bradygirl_12 (bradygirl_12) wrote,
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Fic: Destiny (Seven Days And Seven Nights) (Part 1)

Title: Destiny (Seven Days And Seven Nights) (Part 1)
Author: BradyGirl
Pairings/Characters: Clark/Bruce, Thomas Wayne/Martha Wayne, Lana Lang, Rafe Lang/Alicia Lang, Dick Grayson
Genres: Drama, AU 
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Spoilers: None
Summary: In a cottage-by-the-sea, Clark awaits his Destiny.
Date Of Completion: December 20, 2007
Date Of Posting: December 20, 2007
Disclaimer: I don’t own ‘em, DC does, more’s the pity.
Word Count: 1686 + 1163 (Total: 2849)
Feedback welcome and appreciated.
Author’s Note: Happy Birthday, jeannev! :) I was inspired by this wonderful icon you made for the2007 DCU Fic/Art Halloween Challenge. I hope you don’t mind me using the icon but I wanted it to be a surprise. Enjoy! :) 
Both parts can be found here.

On the first night, Clark thought he heard a soft scratching at the window.  He got up from bed to investigate but saw nothing but the endless sea and skies, his small cottage on a cliff overlooking the ocean.  He watched the play of moonlight on water, sparkling in silence as the thick panes kept out the autumn cold and kept the waves muffled.

 

He returned to his warm bed, tired and trying not to think of the day ahead with his struggle to keep the farm afloat.  He was happy to have inherited the small property after his parents’ passing, but alas, it was so difficult!  He was stronger than most and had keen sight and hearing, but that did not translate well to gold in his purse or freedom from bankers ready to snatch the farm away if he did not pay the mortgage.

 

He fell asleep, troubled but too tired to stay awake.  

 

& & & & & &

 

The day was crisp and cold, but not uncomfortably so.  Clark toiled in the fields, pausing at mid-morning to shield his eyes and look up at the brooding castle high on the hill.

 

Legend had it that castle held dark and terrible secrets, and that the Family Wayne had practiced Dark Arts.  One night after a string of strange deaths in the village, the townsfolk had gone with torch and pitchfork to the great castle and demanded to see Lord Thomas, who had scoffed and demanded the homage due him and his family.

 

The villagers had stormed the castle, rampaging and pillaging, but all they saw were the servants.  Lord Thomas, Lady Martha, and their son Bruce had vanished.

 

The castle was certainly dark and forbidding, abandoned by the family who had protected Smallville for centuries.  Whispers had it that Lord Wayne had cursed the town, and now it was a great struggle to grow anything here, whereas in the days of the Protection from the Lord’s House, there had been abundance.

 

When Clark had asked his parents once about the Legend, they had looked at each other and said, truth be told, prosperity had disappeared along with the Waynes long before Clark had arrived in their fields.

 

From the stars.

 

Needless to say, they never trumpeted that fact among the superstitious townsfolk, and Clark kept silent, too, hiding the wonder that if burned, his skin healed instantly, or he could leap so far and so high it was almost as if he was flying.  His strength could move huge boulders without the help of levers or horses, and he could hear what someone was saying five miles away, and see them, too.

 

So he continued to work the farm, lonely but afraid to be found out and driven away like the Waynes.

 

& & & & & &

 

So on the second night, he tumbled into his bed, weary of bone and spirit.

 

He was ‘twixt sleep and wakening when he heard the sibilant sound of silk whispering along wood.

 

He opened his eyes but saw nothing.

 

When he slept, he dreamed of a bat, giant wings spread out and gliding softly over the sea.

 

& & & & & &

 

“Streaky!  Streaky!”

 

Clark called for his neighbor’s cat as he crashed through the woods searching for it.  He skidded to a halt as he realized that in his focus on finding the cat, he had climbed the hill and now was on the grounds of Wayne Manor.

 

Trembling, he forced himself to pull aside the oak doors and go inside.  Despite the village edict not to set foot here, he had heard the cat mewling in here.

 

“Streaky!” he whispered, in awe of the foyer, layered in dust, the great chandelier festooned with cobwebs, the once-gleaming furniture dull.  There were faded spots on the wallpaper where the looters that long-ago night had stolen the paintings, and a marble bust was smashed, its pieces scattered on the floor.  An old suit of armor stood sentinel, rusted and without its sword.

 

Clark cautiously proceeded, passing grand rooms dark and dusty, the rich furniture moldering as the sunlight seemed weak here.

 

He paused at the entrance to a library, several books tossed onto the floor, others still in their places on the dusty shelves.  Drawn to the books, Clark began to read the spines, grateful that he had been taught to read and write by his parents, and he slipped a book on the solar system off the shelf, carefully turning its pages.  Hungry for books, he wished that he could come here every day and read them.

 

He just as carefully replaced the book, looking longingly at them, when a shaft of light pierced through the gloom and illuminated a painting over the marble fireplace that had escaped the looters.

 

Clark walked toward it slowly, and he knew: this was the Lord and Lady of the Manor, and the child between them with his dark hair and solemn blue eyes was their son.  The Lord wore a black cape, his wife swathed in a beautiful black dress and pearls.  The boy wore a formal suit of black.

 

He studied their faces.  Had Lord Wayne and his wife really dabbled in the Dark Arts?  It seemed unlikely by their serene, artistocratic faces, but what did he know?  He was a farmer’s son.  What did he know of such things?

 

He studied the boy’s face.  A handsome face, intelligence shining from those midnight-blue eyes.  

 

A cold gust of wind suddenly blew in from the hall, and Clark shivered.  He decided he had better find that cat and leave.  Suddenly, the house seemed more ominous.

 

& & & & & &

 

On the third night, he dreamed of a tall, dark-haired man with a long, black cape.  

 

The man had the midnight-blue eyes of the son of Lord and Lady Wayne.

 

& & & & & &

 

Clark found himself back at the castle after his chores were done.  Still nervous, he slipped into the Manor with the stealth of the cat he had tracked yesterday.

 

He returned to the library, bowed slightly before the painting, studied it again, and then went to the books.  He took out the book on the planets and sat cross-legged by the window, reading as the sun warmed his body.  He always felt better in the sun.

 

& & & & & &

 

On the fourth night, he dreamed of the man with the boy’s eyes again.

 

He felt drawn to those eyes, those lips, the face pale and luminescent as he wore black. Lights sparkled around him, softening the edges of the darkness.

 

“Who are you?” he whispered, but the young man did not answer.

 

& & & & & &

 

When he awoke in the morning, sun streaming in, a book was on his bedside table.

 

It was the book about the solar system.

 

& & & & & &

 

Lana skipped to the field, her peasant dress swirling around her. “Clark!”

 

“Hello, Lana.” Clark smiled.

 

“Thank you for bringing Streaky back to me the other day.” She went up on tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek.  He blushed.

 

The sun set her red hair afire.  Some whispered that it was unnatural to have such coloring, but Clark loved its beauty, especially in the sunlight.

 

“Will you come to supper tonight as a thank you?”

 

“I will.  Thank you, Lana.”

 

She smiled and walked away, Clark watching her go.

 

He frowned slightly.  He turned and looked up at the castle.

 

Was that a light in the upper window?

 

He finished his harvesting and then went up to the castle.

 

Slowly he went up the grand staircase, brushing aside cobwebs, and walked down the hall, floorboards creaking.

 

He stopped at a door, then opened it.

 

A child’s room.  A wooden rocking horse in the corner, a neatly-made bed, a small dresser and nightstand.

 

He jumped as he heard a bang.  He went to the next room.  It had sounded like a shutter.

 

The master bedroom: large bed with a canopy, black sheets shimmering and surprisingly dust-free, an old oil painting of the view of the ocean…from this room?

 

Clark looked out the window and saw that it was so.  Amused, he turned back to study it.

 

Astonishment opened his sapphire-blue eyes.  That cottage at the bottom of the painting…that was his cottage!

 

He hurried back to the window and saw his cottage.  It was not his exceptional vision, either.  It could be seen by human eyes.

 

He turned back to the painting, slightly spooked.

 

Something brushed against his ear. “Destiny,” came a whisper.

 

Clark turned, shaking and frightened.  Had something…someone…touched him?  Had he heard that word ‘destiny’?

 

He quickly left the Manor.

 

& & & & & &

 

“So, Clark, do you intend to keep the farm?”

 

Rafe Lang passed Clark the bowl of turnip, and Clark scooped some onto his plate, passing the bowl to Alicia Lang.

 

He was grateful for a meal not of his own cooking.  He was improving at such skills, but a woman’s touch was well-appreciated.

 

“I do, sir.  It has been in my family for generations.”

 

“Actually, it was in Lord Wayne’s family before that.”

 

“He granted the land to his serfs, then?”

 

“Long ago.”

 

“And they repaid him by storming the castle,” Alicia said.

 

Rafe sighed and Lana looked sad.

 

“What really happened that night?” Clark asked.

 

“Just as the tales say.  There had been a build-up of suspicion against the Waynes for some time, and then a string of strange deaths began happening.  The villagers claimed it was Witchcraft, and they decided to make short work of the Waynes.  They saw Lord Thomas, but he vanished, along with his wife and son.  They drove off the servants and looted the place, but some declared the place cursed and forbid anyone to go there again.”

 

Clark felt uncomfortable.  He had broken that edict, but as long as no one knew…

 

“They vanished?  I suppose people thought they were truly Witches, then.”

 

“So they say.” Rafe shrugged.

 

& & & & & &

 

   
Tags: birthday fic, clark kent/bruce wayne, destiny (seven days and seven nights), dick grayson, lana lang, robin, superman/batman, thomas wayne/martha wayne
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