Renaissance of the Heart
Part 1
by the Hoyden (dulcinea42@yahoo.com)
Rated PG
Disclaimer:  Sailor Moon is owned by Naoko Takeuchi, Kodansha,Toei
Animation, and other people who are not me.
Author's notes at the bottom!


~Renaissance of the Heart, Part 1~
    
     There were, Darien reflected, more constructive things to do with
his afternoon besides being beaten black and blue in fencing practice.
Fencing, he thought disgustedly, examining the slender blade in his
hands.  He had purchased the shining rapier at this utterly bizarre,
kaleidoscope-like Renaissance Faire for probably more money
than was warranted, and then asked a group of modern-day knights
to teach him how to fence.

     Despite his aching, he felt calm and relatively at peace.  This
place, this park transformed into another time, soothed him in
a way that the sweetest of lullabies never could match.  Which was
odd,  he thought, as anyone who was even vaguely acquainted with him
could tell you that Darien was always alone, and yet here he was in
a setting where there were people all about him nearly all the time.
Around, near, he mused.  Never with.  Darien took pains to establish
that he was a solitary man and liked to be left to himself.

     He propogated this idea to keep people from asking about the
truth.  It was exceedingly difficult for him to talk about, and it only
made all parties involved highly uncomfortable.  Somehow, he
doubted most people's ability to deal with the statement, "Yeah, I've
been an orphan since I was six years old, I have no close friends,
and I'm practically an insomniac because I'm being haunted by some
really wierd dreams of a princess from a millenium ago."

     He could only conclude that he was crazy.  And to top matters
off, he was at a Renaissance festival dressed in a supremely
ridiculous outfit getting the living hell beaten out of him on a 
daily basis in fencing practice for no readily apparent reason.
He pushed a hand through his feathery black hair and started
poking at the strange pantaloons he was wearing.  They were a little
longer than boxers would be, but they were puffy and, in his opinion,
looked like gold-striped black pumpkins.  You've cracked, Darien 
thought to himself.  And you're wearing TIGHTS, for God's sake!
What you need is -

     "Yoo-hoo!  Serena to Darien!"

     Not that.  Anything but that.

     His eyes focused on absurd little beaded red slippers.  With a
feeling of dread in the pit of his stomach, his gaze followed up to
see a billowing scarlet skirt with a matching velvet bodice.  So far,
so good, he thought, but then his eyes beheld the meatballs of doom.
"Hi Serena,"  he mumbled and then sank his face back down into his
hands.  He was really hoping she'd go away.  He was in too much pain
to think of witty retorts right now.  He stiffly tried to roll his
shoulders and groaned when his muscles protested.

     To his surprise, slender fingers began kneading the abused
muscles of his neck.  "You were really awesome out there, Darien,"
she chirped happily, her hands gently working through the knots
in his back.  "Y'know, I was really surprised, since you normally
are just SUCH a minus-zero-"

     "Thanks a lot,"  he muttered.

     But she kept going.  "But then I saw you out there and I was
really surprised.  I mean, whoever would have thought that you'd..
well, you know..."

     "Fence?"

     "Well, actually, I was really shocked by your little puffly
pant things,"  she told him quite seriously, and leaned over to
poke them experimentally.  He yelped and scooted away, blushing to
the roots of his hair.  She was apparently oblvious to what he
thought was a gross impropriety and sat down right next to him in
the space he had vacated.  "So, what are you doing for the rest of
today?"

     "Well, I don't know..."

     "Don't be silly.  You're going to show me around this place,
right?"  she bullied him cheerfully.

     "I don't know, Serena, I've really got things to do.."  he
hedged, forgetting he had just told her he was unoccupied.

     "I'll pout."

     Darien stared at her for a moment, not sure he had heard her
correctly.  She was still smiling beautifully, her ocean blue eyes
looking peaceful.  "You'll...pout?"  he choked out.

     As promised, her lower lip began to quiver and her eyes took
on an alarming puppy dog like appearance.  Darien's gaze unwisely
settled on her adorable pouting mouth.  Gulping nervously with
some very dangerous hormonally-induced mental images, he managed
to reach out and grasp one of her tiny hands in his own.  "Well,
milady, we can't have that."

    In a flash, she reverted back to smiling.  "See?  Not being
a minus-zero is *fun*, Darien."

    He sighed as she tugged his hand and led him over to the main
path.  "Meatball Head, I thought you just told me the puffly pants
redeemed me in your eyes."

    She turned around and poked them again, which set her off into
silvery gales of laughter.  Darien's mouth tightened in annoyance
and he carefully snagged her around the waist.  "Meatball Head,
I didn't learn how to fence just for the hell of it.  Don't tempt
me."  Then she squawked loudly as he gave her firm smack on the
bottom.  "This way, wench."

    "DARIEN!!!"  she shrieked angrily.

    He looked at her innocently.  "Are you not dressed as a tavern
wench?"  He gave her a thorough look-over.  "Let's see...bright
skirt, bodice, peasant blouse...I'd have to conclude you're a wench."

    "And I'D have to conclude that even with the puffly pants, you
are still the biggest minus-zero ever to walk the face of this-"

    "Flowers!"  a little boy sang, walking down the path with a
basket full of roses.  "Milord, buy a flower for the lady?"  he
asked, tugging on Darien's tunic.

    Darien hunkered down and dropped a few coins in the boy's
outstetched hand.  He selected a brilliant crimson rose and turned
to face a shocked Serena.  Ah, why not, he decided.  A little
flirting is good for the soul.  He looked deep into her eyes and
gave her what he hoped was a dashing smile, then sketched a bow and
offered her the rose.  She hesitatingly plucked it from his grasp,
her fingers brushing his own.

    "There's an excellent Shakespeare production just up the road,"
he told her softly.  "A comedy group.  You'll love them."

    She only nodded, wide-eyed, and he was surprised to find her hand
sneaking into one of his, as if afraid he would shoo her away.  Then
she smiled as he squeezed her hand reassuringly and led her down the
dusty, tent-lined path.


---------
Email me at dulcinea42@yahoo.com!  I know I swore I'd wait to do
another series, but with break and all I've got some time on my hands.
Jecita, I know I've been neglecting you and Nikki-chan horribly, but
I want you to know I've been keeping up with your stories, and I love
everything you two write.  Keep it up, please!  Ja!