophie stepped closer, feeling a peculiar mixture of curiousness and revulsion. There was nothing to see, too many weeks had passed and wind and rain would have erased any traces a long time ago. She fell down on her knees herself and looked up at the man before her.
“Like this?”
Fabien made a small movement, almost like a flinch. “Yes.”
“Was she afraid?”
“Everyone is afraid when they face death. But she died with dignity and grace.”
Sophie put her hand on the ground, wondering what her mother had thought in her last moments. Had she thought of Sophie at all, regretting she would never see her daughter again? Or had she only thought of the schemes she had failed to succeed at? Sophies’ eyes filled with tears again. Beatrice had lived in a world Sophie had known nothing about, working for a goal Sophie could never have shared.
“I know what the death of a traitor entails. It is filled with pain and public humiliation. Why did you spare her that fate?”
“Perhaps I’m not quite as monstrous as you think I am.”
His words made her look away. It suddenly seemed all too possible he could carry his own private regrets, and she didn’t know what to say. It would have been comforting if she had believed her mother innocent and only the victim of Fabien’s viciousness. She had always known it was not that simple, but before she had ignored it. After tonight she knew she could no longer be an oblivious little girl, hiding in half-truths. Sophie felt exhausted, but there was still one more thing she wanted to do before the night was over.
“Thank you,” she said, eventually. “I have grieved there was no last rites for my mother and no Mass. I never realised before they are rituals which meant nothing for her and she would not have wanted them even if it had been possible.”
“No, she wouldn’t.”
“It means something to me, though. I’m going to the chapel now to pray for her soul. For my sake as much as hers. Will you join me?”
There was a brief pause before he nodded. “Yes, I will.”
Fabien held out his hand helped Sophie to her feet, and side by side they returned to the castle together.
