Her moon is welcoming as always, but this time feels different. There is a change in the air, or perhaps the real change is in herself. Either way, the whispers seems louder this time, more urgent. She hears their echo as she leaves the comfort of her bedchamber to wander the empty halls.
Ganymede... Ganymede... Ganymede...
She comes to the hall of portraits, each one darker than the last by time. She only knows which is Liesel's because there was once nothing else next to it. Now there is a collage, hanging in colorful, patterned frames she decorated herself, with pictures of her, and Chris, and her friends, and her family to join the portraits of Senshi from centuries before.
Ganymede approaches Liesel's portrait. She can just make out the image of a fair haired young man in fine clothing, with a sad, lonely little smile that seems haunting. In one hand Ganymede carries her memory stone, swirling pink with memories already collected.
With her free hand she reaches out for the portrait.
In an instant, so quickly it is almost as if it did not happen, a lifetime flashes before her eyes.
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Liesel's earliest memory is of a woman he is raised to believe is his mother.
She looks nothing like him. His hair is a fair, fair blond and hers a muddy brown; his eyes are a pale violet-blue and hers are green like summer grass. But he is three and does not notice the differences, only sees that she is beautiful.
He sits in her lap in a chair by the fire as she reads to him from a book of old stories, of princes and princesses and knights on horseback. Two of his sisters lie sprawled on the floor in front of the hearth, idly twisting a wooden top between them as they listen too. Liesel cannot think of anything except for happiness and comfort. Outside, the rain patters against the roof, but he is safe and warm with his mother. He nestles closer between her arms, puts his head to her chest and listens to her heartbeat.
Thump-thump... thump-thump... thump-thump...
Her hand brushes through his hair. Her voice is in his ear, whispering, but Liesel closes his eyes and falls asleep. He won't remember what she says, but he's sure she spoke of love.
“You are loved, Liesel,” he thinks he hears. “You are so very loved.”
She looks nothing like him. His hair is a fair, fair blond and hers a muddy brown; his eyes are a pale violet-blue and hers are green like summer grass. But he is three and does not notice the differences, only sees that she is beautiful.
He sits in her lap in a chair by the fire as she reads to him from a book of old stories, of princes and princesses and knights on horseback. Two of his sisters lie sprawled on the floor in front of the hearth, idly twisting a wooden top between them as they listen too. Liesel cannot think of anything except for happiness and comfort. Outside, the rain patters against the roof, but he is safe and warm with his mother. He nestles closer between her arms, puts his head to her chest and listens to her heartbeat.
Thump-thump... thump-thump... thump-thump...
Her hand brushes through his hair. Her voice is in his ear, whispering, but Liesel closes his eyes and falls asleep. He won't remember what she says, but he's sure she spoke of love.
“You are loved, Liesel,” he thinks he hears. “You are so very loved.”
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Strange men come by the house periodically, at least once every year. Liesel does not know them but he soon remembers their faces, and he learns to predict their arrival by an increase in his father's temper. His father and his mother barely speak to one another as it is, but during the days before the men arrive they speak even less than usual.
The men are not his father's friends. His father is only as courteous as he needs to be, but mostly he is surly and makes a face like he smells something terrible. The men are not his mother's friends either. As far as Liesel knows, his mother has no friends, and she doesn't seem to mind. She is courteous to the strangers, but respectfully distant. She treats them like they are important, like they have power, and they respond to her as if this is true.
As Liesel grows, he begins to think that there is something odd about these encounters. Of his six older brothers and sisters, only he and Sophia are present. Sophia is barely two years older than he is, and understands the situation just as poorly. Together they stand side-by-side in their best clothes. Their parents do not stand with them, but wait off to the side, Father glowering and Mother docilely lowering her eyes. The three men observe Sophia and Liesel unobstructed.
On of them is very old. His hair is white, and his face is wrinkled and spotted with age. He smells of old paper and ink, hobbling around with a sleek black cane clutched in his gnarled hands. The second two men are younger, one shorter and thicker around the middle, the other tall and thin and stern. They mutter to one another in their deep, cultured voices. Liesel thinks that they are whispering secrets. And he wonders, when they glance his way, if those secrets are about him.
He shies away from them and clasps Sophia's hand. She squeezes back; her palm is slick with sweat.
The third man frowns and turns his back on them.
He is always the first to leave.
The men are not his father's friends. His father is only as courteous as he needs to be, but mostly he is surly and makes a face like he smells something terrible. The men are not his mother's friends either. As far as Liesel knows, his mother has no friends, and she doesn't seem to mind. She is courteous to the strangers, but respectfully distant. She treats them like they are important, like they have power, and they respond to her as if this is true.
As Liesel grows, he begins to think that there is something odd about these encounters. Of his six older brothers and sisters, only he and Sophia are present. Sophia is barely two years older than he is, and understands the situation just as poorly. Together they stand side-by-side in their best clothes. Their parents do not stand with them, but wait off to the side, Father glowering and Mother docilely lowering her eyes. The three men observe Sophia and Liesel unobstructed.
On of them is very old. His hair is white, and his face is wrinkled and spotted with age. He smells of old paper and ink, hobbling around with a sleek black cane clutched in his gnarled hands. The second two men are younger, one shorter and thicker around the middle, the other tall and thin and stern. They mutter to one another in their deep, cultured voices. Liesel thinks that they are whispering secrets. And he wonders, when they glance his way, if those secrets are about him.
He shies away from them and clasps Sophia's hand. She squeezes back; her palm is slick with sweat.
The third man frowns and turns his back on them.
He is always the first to leave.
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Liesel has never known a time when his parents do not argue.
They are never loud. They do not shout, but whisper to one another in quick, harsh spurts. There is always whispering in the Rosenfeld house. His father and his mother whisper. His older brothers and sisters do, too. Liesel knows that they have secrets but he is never privy to what they are. A part of him does not care to know.
Secrets are dangerous, he thinks. Secrets have the power to destroy his peaceful, happy life, and he knows with the same certainty with which he knows the sky is blue that the secrets his parents speak of to one another are about him.
And he wonders, what could they be?
“They placed him in our care,” his father whispers. “He is ours to do with as we see fit.”
“Arvin...” his mother tries, but his father will not hear it. He waves her off and stomps out of the house to saddle his horse and leave for the night.
He will not return until morning.
They are never loud. They do not shout, but whisper to one another in quick, harsh spurts. There is always whispering in the Rosenfeld house. His father and his mother whisper. His older brothers and sisters do, too. Liesel knows that they have secrets but he is never privy to what they are. A part of him does not care to know.
Secrets are dangerous, he thinks. Secrets have the power to destroy his peaceful, happy life, and he knows with the same certainty with which he knows the sky is blue that the secrets his parents speak of to one another are about him.
And he wonders, what could they be?
“They placed him in our care,” his father whispers. “He is ours to do with as we see fit.”
“Arvin...” his mother tries, but his father will not hear it. He waves her off and stomps out of the house to saddle his horse and leave for the night.
He will not return until morning.
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On a warm summer day when he is ten years old, Liesel shields his eyes behind his hands under the shade of an old oak tree, counting slowly and listening to Sophia's feet scrape along the ground as she scurries off. He does no know it, but when he opens his eyes again his entire life will have changed.
Liesel turns when he is finished counting. In his haste, he does not notice the figure that has approached, and crashes into the long, sturdy legs of a familiar looking man. The man's expression is cold and stern. From his place on the ground, Liesel flinches away. His only comfort comes in the form of a cat which soon wends its way around him. She is ruddy colored with a plumed tail; a big, golden bow is tied around her neck.
Instinctively, Liesel's hand goes to her head and he pets her between the ears. Something changes within him when they touch. He does no know what it is, but it is warm. He thinks he can feel their hearts beating in unison.
“He is ready,” the cat speaks.
Liesel does not have long to wonder how a cat could speak. The door opens and his mother descends upon them. She looks stricken, and Liesel knows then that nothing will ever be the same.
“He is a child,” his mother says.
The stern man shakes his head and responds, “He is Ganymede.”
Liesel turns when he is finished counting. In his haste, he does not notice the figure that has approached, and crashes into the long, sturdy legs of a familiar looking man. The man's expression is cold and stern. From his place on the ground, Liesel flinches away. His only comfort comes in the form of a cat which soon wends its way around him. She is ruddy colored with a plumed tail; a big, golden bow is tied around her neck.
Instinctively, Liesel's hand goes to her head and he pets her between the ears. Something changes within him when they touch. He does no know what it is, but it is warm. He thinks he can feel their hearts beating in unison.
“He is ready,” the cat speaks.
Liesel does not have long to wonder how a cat could speak. The door opens and his mother descends upon them. She looks stricken, and Liesel knows then that nothing will ever be the same.
“He is a child,” his mother says.
The stern man shakes his head and responds, “He is Ganymede.”
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Liesel is taken by train through the countryside, to a city of large buildings and cobbled streets. He is led through crowds of people by the stern man in the dark robes, who he has come to know as Lord Albert Barrengar. Lord Barrengar has an iron grip on his arm.
There is no escape for Liesel. He is dragged toward his fate without a choice.
The cat, Lucasta, follows at his feet. She brushes against his legs comfortingly whenever the opportunity presents itself, but Liesel is too shocked by the sudden change in his life to notice. He misses his mother. He misses Sophia and his older brothers and sisters. He thinks he even misses his father, who refused to see him before Liesel was whisked away.
He is brought by carriage to a grand palace. He is snuck in through a side door, into a quiet wing with no sign of any other people. The room he is led to his large and opulent. Liesel has never seen anything like it before. The walls as colored cream with gold moulding and crystalline fixtures. The furniture is upholstered in reds and black. He is told that it is to be his room now, and he is introduced to the maids and the governess who shall be responsible for his care.
He cries for his mother but is told he cannot see her.
Then they tell him he is no longer to be known as Liesel. He must be known only as Ganymede.
There is no escape for Liesel. He is dragged toward his fate without a choice.
The cat, Lucasta, follows at his feet. She brushes against his legs comfortingly whenever the opportunity presents itself, but Liesel is too shocked by the sudden change in his life to notice. He misses his mother. He misses Sophia and his older brothers and sisters. He thinks he even misses his father, who refused to see him before Liesel was whisked away.
He is brought by carriage to a grand palace. He is snuck in through a side door, into a quiet wing with no sign of any other people. The room he is led to his large and opulent. Liesel has never seen anything like it before. The walls as colored cream with gold moulding and crystalline fixtures. The furniture is upholstered in reds and black. He is told that it is to be his room now, and he is introduced to the maids and the governess who shall be responsible for his care.
He cries for his mother but is told he cannot see her.
Then they tell him he is no longer to be known as Liesel. He must be known only as Ganymede.
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Eventually he is brought before the King. Liesel recognizes him as the shorter, portly man who once came to see him once every year.
“You must bow,” he is told by the Lord Chancellor, Lord Gehrig, the old man with the sleek black cane.
Liesel bows as he has been instructed by his governess. The King does not seem to care. He sits upon the throne with a lovely woman at his side—a woman Liesel correctly assumes to be the Queen. Neither of them bid Liesel welcome.
Lord Barrengar is at his back. His hand is firm upon one of Liesel's shoulders.
“The King is your father,” Lord Barrengar tells him.
Liesel shakes his head. He knows this cannot be true.
“My father is Arvin Rosenfeld,” he says.
Lord Barrengar's grip on his shoulder tightens. He repeats, “The King is your father.”
By now, Liesel knows not to argue. If he argues, he will not be allowed dessert with his dinner; if he persists, he will not be allowed outside after his lessons.
“The King is my father,” he recites.
Liesel thinks that if he says it enough he will one day come to believe it.
“You must bow,” he is told by the Lord Chancellor, Lord Gehrig, the old man with the sleek black cane.
Liesel bows as he has been instructed by his governess. The King does not seem to care. He sits upon the throne with a lovely woman at his side—a woman Liesel correctly assumes to be the Queen. Neither of them bid Liesel welcome.
Lord Barrengar is at his back. His hand is firm upon one of Liesel's shoulders.
“The King is your father,” Lord Barrengar tells him.
Liesel shakes his head. He knows this cannot be true.
“My father is Arvin Rosenfeld,” he says.
Lord Barrengar's grip on his shoulder tightens. He repeats, “The King is your father.”
By now, Liesel knows not to argue. If he argues, he will not be allowed dessert with his dinner; if he persists, he will not be allowed outside after his lessons.
“The King is my father,” he recites.
Liesel thinks that if he says it enough he will one day come to believe it.
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They fabricate a story.
The King is his father, and his mother is one of the King's mistresses. Liesel and his sister Sophia are both illegitimate children. Liesel will be raised as a prince and will assume a place of high esteem among the Jovian Court; Sophia will one day be brought to the palace to wed one of their royal cousins.
Liesel knows better than to believe the tale, but he is forbidden to speak the truth. He is forbidden to speak of many things. His life becomes one secret after another, so wound up in one another he does not know how to unravel them. Instead, Liesel lowers his head and accepts his fate.
It is easier, he thinks, than fighting.
The King is his father, and his mother is one of the King's mistresses. Liesel and his sister Sophia are both illegitimate children. Liesel will be raised as a prince and will assume a place of high esteem among the Jovian Court; Sophia will one day be brought to the palace to wed one of their royal cousins.
Liesel knows better than to believe the tale, but he is forbidden to speak the truth. He is forbidden to speak of many things. His life becomes one secret after another, so wound up in one another he does not know how to unravel them. Instead, Liesel lowers his head and accepts his fate.
It is easier, he thinks, than fighting.
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“Hello, Liesel.”
It is the first time anyone has referred to him by his name since he was brought to the palace.
He is in his private garden, enjoying the sunshine before he will be ordered back inside to complete his daily studies. When he turns, there is a woman there he has never seen before. She has dark brown hair that falls in curls down her back, and light blue eyes which stare at him warmly. She wears pink and white. Liesel recognizes the symbol of Venus on her belt.
“You know my name?” he asks, bewildered.
“Yes, I know your name,” she says. “You and I share a name, did you know that?”
Liesel looks at her, tries to place her, but knows that she is a stranger.
“Who are you?” he asks.
“I'm known elsewhere as Palatine,” she says.
“Why are you here?”
“Lord Barrengar sent for me,” Palatine tells him. “I've come to teach you.”
“I already have a governess,” Liesel says.
Her hand goes to her left hip, where the jeweled hilt of a rapier gleams in the sunlight. She grips the hilt, smiles at him, and says, “I've not come to teach you history or music.”
It is the first time anyone has referred to him by his name since he was brought to the palace.
He is in his private garden, enjoying the sunshine before he will be ordered back inside to complete his daily studies. When he turns, there is a woman there he has never seen before. She has dark brown hair that falls in curls down her back, and light blue eyes which stare at him warmly. She wears pink and white. Liesel recognizes the symbol of Venus on her belt.
“You know my name?” he asks, bewildered.
“Yes, I know your name,” she says. “You and I share a name, did you know that?”
Liesel looks at her, tries to place her, but knows that she is a stranger.
“Who are you?” he asks.
“I'm known elsewhere as Palatine,” she says.
“Why are you here?”
“Lord Barrengar sent for me,” Palatine tells him. “I've come to teach you.”
“I already have a governess,” Liesel says.
Her hand goes to her left hip, where the jeweled hilt of a rapier gleams in the sunlight. She grips the hilt, smiles at him, and says, “I've not come to teach you history or music.”
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Liesel learns arithmetic from from his governess, Lady Lowe. The Lord Chancellor teaches him history and politics, but he is old and dies not two years after Liesel is brought to the palace. Lord Barrengar takes his place.
The maids whisper about Lord Barrengar. They say that he is a dangerous and ambitious man. They speak of his parentage, and Liesel is surprised to hear a story quite similar to his own.
“Lord Barrengar's mother was mistress to the previous King,” one of his maids, Mattie, tells him. “Lord Barrengar is His Majesty's illegitimate brother.”
Liesel understands the concepts of mistresses and illegitimacy even though no one has explained it to him. Lady Lowe and Lord Barrengar shelter him; love and sex are not subjects he is permitted to learn.
He excels in his studies. He learns the history of Ganymede, of Jupiter and the Jovian system. He learns science and numbers. He learns theology and philosophy. He learns to sing and dance and play the piano. He learns to ride a horse. When Lady Palatine visits, he learns the art of swordplay.
He learns all he needs to know to become a functioning member of Ganymede's governmental system.
Everything else is forbidden.
The maids whisper about Lord Barrengar. They say that he is a dangerous and ambitious man. They speak of his parentage, and Liesel is surprised to hear a story quite similar to his own.
“Lord Barrengar's mother was mistress to the previous King,” one of his maids, Mattie, tells him. “Lord Barrengar is His Majesty's illegitimate brother.”
Liesel understands the concepts of mistresses and illegitimacy even though no one has explained it to him. Lady Lowe and Lord Barrengar shelter him; love and sex are not subjects he is permitted to learn.
He excels in his studies. He learns the history of Ganymede, of Jupiter and the Jovian system. He learns science and numbers. He learns theology and philosophy. He learns to sing and dance and play the piano. He learns to ride a horse. When Lady Palatine visits, he learns the art of swordplay.
He learns all he needs to know to become a functioning member of Ganymede's governmental system.
Everything else is forbidden.
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Liesel grows in solitude, with no children his age for company. For years, he knows the company only of his governess, his maids, Lucasta, Lord Barrengar, and occasionally Lady Palatine. He is not allowed to leave his private wing of the palace. He receives no guests.
When he is sixteen, only a week before he is to make his debut, Liesel hears the maids speak of a visitor from Jupiter. He approaches Lord Barrengar after his studies one evening, beseeching.
“I'm important,” he says, and feels guilting for behaving so presumptuously. “Captain of the Jovians. Or I will be once it's official, and as I've just turned sixteen it won't be long now, which means I'll soon be working with these people and attending all sorts of parties and banquets and negotiations. I happen to think it would be a great start to introduce me to them now, and it'll make them feel so special, won't it? Being allowed an audience with me before I'm even presented to the public? Surely house Jupiter will be pleased.”
Amidst all his desperate rambling, Liesel manages to say the right thing. House Jupiter.
Lord Barrengar's eyes light up. Liesel can see the calculating look he adopts. Liesel feels hopeful, that finally his loneliness might come to an end.
“Very well,” Lord Barrengar says.
Liesel struggles to hold back a smile.
When he is sixteen, only a week before he is to make his debut, Liesel hears the maids speak of a visitor from Jupiter. He approaches Lord Barrengar after his studies one evening, beseeching.
“I'm important,” he says, and feels guilting for behaving so presumptuously. “Captain of the Jovians. Or I will be once it's official, and as I've just turned sixteen it won't be long now, which means I'll soon be working with these people and attending all sorts of parties and banquets and negotiations. I happen to think it would be a great start to introduce me to them now, and it'll make them feel so special, won't it? Being allowed an audience with me before I'm even presented to the public? Surely house Jupiter will be pleased.”
Amidst all his desperate rambling, Liesel manages to say the right thing. House Jupiter.
Lord Barrengar's eyes light up. Liesel can see the calculating look he adopts. Liesel feels hopeful, that finally his loneliness might come to an end.
“Very well,” Lord Barrengar says.
Liesel struggles to hold back a smile.
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Everything he'd ever learned of Jupiter led Liesel to assume their guest would be a burly, bearded man with a jovial demeanor. Instead, he is introduced to a boy no older than he is, in a green tunic and medallions decorated with the symbol of Jupiter. The boy is auburn haired and olive eyed, not so much taller than Liesel, but leanly built and tanned from time spent outdoors.
Liesel feels thin and pale in comparison. He smiles welcomingly as they are introduced.
“My Lord Valhalla,” Lord Barrengar welcomes the Page. “Allow me to introduce Sailor Ganymede, who has, incidentally, not yet been presented to the public. In fact, this marks his first official engagement.
“Ganymede...” Lord Barrengar eyes him critically. “Lord Valhalla has recently assumed his post on Jupiter. He joins us today on a diplomatic visit. I am sure you will see that he is made welcome.”
“Of course,” Liesel says cheerfully. He faces Valhalla and drops into a graceful bow. “It's a pleasure to meet you. I do hope you'll enjoy your stay. It's a pleasure to have you here.”
Valhalla says nothing until his caretaker thumps him on the back encouragingly.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Liesel feels thin and pale in comparison. He smiles welcomingly as they are introduced.
“My Lord Valhalla,” Lord Barrengar welcomes the Page. “Allow me to introduce Sailor Ganymede, who has, incidentally, not yet been presented to the public. In fact, this marks his first official engagement.
“Ganymede...” Lord Barrengar eyes him critically. “Lord Valhalla has recently assumed his post on Jupiter. He joins us today on a diplomatic visit. I am sure you will see that he is made welcome.”
“Of course,” Liesel says cheerfully. He faces Valhalla and drops into a graceful bow. “It's a pleasure to meet you. I do hope you'll enjoy your stay. It's a pleasure to have you here.”
Valhalla says nothing until his caretaker thumps him on the back encouragingly.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
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The adults leave them in the courtyard, off to enjoy a drink as they discuss important matters mere children cannot be expected to comprehend. And that is how Liesel has always been viewed—as a child. He does as he is instructed, when he is instructed; he is rewarded for his good behavior and reprimanded should he fail to live up to expectations.
Liesel sits with Valhalla along the edge of the fountain, staring at the other boy as he has not been permitted to stare at anyone for six years.
“What's your name?” Liesel asks him. “Your real name. Not Valhalla.”
Valhalla looks tense. He shuffles his feet against the base of the fountain. “Serge,” he says simply.
He has a pleasant voice, smooth and deep, but quiet too, as if he remains uncertain.
“What's yours?” he eventually asks.
Liesel leans closer and smiles cheekily. When he speaks, his voice is light and conspiring. “I'm not supposed to tell anyone my real name,” he says.
Valhalla—Serge—frowns darkly.
“Then don't.”
Liesel will not be dissuaded. He leans close enough to look Serge in the eye.
“Liesel,” he says. “My name is Liesel.”
Liesel sits with Valhalla along the edge of the fountain, staring at the other boy as he has not been permitted to stare at anyone for six years.
“What's your name?” Liesel asks him. “Your real name. Not Valhalla.”
Valhalla looks tense. He shuffles his feet against the base of the fountain. “Serge,” he says simply.
He has a pleasant voice, smooth and deep, but quiet too, as if he remains uncertain.
“What's yours?” he eventually asks.
Liesel leans closer and smiles cheekily. When he speaks, his voice is light and conspiring. “I'm not supposed to tell anyone my real name,” he says.
Valhalla—Serge—frowns darkly.
“Then don't.”
Liesel will not be dissuaded. He leans close enough to look Serge in the eye.
“Liesel,” he says. “My name is Liesel.”
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Liesel makes his oath on a glorious spring day.
His knees ache upon the floor. His head is tipped back to accept the anointing oil. Beyond the white-robed priest he can just see the figures upon the dais—the King a corpulent man with a perpetually bored expression; the Queen a gracefully aging woman with an equally disinterested gaze. They sit there only because it is customary for them to attend, otherwise Liesel expects he would not have seen them there at all.
The Lord Chancellor stands by the throne, as does Lady Palatine, Serge, and his Jovian retainers.
As the priest draws closer the view is obstructed by his robes. Liesel's eyes lift to the ceiling, with its sparkling chandeliers and painted figures of old. Angels and saints, divine beings his people no longer worship with the dedication of their ancestors, for they've long been replaced by the quest for knowledge, the quest for truth, the quest for more. Somewhere up in that collection of images are his own origins, the first sad boy to find himself taking up the mantle of Sailor Ganymede. Liesel avoids looking at that particular figure, as he fears it will shake his already wavering resolve.
The past is in the past. He has accepted that. This is his fate, and he will bear it as hundreds have before him.
The priest's thumb touches Liesel's forehead, pressing warm oil into his skin in the symbol of his people. Over, over, down, left, down. It will be Liesel's for the remainder of his life.
An open heart joined with jagged light.
“To Ganymede, to my father the King, and to my people, I vow to remain faithful and true for as long as I live,” Liesel recites the oath he has spent the last six years struggling to prove genuine. “And after, until the end of time.”
His knees ache upon the floor. His head is tipped back to accept the anointing oil. Beyond the white-robed priest he can just see the figures upon the dais—the King a corpulent man with a perpetually bored expression; the Queen a gracefully aging woman with an equally disinterested gaze. They sit there only because it is customary for them to attend, otherwise Liesel expects he would not have seen them there at all.
The Lord Chancellor stands by the throne, as does Lady Palatine, Serge, and his Jovian retainers.
As the priest draws closer the view is obstructed by his robes. Liesel's eyes lift to the ceiling, with its sparkling chandeliers and painted figures of old. Angels and saints, divine beings his people no longer worship with the dedication of their ancestors, for they've long been replaced by the quest for knowledge, the quest for truth, the quest for more. Somewhere up in that collection of images are his own origins, the first sad boy to find himself taking up the mantle of Sailor Ganymede. Liesel avoids looking at that particular figure, as he fears it will shake his already wavering resolve.
The past is in the past. He has accepted that. This is his fate, and he will bear it as hundreds have before him.
The priest's thumb touches Liesel's forehead, pressing warm oil into his skin in the symbol of his people. Over, over, down, left, down. It will be Liesel's for the remainder of his life.
An open heart joined with jagged light.
“To Ganymede, to my father the King, and to my people, I vow to remain faithful and true for as long as I live,” Liesel recites the oath he has spent the last six years struggling to prove genuine. “And after, until the end of time.”
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Out on the balcony Liesel stands frozen before the cheering crowds below.
There are hundreds of people. Thousands. More people than he has seen in a single place in the last six years. They cheer and wave and doff their caps. By his feet Lucasta sits supportively, her tail occasionally flicking against his leg. To his left the King and Queen wave with as much excitement as they'd shown at the ceremony—which was to say none at all.
But the people are not cheering for them. They are cheering for Liesel. He can see their eyes upon him, he can feel the adulation in the air. It is too much for one person to bear. Liesel moves as if he means to turn away and return indoors, but a hand on his shoulder stops them. He looks back and sees Lord Barrengar, staring down at him with those stern, pale eyes.
“This is what it means to be Ganymede,” Lord Barrengar says.
Liesel knows better. His studies have taught him as much. Perhaps a part of it is what it means to be Ganymede, but it is also what it means to be a Prince. All these people here believe in that lie. They believe that Liesel will have the power to save them from their despair.
They couldn't have been more wrong.
There are hundreds of people. Thousands. More people than he has seen in a single place in the last six years. They cheer and wave and doff their caps. By his feet Lucasta sits supportively, her tail occasionally flicking against his leg. To his left the King and Queen wave with as much excitement as they'd shown at the ceremony—which was to say none at all.
But the people are not cheering for them. They are cheering for Liesel. He can see their eyes upon him, he can feel the adulation in the air. It is too much for one person to bear. Liesel moves as if he means to turn away and return indoors, but a hand on his shoulder stops them. He looks back and sees Lord Barrengar, staring down at him with those stern, pale eyes.
“This is what it means to be Ganymede,” Lord Barrengar says.
Liesel knows better. His studies have taught him as much. Perhaps a part of it is what it means to be Ganymede, but it is also what it means to be a Prince. All these people here believe in that lie. They believe that Liesel will have the power to save them from their despair.
They couldn't have been more wrong.
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“Where are we going?” Liesel asks.
It has been six months since his debut. The Kingdom has quieted. Life has returned to what it was before for everyone—except Liesel is now allowed to wander the palace on his own. He does not like to. It is so vast. Once, on his way to the library, Liesel lost his way among the halls and required the assistance of a passing courtier to find his way back to his rooms.
Serge accompanies him now, on another of his diplomatic visits. He is dressed in fine clothing—as fine as one might expect from Jupiter—with furs and jewels and golden chains. Liesel does not understand that significance. The last time he saw Serge so dressed up was at his debut.
“Hush,” Serge tells him. He has a grip on Liesel's arm and drags him down darkened hallways Liesel has never ventured through before.
“But where are we going?”
His question is answered when they come to a stop at what appears to be a dead end. It is not. Gently Serge pushes against the wall and a door Liesel never would have known to look for swings open an inch. Beyond, Liesel can hear hundreds of voices singing hymns.
“Look,” Serge commands.
Liesel follows suit and peers through the crack of the hidden door. He has a view into the royal chapel, where a number of people have gathered to attend a wedding. The bride is dressed in pristine white, the groom attired similarly. Liesel is confused as to why Serge would bring him here until he catches a glimpse of the bride's face.
It has been six years, but she is still recognizable to him.
Liesel gasps. He sees pale blonde hair and blue-violet eyes just like his own.
“Sophia...”
It has been six months since his debut. The Kingdom has quieted. Life has returned to what it was before for everyone—except Liesel is now allowed to wander the palace on his own. He does not like to. It is so vast. Once, on his way to the library, Liesel lost his way among the halls and required the assistance of a passing courtier to find his way back to his rooms.
Serge accompanies him now, on another of his diplomatic visits. He is dressed in fine clothing—as fine as one might expect from Jupiter—with furs and jewels and golden chains. Liesel does not understand that significance. The last time he saw Serge so dressed up was at his debut.
“Hush,” Serge tells him. He has a grip on Liesel's arm and drags him down darkened hallways Liesel has never ventured through before.
“But where are we going?”
His question is answered when they come to a stop at what appears to be a dead end. It is not. Gently Serge pushes against the wall and a door Liesel never would have known to look for swings open an inch. Beyond, Liesel can hear hundreds of voices singing hymns.
“Look,” Serge commands.
Liesel follows suit and peers through the crack of the hidden door. He has a view into the royal chapel, where a number of people have gathered to attend a wedding. The bride is dressed in pristine white, the groom attired similarly. Liesel is confused as to why Serge would bring him here until he catches a glimpse of the bride's face.
It has been six years, but she is still recognizable to him.
Liesel gasps. He sees pale blonde hair and blue-violet eyes just like his own.
“Sophia...”
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He is not allowed to see his sister in private.
In public, they cross paths frequently. Liesel is Sailor Ganymede and Sophia is now the wife of a prominent Duke. It would be foolish for anyone to attempt to prevent them from seeing one another at court. But when they speak, conversation is stilted. They speak to one another as if they are strangers, even when Sophia looks at him warmly and moves like she would take his hand if she could. Liesel knows that she has been instructed to react this way.
One night soon after the wedding, Serge whisks him out of bed and takes him down more hallways Liesel would be too nervous to venture down on his own. Many of them lack windows, secret passages Liesel never knew the existence of. He wonders how Serge knows of them, but is too afraid to ask.
They come to another opulent bedroom by another secret door in the wall. Inside, Sophia sits waiting at a vanity table.
She holds her arms out to him, and Liesel steps around Serge to accept the hug. He holds her tightly, so tight he's sure neither of them can breathe. Sophia doesn't complain.
“I missed you,” she says.
Liesel can say nothing. He is too overcome by emotion to do anything more than cry.
In public, they cross paths frequently. Liesel is Sailor Ganymede and Sophia is now the wife of a prominent Duke. It would be foolish for anyone to attempt to prevent them from seeing one another at court. But when they speak, conversation is stilted. They speak to one another as if they are strangers, even when Sophia looks at him warmly and moves like she would take his hand if she could. Liesel knows that she has been instructed to react this way.
One night soon after the wedding, Serge whisks him out of bed and takes him down more hallways Liesel would be too nervous to venture down on his own. Many of them lack windows, secret passages Liesel never knew the existence of. He wonders how Serge knows of them, but is too afraid to ask.
They come to another opulent bedroom by another secret door in the wall. Inside, Sophia sits waiting at a vanity table.
She holds her arms out to him, and Liesel steps around Serge to accept the hug. He holds her tightly, so tight he's sure neither of them can breathe. Sophia doesn't complain.
“I missed you,” she says.
Liesel can say nothing. He is too overcome by emotion to do anything more than cry.
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Liesel is seventeen years old the first time Serge kisses him.
They are at the piano. The remnants of a noon-time meal litter the small dining table in Liesel's sitting room, which stands by a set of windows overlooking the garden. Roses bloom large and full under a clear sky, overseen as it always us by the stormy, expansive face of Jupiter. Only seconds before, Liesel's thin, elegant fingers moved over the ivory keys, filling the room with tranquil music. Serge's hand rises to take hold of Liesel's chin, holding his face still as their lips press together.
Liesel can hear the sound of his own heart beating loud in his ears. The rest of the room is very quiet. If Liesel listens carefully enough, he can hear the sound of the birds out in the garden, and the gentle breeze that rustles through the trees. But his attention has zeroed in on Serge and what Serge has just done. Everything else fades into the background.
Too quickly, Liesel pulls away. His gaze is wide as he stares into the depths of Serge's eyes.
“That...” Liesel says, startled and uncomfortable and stumbling over his words.
“That was inappropriate,” he chokes out.
“If you don't want me to do it, then say so,” Serge says.
“I've always... ever since we met... I've wanted to be friends,” Liesel rambles. “I thought... I thought that's what we were. We are friends, aren't we?”
His breath catches in his throat while he waits for an answer. Serge looks angry. If Liesel could take it back, if he could smooth out that anger, he would have, but he fears it's already too late.
“Of course we're friends,” Serge says.
But it isn't enough. Liesel can hear it in Serge's voice.
And if he were to listen closely, he could hear it in his own heart.
They are at the piano. The remnants of a noon-time meal litter the small dining table in Liesel's sitting room, which stands by a set of windows overlooking the garden. Roses bloom large and full under a clear sky, overseen as it always us by the stormy, expansive face of Jupiter. Only seconds before, Liesel's thin, elegant fingers moved over the ivory keys, filling the room with tranquil music. Serge's hand rises to take hold of Liesel's chin, holding his face still as their lips press together.
Liesel can hear the sound of his own heart beating loud in his ears. The rest of the room is very quiet. If Liesel listens carefully enough, he can hear the sound of the birds out in the garden, and the gentle breeze that rustles through the trees. But his attention has zeroed in on Serge and what Serge has just done. Everything else fades into the background.
Too quickly, Liesel pulls away. His gaze is wide as he stares into the depths of Serge's eyes.
“That...” Liesel says, startled and uncomfortable and stumbling over his words.
“That was inappropriate,” he chokes out.
“If you don't want me to do it, then say so,” Serge says.
“I've always... ever since we met... I've wanted to be friends,” Liesel rambles. “I thought... I thought that's what we were. We are friends, aren't we?”
His breath catches in his throat while he waits for an answer. Serge looks angry. If Liesel could take it back, if he could smooth out that anger, he would have, but he fears it's already too late.
“Of course we're friends,” Serge says.
But it isn't enough. Liesel can hear it in Serge's voice.
And if he were to listen closely, he could hear it in his own heart.
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Soon, Liesel learns first hand that it always rains on Jupiter.
Occasionally the perpetual storms taper off to a pleasant drizzle, but on Liesel's first visit it poured for days on end. His second visit begins much the same way, with a veritable flood cascading from the skies, accompanied by clamorous thunderclaps and sharp cracks of lightning.
Liesel doesn't mind the weather. It is true that he is used to a more temperate climate, but even Ganymede has its fair share of storms. From time to time it is simply nice to have a change from the ordinary. Jupiter's weather is in some ways quite thrilling—often predictable to the people who track and harness it, but dazzling to an outsider. Liesel can confess an honest amazement and fascination.
Presently, the rain showers lightly. Any sign of thunder is low and distant. Liesel has taken the opportunity to venture outdoors after a long, stressful day of meetings. He expects his fellow Senshi and Knights are preparing themselves for supper. Liesel would have joined them, but the day has been trying and he would rather his allies and companions not see him in poor spirits.
Instead, he lets himself explore the fortress of Valhalla and wanders out onto the walking paths built into the fortress's surrounding walls. The cool rain he finds outdoors is a welcome relief. Liesel turns his face up to it to let it stream over his over-heated skin.
Occasionally the perpetual storms taper off to a pleasant drizzle, but on Liesel's first visit it poured for days on end. His second visit begins much the same way, with a veritable flood cascading from the skies, accompanied by clamorous thunderclaps and sharp cracks of lightning.
Liesel doesn't mind the weather. It is true that he is used to a more temperate climate, but even Ganymede has its fair share of storms. From time to time it is simply nice to have a change from the ordinary. Jupiter's weather is in some ways quite thrilling—often predictable to the people who track and harness it, but dazzling to an outsider. Liesel can confess an honest amazement and fascination.
Presently, the rain showers lightly. Any sign of thunder is low and distant. Liesel has taken the opportunity to venture outdoors after a long, stressful day of meetings. He expects his fellow Senshi and Knights are preparing themselves for supper. Liesel would have joined them, but the day has been trying and he would rather his allies and companions not see him in poor spirits.
Instead, he lets himself explore the fortress of Valhalla and wanders out onto the walking paths built into the fortress's surrounding walls. The cool rain he finds outdoors is a welcome relief. Liesel turns his face up to it to let it stream over his over-heated skin.
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“I think you are beautiful,” Serge tells him, outside in the drizzle and the descending fog.
Liesel gives a start at the feel of a foreign hand grabbing his own, but he settles when he turns to see that it is only Serge, as he should have known it would be. Liesel looks down at their joined hands and considers them. He almost pulls away. It does not seem sensible to walk along hand-in-hand. Anyone could wander out in search of them and get the wrong idea. Or perhaps it is the right idea. He does not know what Serge's intentions are. Liesel only knows that there is a very distinct line that shouldn't ever be crossed.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Liesel comments, “or so they say.”
He doesn't try to argue the point further, as he's has numerous people compliment him in similar ways. Ganymedeans themselves are a vain bunch. They prize beauty in themselves as well as in others. As such a public figure as Sailor Ganymede, Liesel is quickly growing used to the talk and the intensity with which people scrutinize his appearance.
It shouldn't be any different coming from Serge than it would coming from anyone else, but the color of Liesel's cheeks darken without his knowledge. He could not blame it entirely on the cold wind and rain.
“People will talk if we're late,” he says.
Serge's response is to lean down and kiss him.
Liesel allows it for a second, maybe two... three...
He doesn't know how long, really, because the moment Serge leans in Liesel's mind is sent spinning and he no longer has any concept of time. Every one of his senses is focused entirely on the moment, on Serge being too close and moving too fast. This isn't right. He doesn't have enough space; anyone could step out through the door and see them there, and then there will be a scandal. Liesel doesn't understand why Serge feels the need to do these things, except that Serge is his friend and Serge cares about him, and Liesel cares about Serge, too. But he doesn't think he needs to do something like this to show it.
Hastily Liesel pulls back and breaks the kiss, staring at Serge with a mix of surprise he shouldn't be feeling and a certain mortification he thinks is entirely justified. He swallows and forces his hand out of Serge's grasp, stepping back to put what he thinks is an appropriate amount of space between them, flicking his eyes toward the door not so far away to make sure that one was has been there to see.
“You can't do these things,” he insists, knowing he will only earn more anger and disappointment. “Not with me.”
Serge frowns, and Liesel thinks he hears his heart break.
Liesel gives a start at the feel of a foreign hand grabbing his own, but he settles when he turns to see that it is only Serge, as he should have known it would be. Liesel looks down at their joined hands and considers them. He almost pulls away. It does not seem sensible to walk along hand-in-hand. Anyone could wander out in search of them and get the wrong idea. Or perhaps it is the right idea. He does not know what Serge's intentions are. Liesel only knows that there is a very distinct line that shouldn't ever be crossed.
“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder,” Liesel comments, “or so they say.”
He doesn't try to argue the point further, as he's has numerous people compliment him in similar ways. Ganymedeans themselves are a vain bunch. They prize beauty in themselves as well as in others. As such a public figure as Sailor Ganymede, Liesel is quickly growing used to the talk and the intensity with which people scrutinize his appearance.
It shouldn't be any different coming from Serge than it would coming from anyone else, but the color of Liesel's cheeks darken without his knowledge. He could not blame it entirely on the cold wind and rain.
“People will talk if we're late,” he says.
Serge's response is to lean down and kiss him.
Liesel allows it for a second, maybe two... three...
He doesn't know how long, really, because the moment Serge leans in Liesel's mind is sent spinning and he no longer has any concept of time. Every one of his senses is focused entirely on the moment, on Serge being too close and moving too fast. This isn't right. He doesn't have enough space; anyone could step out through the door and see them there, and then there will be a scandal. Liesel doesn't understand why Serge feels the need to do these things, except that Serge is his friend and Serge cares about him, and Liesel cares about Serge, too. But he doesn't think he needs to do something like this to show it.
Hastily Liesel pulls back and breaks the kiss, staring at Serge with a mix of surprise he shouldn't be feeling and a certain mortification he thinks is entirely justified. He swallows and forces his hand out of Serge's grasp, stepping back to put what he thinks is an appropriate amount of space between them, flicking his eyes toward the door not so far away to make sure that one was has been there to see.
“You can't do these things,” he insists, knowing he will only earn more anger and disappointment. “Not with me.”
Serge frowns, and Liesel thinks he hears his heart break.
TBC...
