Hey guys. I got some requests to see Larten and the stream, and this was what I came up with. I really like this scene and I really hope you will too. Let me know if you have any other kind of scene you would like to see and if the writing works out I'll do it. I love this story line.

Disclaimer: I do not own Cirque du Freake.

This part of the stream was calm. It bubbled softly over the stones until it reached the end of the large cavern where it turned out of sight to reach the main river. It was peaceful in this cavern. It was off the beaten path and few had reason to go there. Except for one vampire. Every evening, for five hundred years the orange haired vampire could be found in this cavern. It was at a time when the clan was still resting, the mountain quiet and still. All except for the water. Ever constant in its movements, ever present in its sound, and ever giving with its life.

It was the only source of fresh water in Vampire Mountain. The stream itself gave as much life as the blood they received. And it took life just as easily. Larten knew this better than any Vampire within the Mountain could. His contemporaries had long since passed on to Paradise and Larten knew he would soon be behind them. But such things were hard to think about and tonight would be a night of celebration. A new Prince was rising to power tonight, only the third since Darren passed.

It was an exciting time and when exciting times came, the orange haired Quartermaster could always be found with his stream. The old man always seemed content with simply listening to the water sliding peacefully over the rocks. He would sit on the edge, a vial of blood in one hand and a bowl of broth in the other, eating his breakfast with the only family he had left. The younger Vampires thought it a strange if not lonely sight. All knew the story behind it, of course. Who hadn't heard of the spirit and the traitor? But to hear a story was one thing, to stand in front of the spirit himself, was quite another.

Many would search out the Quartermaster for some sort of advice; as the oldest living Vampire he had seen and done all. He had witnessed several Princes rise to their thrones, he had fought the Vampaneze Lord, and he had been the only one to ever truly communicate with their resident spirit. Larten was a legend in his own right and it made him highly respected and sometimes hard to approach. But for those who steeled themselves and asked, they would always remember the experience.

And that was where Bato found himself the evening of his coronation. He found himself inexplicitly drawn to the Quartermaster and his spot by the stream. He had a question that was burning in his mind and he was desperate to ask it. He hesitated at the entrance to the cavern watching the elder Vampire with awe.

The man was crouched by the stream running his fingers lightly through the water, a soft smile on his hardened, wizened face. It was the softest Bato had ever seen him and it surprised him somewhat. Although he supposed it really shouldn't have considering where he was. Back when he was still alive, Prince Arrow would often tell the story of the spirit during the Festival held every twelve years. Soon after sunrise he and Larten, the last remaining witnesses to the child's life, would retreat to the part of the stream he'd died in. Bato didn't know what they did, no one did. It was a private moment that no one wished to intrude on, no matter the curiosity.

Bato had thought to ask Prince Arrow once about the stream and it's spirit. The man had simply said that the boy had brought life to everything he touched, even in death. Arrow told him that when faced with a spirit such as this the proper thing to do was to smile and offer a hand in friendship, for to see the boy anymore was a gift. It was said that he only made himself known to the greatest of Vampires. This piece of legend was what drove him to the cavern.

"Are you ever planning on joining us?"

The voice of the Quartermaster cut through his thoughts like a sword. He snapped out of his contemplation to see the man looking at him over his shoulder.

"I do not mean to intrude," Bato replied, feeling his nerves rise up inside him.

"You are not intruding Bato," the man replied and beckoned him to come closer. "Come, join us."

There was no need to ask about the use of the word 'us'. Larten could always be counted on to let a person know if the spirit was present however out of sight. The old man's connection with the spirit had long baffled Bato. Nobody knew if he could really see him or if he was just sensing him.

"He is here?" Bato asked.

"Yes," Larten confirmed. "He enjoys this part of the stream."

"It is very peaceful," the younger observed and Larten nodded in agreement. He sat on the edge next to the Quartermaster. He did his best not to shift. They sat for a few minutes, simply listening to the steam. Bato wondered what Larten heard just then. Was it the spirit or simply the water?

"Did you come for something Bato?" Larten asked quietly, as if he didn't want to disturb something. The peacefulness, Bato realized. This was the spirit's final resting place. To disturb it in any manner seemed terrible, even to one who had never given much thought to the nature of souls.

"Do you really see him?" Bato asked, the question slipping off his tongue before he could consider how obtrusive it may have been. However Larten didn't seem bothered by it in the slightest. He smiled in fact and gave a soft laugh.

"Arrow always could tell a good story," the old man replied, his tone laced with amusement. "Put the legend out of mind Bato. I do not know why Darren shows himself to some and not others but it has nothing to do with greatness, present or not."

The man had completely avoided his question, Bato noticed. But he had also put to bed a fear of his. He had been pondering his capability of being a Prince without having ever seen the spirit. Vampires were known to exaggerate in their stories and legends. It was some of the only entertainment they had in the mountain, but the spirit was a real story. It was hard to distinguish between what was true and what was simply a tall tale. But with nerves soothed, curiosity won out. He still wanted to know.

"But do you really see him?" Bato asked.

"Yes, Bato," the old man replied with another smile. "I really see him. All the time."

"Is it hard?"

"Sometimes," Larten nodded. "He never had a chance to live to his full potential. But I fear what the consequences might have been had it happened any other way."

"What's he like? Nobody really knows."

"He is what he is," Larten said simply and Bato had to fight with himself to keep from questioning further. He knew it was hard for the old Vampire to talk about the spirit beyond what was already known about the tale. Larten seemed to pick up on his younger companion's frustration and smirked. "You remind me of him Bato."

"Really?" he responded, surprised. Such a thing was a very big compliment, especially coming from Larten.

"Yes. Darren would often get similarly frustrated when he was not told what he wanted to know. He was a very curious boy when he was alive. His bravery was nearly as strong as his foolishness."

"What do you mean?" Bato asked, utterly fascinated. He'd never heard this type thing before. He doubted any had. Larten was ferociously protective over the spirit's good name. No one ever spoke of him unless as the legend he'd become. Hardly anyone considered the fact that the boy may have had flaws, himself included. It was actually rather odd that the esteemed hero could ever have been considered foolish.

"When Darren set his sights on something, nothing could stop him," Larten replied. "Not his parents, not me, and certainly not death. But he was a young boy with all that came with it. It was ultimately his foolishness that brought us together."

"Mm, hmm," Bato nodded hoping that Larten would continue.

"I had been travelling with a freak show for a while, when we met. The show had stopped in his town and Darren came to one of the performances. I had a rare and beautiful spider then and Darren saw in her what I did. He decided he wanted her, and promptly found a way to get her."

"What did he do?"

"He stole her."

"He stole her?" Bato asked, shocked. The spirit had once been a thief? It was a hard truth to swallow. Larten nodded and smiled softly at the old memory.

"Yes, and in order to prevent me from coming after him, he attempted to blackmail me," the old man continued. Bato's eyebrows soared upwards. This was certainly not how he had imagined this story being. "It was a poorly executed plan and I had my spider back with me soon enough but I couldn't put the child behind me. As soon I could, I blooded him."

"Did he know what you were when he stole the spider?"

"Oh yes," Larten said. "He knew very well what I was. But his desire to have the spider overrode his fear of me and he went through with his foolish plan. That was how he was."

"What about after?" Bato asked. "What was he like as an Assistant?"

"Stubborn," Larten replied with no hesitation. The younger vampire thought he saw the water swirl slightly at the response but it was gone so quickly he wasn't sure. "Darren refused to be cooperative or cordial for the first year he was with me. He also refused to drink blood for the longest of time. He very nearly wasted away to nothing in his attempt to cling to what he thought was humanity. A more stubborn child I never saw."

"Arrow told me that you two were very close," Bato hedged, not sure if he should push this line of talk. It seemed awfully personal but Larten didn't seem to mind talking about this subject so far.

"We were as close as we could be, all things considered," Larten replied. "Darren and I had just put the worse behind us when he died."

"I'm sorry," Bato replied, saddened.

"Do not be, Bato," Larten said with a small smile. "Things worked out in the end. Besides, I believe it is time for you to prepare for the first ceremony." Bato nodded, recognizing the end of this conversation. He stood and bowed his head respectfully to the Quartermaster.

"Thank you, Larten," he said sincerely.

"You are welcome child," the old man replied as the Prince-to-be left the cavern. He was just outside the entrance when he heard Larten's voice and paused in his departure, curious once more.

"Yes, Darren he is a nice boy," the man said. "No, you may not prank him. His nerves are frazzled enough as it is. Now, hush."

Bato smiled softly, and continued on his on his way. Unbeknownst to him, that would be the last time anyone saw Larten. He made no appearance at the ceremonies, and they could not find him the night after either. It wasn't until a General found his body at the base of the Mountain, drowned, that they realized what may have happened.

Larten was quiet that evening. More quiet than usual when he was visiting the stream. Normally he would talk about anything and everything concerning the Mountain. It seemed to ease the restlessness of Darren's spirit. The orange haired Vampire had spent nearly a hundred years soothing the spirit into the quietness they had now grown used to.

The boy's death had been sudden and traumatic. He'd died in a moment of pure terror and betrayal, and despite the deaths of the traitors and the ending of the War of the Scars, Darren was a restless and trapped soul. That restlessness manifested itself with hauntings. The stream frequently flooded the Mountain, the child's screams could be heard echoing from the Hall of Death, Vampires were plagued by nightmares, and the boy could frequently be seen, staring, watching. It unnerved everyone. There was no violence from the spirit ever again but the nature of his death led to a deeply damaged spirit. Only Larten was able to control the hauntings on any level.

Soon enough the spirit retreated to a peacefulness many had thought he wouldn't be able to achieve. The flooding stopped as did the nightmares and appearances. Larten began to cultivate a deep connection with the spirit that no one else could ever hope to understand and with that connection he became known as the spirit's keeper. The Vampire would, every evening, speak with the boy in the calmest part of the stream, keeping the spirit at peace for the most part. It was a great responsibility as the spirit held much power within the Mountain, and it was a responsibility Larten took seriously.

But now he could feel it in his bones. He was dying. Who, but he, would be able to temper the spirit boy's restless energy and keep him calm and under some sort of control? He had considered teaching someone to replace him in this capacity, but the thought was foul to him. He felt that he could not, in good conscious, leave the spirit in the hands of someone who couldn't possibly understand the nature of his soul, no matter how well informed. He and the boy had developed a connection in life which, instead of being severed, had been strengthened with the boy's death.

No one was left who knew the boy in life. When Larten passed into Paradise, the child would be completely alone. The realization gnawed at Larten in a terrible way. It left him restless, sleepless, and worried.

The streamed bubbled and rose slightly to cover his feet up to his ankles. The man snapped out of his thoughts, and dipped his hands into the water. Bato had left for his ceremonies and Larten had been left to his thoughts. But the stream wanted his attention, just like Darren always had. The boy had loved attention and even when the two of them had been at odds, he'd practically demanded that Larten not ignore him.

"What is it, Darren?" Larten asked, watching the shadows in the shallow water dance in a way that had nothing to do with the flickering of the torches mounted on the wall or the soft rippling of the stream. The shadow withdrew somewhat, going into deeper water. Larten stood and followed until he was chest deep, the deepest the spirit had ever asked him to go. He felt something brush his stomach and then his back. Larten was used to those feelings. The spirit was feeling playful that evening. "Darren, we must discuss my passing."

The brushing feeling withdrew and the shadow darted away into the water. Larten lost track of it but he knew the boy was still listening.

"You cannot avoid the subject child," the old Vampire said softly. "I am dying. You know what I plan on doing. I wish for you to be there with me." A movement caught his eye and he turned to see the shadow form into something solid. The top of Darren's head emerged from the water, his brown hair plastered to his grey skin. He rose just enough for Larten to see his eyes, dead and cold but with a hint of stubbornness. It was a look the man had seen before for this was not the first time he'd spoken of such things.

"Paradise." It was not spoken, not really. It was the ripple of the water that brought the whisper to his ears.

"I know you wish for me to see Paradise, child," Larten said. "But it is not your decision. It is mine, and I do not wish to leave you alone here. You do not want to be alone here either. I know you Darren. You will suffer from that loneliness and the peacefulness you feel now will leave you. Is that what you want?"

The head disappeared below the water and the shadow rocketed towards him almost faster than his eye could follow. Two grey hands latched onto his shoulders in a vice like grip. The boy's head resurfaced up to his neck.

"Paradise," the spirit said forcefully his rasp echoing off the walls.

"No."

The spirit disappeared below the water nearly as quickly as he'd come and this time Larten knew he would not resurface. The old man turned and waded back to dry land, having heard the boy's piece and saying his own.

Larten walked calmly from the cavern and back through the now awakening Mountain. He went through tunnel after tunnel until he came upon the Hall of Death. The stream here moved quickly, its current the strongest it ever got in the Mountain. It was where the boy-his boy-had fallen in and died. Larten didn't even hesitate. He didn't stop at the edge to contemplate. He simply walked off the edge.

The water was icy cold and he immediately began to travel down the mountain, his body buffeted by the current, his senses numb, and his consciousness fighting to remain. He felt arms wrap around his chest and he opened his eyes in surprise as his descent down the mountain came to an erupt halt. He looked over his shoulder to see the boy, floating and unaffected by the current holding him in place. The boy was keeping him where the water moved the fastest and was making no move to take him to the surface for air.

Larten didn't feel the sting in his lungs that came with drowning. There was no pain, no loss of consciousness, and no panic. He felt his heart slow and eventually stop completely. He suddenly found himself next to Darren. The boy no longer looked grey, he no longer looked dead. In fact, he looked alive and quite healthy. This was what it was like to see the boy without the ever present veil between life and death. He had only seen the spirit like this once before, when his energy had been at its happiest. He watched as the boy released his aged, weakened body and it was quickly carried away by the current.

The boy finally turned to him. Larten moved towards him and placed both his hands on boy's shoulders. He paused at the sight; his hands were no longer wrinkled and gnarled. They were smooth and pale, as they had been in his youth, as they had been the night Darren died.

"You were supposed to go to Paradise," Darren said tightly, his tone one Larten had not heard since the boy had refused to drink blood.

"That was not what I wanted Darren," the man replied squeezing the shoulders his hands still rested upon. "Besides if I had gone to Paradise no one would be around who could control you." Darren scowled at that, as Larten had expected him to.

"I don't need to be controlled," Darren huffed. "Besides, you're the cranky, crazy one."

"Of course, my boy," Larten replied patronizingly. "Of course."