A Fable of the Past

Summary: Some wounds never heal with time. A story about Reaver's love, and life before immortality.

Pairing: Reaver/"her"

Genre: Drama/Romance

Rating: T (might change to M for later chapters)

Reaver belongs to Lionhead studios, all other characters belong to me.

A/N: Let's just say, when I first heard Reaver's diary, the plot bunnies beat me into submission. Enjoy!

Chapter One: Something Unexpected

Moving day once again. Reaver would admit he would miss Millfields, he had thoroughly enjoyed his time spent living there around such aristocracy. But alas, recent events had suggested he move elsewhere, what with the crashing of his latest (and most entertaining) party so far in his manor. That and Logan's overthrow. Yes, a more discreet living arrangement would be wise, in case the new Queen and that revolutionary got any other funny ideas.

His servants had already started moving his portraits, but despite having such a large living space, there were relatively few things he intended to take with him to his new home. He could easily afford new furniture and the like, so it would be silly to make the effort to move such things, although it might be funny to watch his servants try. Besides his clothing, there was one other thing Reaver always moved with him. He'd kept it locked away behind another one of his secret bookshelves, a chest which held his most valuable treasures. Not gold, or jewels, or any other sort of currency. Certainly Reaver did not have a chest big enough to fit all the gold he possessed, nor would he be foolish enough to keep it in his home. No, these sort of treasures were personal, collected over many lifetimes worth of adventures and conquests. Once again, it was time to move the chest, a task he dreaded, as it was rather heavy. Despite this, Reaver would trust no one but himself with such a task, as it contained the only things he owned that were truly irreplaceable.

"Alright, let's get this over with." Reaver cracked his knuckles and bent down to lift the chest. Yes, it certainly hadn't lost any weight from the last time he carried it. His arms strained as he carried it across the room. Just two flights of stairs, he thought. He was almost to the door now. All of a sudden he heard a loud creaking noise. "What the devil was-" *SNAP* Reaver toppled off balance and howled as the bottom half of the chest broke off and landed on his foot. Before he knew it he was on the floor, still holding onto the handles. Reaver cursed and tried to collect himself. His chest lay in practically two pieces now; the upper half and lower half. He examined the chest, from the looks of it one of the rusted hinges had snapped off and consequently took out the other hinge with it. The bottom of the chest was splintered, but somehow it held together enough to keep its contents inside.

Honestly, what sort of dim-wit would attach the handles to the upper half of a trunk? It had always bothered him. No matter, despite the ill-placed handles, the chest proved to be very well-constructed. He was surprised that the trunk had lasted this long, it was nearly as old as he was. That considering, it was about time he'd gotten a new one. Reaver sighed and scanned the room, looking for something that would temporarily transport and fit his most precious belongings.

After a moment, he found that the only reasonable container was the trunk at the foot of his bed used for clothing (mostly). Though the trunk was much larger than he would need it to be, this would be his best bet. He approached the trunk and hoisted it open. It was only half full. The clothing would help cushion his more valuable things anyway. Although I may need help carrying it down, he pondered as he considered the size. He waved the idea off. The chest screeched painfully against the hardwood floor as he dragged its shambles over to the trunk at the foot of his bed. Fortunately, he was moving out of the manor. As far as he was concerned the next owner could deal with scrapes on the floor. Now to transport all of its contents. As he peered inside, he realized it had been a while since he'd gone through his trunk. In fact, he couldn't really remember the last time he went through it for memory's sake. Out of all the times he'd opened this obscenely old piece of luggage, most of them were to put things in, not take things out.

Well, this should be interesting, he mused. Perhaps there was an upside to this, as monotonous a task it seemed. He started in on the contents. Nearly 300 years worth of treasures, most of which were technically useless. Old treasure maps, odd souvenirs he'd taken off of captains he'd killed, trinkets from various travels. Reaver did enjoy reminiscing about past adventures. As he continued to unload the chest, he stumbled upon a lacy garter belt. "Oh, Penelope." He gave a devious smile as he remembered that night. I wonder... With childish curiosity, he brought it closer to his face and smelled it. He must have looked like a fool as he pressed it into his nose to try and catch the faintest whiff of her. No avail. It smelled as though it had been sitting in an old trunk for nearly 60 years, quite appropriately. With disappointment he flung it into the new container.

It was a while before Reaver felt the bottom. The further he dug, the older things got. Of course, some items required a moments recollection as to where he'd acquired them. Oh yes, things were very old down there. Reaver rummaged about the chest, until at last something caught his eye that made his heart skip a beat.

No, it couldn't be. He sat back, breathing heavily, as if afraid of what was inside. After a moment, he peered into the chest and pulled the old thing out for proper examination. Yes, it had been precisely what he thought it was.

He cursed himself for having not destroyed it. How could this have possibly survived after so many years, after he thought he had gotten rid of everything. His head pounded as feelings and memories bled through the cracks in the armor he'd built over so many years. He looked desperately toward the fireplace, as if in reflex to abolish the pain by destroying it once and for all. As if it would help.

Much to his dismay, the fire was not lit. He turned the book over in his hands. The pages were fragile and warped with age. He sat frozen, unable to make it stop as the memories hit him like a tidal wave. There was a story that went with this.

But that story belonged to another time, to another man.

Ever since news broke out that old Mrs. Greybo's house had sold, there had been a variety of speculations as to who might have purchased it. In the small village of Oakvale, new residents were always a big deal. The day the Brightons moved to town had been no exception.

That afternoon, when Harriet Ashfield looked out her window and saw two large carriages outside that very house, she knew it could be none other than their highly anticipated neighbors. Dorian will want to know about this, she thought. I'll stop at his place first, we can go meet them together. And with that she left the house and made her way up the hill towards his.

Dorian Maslow was the youngest person in Oakvale to own a house and live alone in it. Most other young adults lived with their parents until they married or moved to another town. Dorian's home had been his inheritance. He was twenty-five.

In a matter of minutes, Harriet arrived at the cottage and knocked on the door. She stared at it a moment while she waited. Some of the paint was chipping off. Silence. She gave another knock, harder this time. "Dorian, open up! Our new neighbors are here." Still nothing. "Oh, honestly," she rolled her eyes and kicked over the empty flower pot. He always hid a spare key under there. Once inside, she tossed the key on the table and made her way up the stairs only to find him sprawled across the bed, asleep. She should have suspected this much.

Harriet walked over to his bed and gave an irritated sigh. What could he have possibly been doing up so late? She wondered. Never mind, she didn't want to know. "Dorian, wake up!"

He stirred slightly and grumbled something incoherent.

"I was going to ask if you wanted to come with me to meet our new neighbors but apparently it's still too early for you."

He opened his eyes and squinted from the mid-day sun, "What time is it?"

"Noon."

Harriet eyed him as he rolled over and stretched. He wasn't wearing a shirt. She figured she should have been used to it by now, as they had known each other since they were children. She still wasn't. His lightly tanned skin seemed to glow in the sunlight. He looked so warm, she wanted to slip under the covers with him and feel his heated skin against her cheek. Then she remembered why she was here. "Dorian, come on, I don't have all day."

He rubbed his eyes groggily, "Alright, Harriet, just give me a second." He sat up and stretched again, trying to adjust to the light. His tousled brown hair glistened in the sun. Harriet folded her arms and sat down as she waited. He had always been very attractive, and he knew it. Dorian swung his legs over the bed and sat there a moment. He was wearing nothing but his underwear. Finally he stood up, "I suppose I should put some clothes on," he said and pulled open the middle drawer of his worn dresser. He took out a lose-fitting white shirt and brown trousers; pauper's clothes.

There was a time when Reaver was content with what he had. A time when as long as he had something to eat, something to wear, and a comfortable place to live, he would do just fine. Most people in Oakvale lived the same way. Dorian buttoned his trousers, rolled up his sleeves, and combed his hair into its usual tousled style. Effortless. All in all, Dorian Maslow had been dealt a pretty good hand. He walked over to his nightstand to pick up the house key and put on his shoes. "Ready when you are."

"Alright, let's go. Abigail will probably want to come too." Harriet stood up and followed him down the stairs. He really could have worn something nicer, she thought. After all, these would be their first impressions on their new neighbors and she knew he did in fact own nicer clothes than he had on. (Although they weren't all that much nicer.) She thought of commenting on it but he would probably reply saying something about how he didn't need to wear nice clothing to impress people because he was just naturally charming. Yes, that sounded exactly like something he's say, and then he'd flash her one of those heart-melting smiles. Saying anything about it at this point would be a lost cause. And besides, she'd actually gotten him up, dressed, and out the door with her. She'd settle for that.

Amelia Brighton sat down with a sigh on her new front doorstep and looked out onto Oakvale's lush, sunny fields. Quite a change from Bowerstone, so much space. The warms summer breeze felt good on her face as she rested a moment, giving her arms a break from unloading the carriage. Suddenly she felt a soft nudge from behind her and reached back to pet the grey striped cat. "Hello Ripley," she smiled widely at him and gave him a scratch under the chin. She had to admit, she was a bit apprehensive about letting him roam around outside. There fields where quite vast, she was worried he might get lost.

Amelia saw something out of the corner of her eye that caught her attention. Three figures coming down the road, a young man in the middle with a woman on either side, one blonde, and one with a neutral brown color hair. All looked as though they were close to her age. More visitors no doubt. She called to her father to come and greet them.

Mr. Brighton was a slender man in his mid 50s. His straight, grey hair was cut off at about his mid-neck, and was typically pulled out of his face by a pair of goggles atop his head, but not today. Today he and his daughter were moving into their new home in Oakvale, and there would be time for experimenting later.

"Ah, hello there!" he shouted cheerfully at the three visitors. They all chimed greetings in response. Amelia stood up and came down the walkway to greet them.

"Hi, I'm Harriet Ashfield," said the blonde, extending her hand to Amelia, "It's so nice to meet you, we've been anticipating your arrival for a while now."

Amelia smiled and returned the handshake, "Hi, I'm Amelia Brighton, this is my father," she motioned to him.

"Arthur Brighton," he shook her hand warmly, "Thank you for stopping by, everyone here is so welcoming!"

The brown haired girl, Abigail Green, introduced herself next. She was noticeably more soft-spoken than the blonde, Amelia picked up. Both girls seemed to share a fondness for the middle member of the trio, who flashed her one of his signature smiles.

Dorian extended his hand to her, gazing heavily into her crystal blue eyes. This Amelia Brighton was all sorts of loveliness. How fortunate he was that he now had a new young woman to become acquainted with. Such a beauty! Oh yes, Dorian had not been expecting to find a new neighbor quite like this one, but he was most thankful for it. "Dorian Maslow, such a pleasure to meet you."

"Yes, and a pleasure meeting you," Amelia responded. His gaze had a soft intensity. Now that he was closer, she noticed Dorian had a distinct beauty mark under his left eye.

Yes, this is why Dorian loved newcomers. Well, young, attractive newcomers. Fondly, he remembered Marietta, the Westons' cousin from Oakfield. Had it really been almost a year since that summer? Disappointing she could only stay for a few weeks, and it all could have ended so much better. Bobby Weston was still a bit bitter about him having slept with his cousin to this day.

"So, where are you two from, exactly?" Dorian inquired.

"Bowerstone," she answered, "We owned an apothecary up there, but another one opened on the other side of town about six months ago, we lost a lot of business," she explained.

"Yes, Amelia and I thought we had been down on our luck until we heard about a place for sale down here," Mr. Brighton chimed in, "And with Oakvale without an apothecary we figured it was a perfect fit. Quite the blessing in disguise."

"You know, we could really use an apothecary around here too," Harriet added, "My father is the town physician, now he'll no longer have to order in herbs and medicines, it's really quite nice." Harriet couldn't help but notice Dorian had become rather transfixed since they met their new neighbors. Abigail gave her a knowing glance. Here we go again.

"Oh, really? Well, he and I will be doing business with each other often then," he smiled at her.

Amelia could tell from the looks of the two girls on either side of him that this Dorian Maslow was quite the town catch. She had to admit, he was incredibly handsome. He knew it too, she could tell. The girls' looks changed to jealousy as he flashed her another one of those heart-melting smiles, and she felt herself smile in return, as if she had no control. She saw a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes as she returned the smile, as though he had predicted his effect on her. It was evident he was experienced at this, but experience of her own told her there were few things charming men like him were after. No matter, it was their first encounter, so she would be polite.

"You know, if you'd like some help moving these boxes I'd be more than happy to help," he offered. Harriet and Abigail shot each other looks.

"Why of course!" Mr. Brighton chimed in before she had time to respond, "We could certainly use the help, how very kind of you."

Amelia watched as the smug smile crept onto Dorian's face. "Excellent, just tell me where you want things."

"Alright," he said, "For now we're just setting everything in the living room, er, soon to be apothecary portion of our home," he added with a chuckle.

"Certainly," said Dorian, stealing another glance at Amelia before walking around to the back of the carriage.

Harriet rolled her eyes. "Well, we're going to take off now, it was nice meeting the two of you."

"Yes, it was nice meeting you both!" Abigail added before Harriet took her by the arm, exiting the scene.

Amelia watched as Dorian grabbed a hold of the nearest crate and lifted it. That is, he attempted to. It was incredibly heavy. He struggled with it a moment more before he heard her voice behind him. "Need some help?" her tone sounded almost as smug as his smile had been moments before.

"Hm? No, I've got it. Just need to get the placement right," he tried again, this time lifting it more successfully, although with great effort. He staggered back under the weight, it felt as though his arms were about to break. Amelia folded her arms and raised an eyebrow. "Alright, I could use some help with this one," he admitted, flashing her another smile to cover the embarrassment.

She came to his aid, taking hold of the other side of the box from underneath. "What's in this thing? Bricks?"

"Books." It was her turn to flash him a smile.

"Yours?"

"Most of them, yes."

"Impressive."

"Thank you." They waddled into the living room and lowered the crate onto the floor. "There's more where that came from."

He raised his eyebrows, "Oh, well then I'll be needing your assistance no doubt."

"That you will," she said, and headed out toward the carriage again. Dorian looked her over as he followed, she had a great body, he noted, very lithe and slender. The shape of her dress accentuated her lower half very nicely, a fine fit for her figure. It complimented her red hair too, a pretty light blue. He raised his eyes in time as she turned around, though by the looks of her she had suspected he'd been staring.

"Alright, this one has books in it as well," she said, right down to business. She didn't seem to be one for making conversation.

Dorian gave the crate the initial lift and Amelia took hold from there. Very well, he would ask the questions then. "So, did you live in Bowerstone your whole life?" The crate was fairly wide, but short enough so that they could still see each others' faces, much to Dorian's advantage and Amelia's discomfort.

"Yes, I take it you've lived here for a while?" As she was the one walking backwards she took frequent opportunities to look behind her to watch her step, but also to break her awkward line of sight. Dorian on the other hand wasn't nearly as subtle. She doubted he'd looked away from her since she'd grabbed on.

"Yes, my whole life. What made you guess that?" he inquired.

"Well," she turned to watch her step again, "those two girls seemed to know you pretty well." She was referring to their possessive glances, but she wasn't sure that he caught on.

"Hm," he pondered her comment, "How observant of you." Finally they set the crate down.

"Oh, good! I see you've brought the books in," Mr. Brighton commented, coming down the stairs, "Heavy, aren't they? You know, Amelia, thinking back it was rather foolish of us to put them all together like that."

Amelia gave a soft smile and shook her head. "The rest shouldn't need more than one person now," she noted. Amelia and her father had unloaded the majority of the crates before Dorian and his friends had arrived. It was about half an hour before they finished with his help.

Mr. Brighton smiled and shook Dorian's hand as he stood in the doorway. "Yes, it was so nice meeting you. And thank you again, Dorian. I take it we will be seeing more of you," he added. They were officially neighbors after all.

Dorian smiled at the older man, but turned his head to look at his daughter before he spoke. "Yes, you will certainly be seeing more of me."

A/N: Alright, so quite a lot of introductions in this chapter. (More still to come!) You'll find out more about Amelia and other characters in the next chapter as well. It's a bit of a slow start, but it will pick up soon. While this was a lot of fun to write, it was also a bit challenging as I had so little to go on from Reaver's diary. I hope you enjoy it so far, please leave a review on your way out!