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They expected a fight. For Owen to gnash his teeth and claw against his fate, fighting his way to the pyre as he fought his way through life.
What they didn't expect was quiet resignation. But what did he have left to fight for? Louis is gone, a fate awaiting Owen just as cruel. At least he'd die with his gift, and they can reunite in hell. No, perhaps this is what he wanted all along. To be brought closer to Louis in the flames that took him away.
Owen's eyes remained turned down, neck bent against the weight and wound of the silver chains wrapped against his throat. Hands, similarly bound, hang limp before his slight, sorrowful figure. Muted red gaze blurring the mud and gravel of the path. A jab of silver spurs him forward, Apo's sword a threat as much as protection. A bite as painful as his own.
A few words wisp across the quiet square, wary gazes in all hues following the damned soul. Some are solemn, grieving a life lost. "He was a good guy, or at least a good roommate." Sausage whispers. "No one deserves a death this cruel." Drift breathes.
Most, however, are full of vitriol. Anger and hatred, both warranted and misplaced.
"Finally, one less foul, loveless creature in our grim world." Renhardt's lilt no longer felt silly. "Hopefully, it'll send a message to the other demons of his kind. "
"Anyone who lauds their own murder spree deserves this." Martyn huffs, lantern of holy flame a dangling warning from his staff.
But it was Apo's words, harsh as the blade she wields, that cuts closest. Cold breath like silver carving through Owen's ear. "Now you know how I felt. Now you know how it feels to be powerless."
What it was that made Apo so especially provoking to the lumberjack, he'll never know. But it was enough to spur his frustration to the surface, one last revolt against his fate. Elbows, sharp from years of starvation, dig deep into Apo's stomach, forcing both prisoner and warden to their knees. The small crowd gasps, as if they were the ones who just lost their breath. Despite the searing pain, even through the bandages, Owen grabs the silver chains and pulls Apo close. "That's rich, coming from you. Always assuming, yet never listening. You know nothing about love and how it burns."
Hands tangle in Owen's hair, and chains tighten around his throat, his wrists. The anger dies out as pain fills the void, and the young vampire is dragged through the town, silver burning his skin before the pyre was ever lit. Monstrous actions for a monstrous creature.
Owen's head swims from the pain, chest heaving for breath once the chains loosen- only so they can be wrapped around the stake. He knew where he was. On the precipice of death. In the same damned town, the same damned square that his beloved was burned in.
Funny, how history repeats. Ragged locks of wiry hair curtain across Owen's vision, brief shadows against the burning hatred in his gaze. Some shirk from the flame. Others fuel it with their own fury.
Only one endures, cold quiet calming the fire within. Legundo, still as a statue, never turns away from the sight before him. As chains tighten around the lean figure, biting as sharp as a vampire's teeth. As wood stacks around his feet, the fresh smell of pine warning the lumberjack of a ferocious, flaming fate. As holy flame swung from lanterns, prepared to ignite the pyre.
Their gazes never left one another, as if trying to find one last conversation, one more argument hung in the air between them. There was no saving, no cure for this. And Owen would die, words left unsaid just as they had been two hundred years ago. Fire eating away a broken heart, and maybe even leaving one behind.
There was no fight, because there was no freedom for Owen. Not in this life, at least. Whether he lived or died, he was trapped. Trapped in his grief. No matter how many he brought down with him, none of it would bring Louis back. But he could join him.
At least he can be with his sire, his beloved, once more. Bathed in the same flames, walking his path like the faithful, loyal partner he is. Owen could never be Louis, but he could at least die like him.
The sound of glass shatters him from his thoughts, gaze torn from the thoughts he lost in jade sharp eyes. Flames burst from the broken lantern, quick to feast upon the dry, resinous logs. How ironic, a lumberjack's fate to be burned upon the very wood he grew? A fallen tree would be a quicker death, one expected of a logger. But this was just another cruel twist of fate the spirits so loved to haunt Owen with.
He feels the heat before the bite of the fire. Hears the cheers, the whispers through the crackle and snaps of the tinder. Sees the emerald gaze never once look away, even as smoke coils in a thick, black fog. Tears threaten to spill over, from the ash or emotions in the air, neither could tell.
And then the flames reach Owen, and he could no longer hide behind seething dignity. He knew pain well, an old friend in his life, but this was worse than any blister or abrasion. Every nerve was alight with pain, sharp and seething and unending in it's agony. Owen could not hold back his cries, even as he bit his own tongue, tasting stolen blood upon his lips. He writhes against the stake, buried into the ground rather than his heart. Death will be as kind to Owen as life was.
Scott said vampires were a more evolved creature, but in this moment, Owen felt no different from the mortals before him, or the beasts of the wood. Pain was pain, and while he lost his fear of death long ago, it was hard to overwrite instinct. Anger, hunger, agony are the same elements of a vampire as any animal.
So an animal he became, thrashing against his bindings, desperate to escape. Kicking with futility as fire gnaws upon his skin. There is no stopping the hungry flames, eager to burn away the evil of this creature. The wretched scent of singed hair surrounds the vampire as the pyre engulfs. Howls of pain turn to fits of coughing, smoke filling Owen's lungs as the fire cleanses the earth from his existence.
Through the smoke, Owen's eyes flutter closed. For a moment, he imagines an angel before him. Clothed in white, reaching out to take his hand and carry him from this dreadful mortal coil. Piercing green gaze knowing exactly what he is, what he's done, but empathetic all the same.
Hands come free, melted or broken Owen does not care, because he reaches back. Mottled, marred, burned and blistered, but welcome to the embrace of death.
The world goes dark, and Owen wonders if this is what sleep feels like, after two hundred years of anguished waking. He expects to feel nothing, not the pain of his burns…. And the gentle touch of a warm body. Fingers, thick and calloused, burrowing into his hair.
A beating heart. It's low thrum is the anchor to reality that keeps Owen from drifting away. Someone is holding him. No one has been kind in their touch since Louis…
He dares open his eyes, only to wince them closed as a wave of pain settles across his being. Deep breaths, until hes able to work through the burning agony. This time, when Owen opens his eyes, he seethes through the pain, and finds the source of the heartbeat.
It wasn't Louis caressing burnt locks away from his face. If Owen could think beyond the pain, he'd have known it couldn't be his sire, his betrothed. He never got to hear Louis's heartbeat. Instead, his hazy gaze falls upon the Doctor's face, wrought with fear. Ash has turned his white smock grey, chapped lips parted as exertion forces air from his lungs.
"Doctor?" Owen didn't recognize his own voice, low and strained, but hes surprised he could talk at all. Flames have eaten at much of his skin, clothes left as smoldering tatters clinging to his form. Sight and touch is all he had, but slowly sound drags itself out of the well of pain. The roaring of the pyre is no more, though the roar of anger filled the silence.
"I've got you Owen. I've got you." Legundo breathes, words to soothe himself as much as the vampire. Without thought, Owen's fingers grip onto the Doctor's clothes, holding him fast to reality. A thick, dark plume of smoke rises from behind, the creak of wood chewed away by flame joining the cacophony of sounds rushing Owen's senses.
The pyre that was to take his life. The fire that would tear him apart, but bring him closer to Louis. Legundo had stolen him from the flames. Wounded and burnt, but alive.
And clearly, it wasn't a welcome decision by the doctor's peers. But Owen ignores the angry shouts. He only has so much strength, and he doesn't wish to waste it upon vitriol of mortals.
"Why?" He croaks, body shaking. Is he cold? Or is it the pain? "Why would you save me? An enemy?"
Legundo's throat bobs, deep breaths before he could find words. "Because I love you, idiot."
Oh. What a foolish reason. And a part of Owen is mad about it. Because he never had the chance to save Louis, all for love. He never got to he a hero, only ever the villain.
The villain that was to be burnt at the stake. Instead, hes become the damsel in distress, a dangerous one at that.
"Have you gone mad, doc?!" Martyn's voice cuts through the cacophony, closer than the bristling, burning din. At his approach, Legundo's grip tightens, swaddling the vampire in starched fabric. It hurts, but its the thought that counts. The gentle touch and promise of protection, so long stolen from Owen.
He buries his head into Legundo's chest, and lets the world drift on around him. Clinging to the sound of a beating heart, a heart that cares for Owen. Only snippets of existence drift through the sea of pain. The smell of smoke and ash. The taste of blood, his own, on his tongue. Burnt skin, chafed and stinging, held by a warm, living body. The low rumble of Legundo's voice, worn and tired. "If we go through with this, we're no better than them. We're just as much monsters."
For the moment, Owen clings to these small things. Clings to life, cling to Legundo, clings to this foolish notion of love the human has. A small sob rattles Owen, frustration or relief or grief, he doesn't know. Hes alive, but further from Louis than ever. Every moment, every second of this damned eternity dragging them apart. So close to joining him in death, but stolen away at the last minute by an angel in white. And this time, the lover got to save his partner. Owen was only left with the ashes and grief, forged into rage.
Everything about Legundo was better, worthy of a hero. And yet, he saved Owen. And yet, he claims to love him.
For now, only time will unveil what fate has in store for Owen. For now, he clutches Legundo, and dreams of lovers torn apart by the flames.