Challenge 2 Fill: "The Courtly Dance"
Oct. 20th, 2012 04:31 am![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
starbrowsings.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
nffr_partyRating:K
A/N: This fic owes a huge debt to both![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
pencildragon11 for the idea of the English Country Dances taking place in Archenland, and to Regency England itself. That was the only way 3000 words of worldbuilding were going to pop out of my head in less than 10 hours. My apologies if I botched any of the dancing bits - I will handwave it with the assumption that Archen Country Dances may differ in exact form! Thanks also to rthstewart for help in forming Aravis's character here; it was invaluable!
*** The Courtly Dance
In the bright flurry of the well-lighted dancing hall, Aravis was an island apart from the rest, standing wordless and self-contained as she watched the lords and ladies whirl before her.
She was not an island by choice. She was dressed as they were. The tight lacings of her corset seized her ribs with every breath. The neckline was shockingly low, and she wore only a single petticoat under the thin skirt of the gown as the Archen ladies did, instead of the comforting layers and layers of silk that were customary to her people.
And she had made every effort to join them. She had studied for weeks with Corin's (and now Cor's) royal deportment tutor, learning the complex mores of Archenland's social structure and the strict guidelines that governed the interaction of men and women. This was not a new concept to her, for Calormen had had that too.
But here it was so very strange. Here, women actually touched men's hands as they passed them in the dance. They looked them boldly in the eye, instead of modestly casting their gaze downward as a genteel Tarkheena should. They flirted openly and outrageously, all coy smiles and fluttering glances. They might even put a hand put a hand on a man's arm, as if by accident in conversation, or by intent during the shockingly intimate dance between couples that the Archens called a waltz.
And despite their boldness, the Archen ladies all followed the unwritten code that the men should lead: in the invitation, in the dance, in the first display of interest. A woman must do her very best to primp and please the male gaze, and then must look in great need of being talked to and hope that her charms were sufficiently magnetic for the purpose.
To Aravis, this seemed a profound waste of time. If men and women were allowed to mingle freely as the Archens did, why would they not simply do as they pleased? Why such artifice and affectation? The Narnians were much more sensible about the matter. It was a pity they could not have come tonight, for she could have used some sense amongst all this nonsense.
But still, for the sake of her new place and determination to master its peculiarities, Aravis stubbornly stuck to the rules, and clenched her fists in the scant folds of her gown to keep from fidgeting at her elaborately upswept hair.
In theory Corin was her escort this evening, but as always he was off somewhere either planning or executing his next prank, after the smashing success (from his standpoint) of the lark he had pulled at dinner. (It was quite smashing, Aravis thought with a slight grin, but the poor fat lord whose chairlegs Corin had unscrewed prior to dinner had not appreciated the humor in it!)
It would have made things much simpler if she could just have accompanied Cor for the evening, but this was his official court presentation ball, and nearly everyone who was anyone at all was at Anvard for the celebration, including (naturally) every eligible young lady in the kingdom. And they were all (naturally) quite aflutter at the handsome new Crown Prince who was so nice to them and endearingly shy and not all like his horrid brother.
Aravis watched with some amusement as Cor fumbled his way through nearly every dance with this or that princess or duchess. He was truly hopeless at this business of girls, she decided, although he was so nice about it that very few of the younger ladies cared very much. But he was also in danger of making some serious blunders…even at that moment she could see him asking the same girl to dance the next set with him. Aravis noted the fans that went up between the matrons seated on the opposite side as they leaned their heads together and gossiped about the Crown Prince and his particular favorite. Cor, you idiot. Perhaps she might catch him between sets and mutter furiously that he was supposed to dance with each girl only once tonight, as the dancing master had drilled into them.
And, she thought with a sigh, this was how it would be from now on. She might still ride with him, and train with him behind the armory where the squires were sworn to secrecy about the strange Tarkheena's predilection for unwomanly pursuits, and study astronomy and literature and history with him in the afternoon when his royal instruction in the morning was over.
But here in the Archenland court, she would dress as they did and behave as they did and follow their silly rules, and then later on tell Cor exactly which ones he broke and how to do it better next time. He would no doubt be very put out about it, and tell her to stop ordering him around, but by Zardeenah he needed someone to help him get on here! He wasn't even looking at his current partner, and was consequently making a mess of the steps (not that he was doing especially well at them before then).
Aravis shook her head. How typical, that he was out there on the floor botching nearly every carefully drilled step of the dance that they had learned from the instructor, and she was standing motionless on the side mentally reviewing each turn and glide, the raised palms to touch there, the circle and step back. Well, at least she was prepared in case anyone asked her to dance. Which wasn't very likely. This wasn't pessimism, simply realism.
She should really be smiling, shouldn't she? The other ladies were. And socializing more. One of the older lords was standing nearby. Lord Colin, she remembered, having meticulously memorized each of the names and faces that populated the court, yet another thing Cor needed to work on. She tried on a smile and turned to Lord Colin with a polite nod. "Are the Archen balls always this grand?" she said, attempting to channel the arch lightness of tone that she had heard the other ladies speak with.
"Nay, this is the grandest in a long while," he replied, in the formal manner of the older Archen nobility, which tended toward the infuriatingly inscrutable. "They are usually only small affairs amongst our own and whoever happens to be visiting Anvard. Tonight is the first kingdom-wide celebration since Yuletide." His tone relaxed just the slightest bit toward confidentiality. "As you can, many of the younger ladies are very glad for an occasion to dance."
Aravis's smile was genuine. "Clearly. And yet it is hard not to wish to take a turn when the music is so very invigorating." There. She had managed the kind of demure angling for an invitation that was proper for a gentlewoman to offer.
"Indeed, but I'm afraid my dancing days are over. Please excuse me." Lord Colin bowed and retreated into the line of onlookers. Aravis sighed. His was one of the more polite retrenchments amongst the nobility who deigned to converse with her, for he was safely married and middle-aged and safe from her Calormene wiles. The irony of the thought was not lost on her. Archen ladies would be considered veritable hussies in Tashbaan.
Cor stumbled into entirely the wrong minor set of dancers. He apologized profusely to the older woman he (not surprisingly) bumped into from his error. The poor lady stared at him, for a Crown Prince should not be speaking so self-deprecatingly to one of his subjects; a simple, "Your pardon, madam" would have sufficed. Thank Zardeenah the set was almost over, because the whispering behind Aravis was becoming hard to ignore.
If she hurried, she could catch him before the next dance started and he did something stupid, specifically like asking the insipid little duchess to dance with him a scandalous third time. Aravis stepped carefully in the unstable pointed heeled shoes that were all the rage (she suspected the exceptionally elegant Queen Susan had had a hand in that; heels were just the sort of elegantly difficult fashion that Susan excelled at). She was very close to the line of dancers now, and the music was ending and everybody was clapping. The perfect time to duck in and give Cor a well-needed etiquette cue…
Someone touched Aravis's shoulder. She whirled, startling herself with the instinctive motion of her hand to her hip for a sword or dagger, although there was nothing there of course. Which turned out to be a very good thing. For King Lune himself stood before her, looking as kindly and grand as he usually did. "My dear Aravis," he said, bowing slightly and smiling broadly at her. "May I have the honor of the next dance?"
Aravis curtsied automatically, though her mind was rapidly evaluating this new development. The King rarely danced, she had surmised, thinking it wise for a widowed monarch to be choosy in his singling out of any one woman as a partner even in such a small thing as a dance. But to the Archens, the dance was not such a small thing; it was a microcosm of their culture, the carefully prescribed steps of their social interaction.
So Lune was making a political statement here. She drew a deep breath, and remembered she had to breath out of the top of her corset. Bilal, she swore silently. The King was holding a gallant hand out to her, and she accepted it gracefully. "It would be my honor, Sir."
He led her to the top of the forming set, for of course the King would lead the set if he condescended to dance. Aravis could feel every eye in the room upon her, and a thrill ran through her. This was the moment she had prepared for. She held her head high as she passed the staring matrons, the tittering maidens, the stately noblemen and foppish youths. For she was a Tarkheena as well as a Lady, and she could rival any of them there in pride and grandeur.
Aravis took her station at the head of the set. She noted in passing that Cor was sitting this dance out. But there was no time for further thought, for the musicians were playing the opening strains to signal the Honour. Aravis curtsied to King Lune in front of her, as there was no one to her right to curtsey to. She noticed that Lune's reverence to the woman next to her – Lady Delcina – did not involve the standard genuflect of the right knee but rather was a dignified bow of his head to her. This was quite befitting a King, she reflected with admiration. And then she was curtseying to the Lord to his left – Dar – who returned the Honour with grave respect.
And the dance began.
The steps came easily enough, but Aravis found herself fighting the distractions of many competing thoughts: first, that Lune was explicitly signaling her place in the Archen court, not just as a guest but a person of honour there; then, that she was being scrupulously watched for her fitness in this role, as dancer and partner to the King; and finally, that the dancing master had not prepared her for the strangeness of actually dancing in this fashion. Her hand was being touched; not just by one man but by each of them down the line, and each were boldly meeting her gaze as she wove in and out of them…
But Lune was speaking to her. "…find yourself this evening? Hast been enjoying the ball thus far?"
"Yes, thank you," said Aravis, not entirely untruthful. Because there was an odd sense of enjoyment at beating this new challenge at its own game. "However, poor Cor seems too overcome to truly enjoy the occasion." Turn, glide, pass. "I am sure that you observed his numerous missteps this evening."
"Poor lad. He has not the long years of experience at this that royalty demands." Lune looked thoughtful as he returned to her, not at all put out by her honesty. "He shall learn quick enough. But you, my dear." Turn, cast off, return. "You have taken to our ways marvelous fast. You even have learned our dances like a seasoned veteran."
Aravis grinned at the comparison of the dancing hall to a battlefield. "You are too kind, Sir. You haven't seen me waltz yet. I falter terribly at that." Turn, glide, pass.
"It is all very strange to me still," she confessed, prompted by Lune's kind glances as they passed. "A few months ago I would never have danced like this in mixed company. I have had to relearn many things in order to belong here."
He nodded as they gipped and circled, and in the midst of the unnerving eye contact that this formation required, Aravis saw extraordinary compassion in Lune's gaze. "We esteem your courage, my dear, in taking our land as your own, though it differs in nearly every way from the one you were born to." Though Lune's words were formal, his voice was warm and heartfelt.
Aravis was struck silent for a moment. He understood. Since the Narnians had left, no one else there had understood how alien she felt in this land, like a wildflower transplanted to a hothouse and expected to flourish there in the confined air and filtered sun. She was thankful she had had Lucy to talk to in the early days at Anvard, for Lucy was as frank as she, and had plainly spoken with her about the difficulties of her new life, and had given her much wisdom in how to go about conquering them. It was a very great blow to her when Lucy, Edmund, and the newly arrived Susan had all been called away back to Cair Paravel by the news that Peter's war with the Giants was at a perilous stand. Nevertheless, that kind of battle now seemed very simple to Aravis.
"I never entirely belonged to Calormen either," she said slowly as she took the King's hand and turned. "I was unwilling to stoop to the demands it placed upon me, to submit unthinkingly to my father and husband. I am glad now to have the power to make my own choice."
Lune smiled. "And so you shalt always, for as long as you call Archenland home."
The words warmed her greatly, though her heart ached a bit at his generous use of home. "I am forever in debt to your kindness," said Aravis, and meant it.
"Nay, daughter, it is we who are in your debt." Lune circled her in the gip once more, before taking her hand and squeezing it. "You sent the warning news that saved Anvard from Rabadash's ambush. And just as you sent tidings of war then, you bring hope now of peace between our peoples."
His endearment was unexpected and tender. Aravis looked at the King for a long moment. They had nearly reached the very end of the line, and the musicians were playing the closing refrain. "I pray it is so, Sir," she said as they danced their final figure.
King Lune took his closing stand on the opposite line, and bowed to her. Aravis curtsied to him, dipping her head in respect, and felt the King's hand once more upon her shoulder. "Well done, daughter," he said in a low voice. She couldn't speak, wishing in that moment that she might have had such a father as he.
The set around them broke, and the dancing hall was once again abuzz with voices and laughter and the comings and goings of the newly forming couples. Lune suddenly grinned at her. "Come, the next is the waltz," he said at his normal pitch, a merry booming declaration. "Shalt not take pity on Cor and his bumbling feet? For I fear you are the only lady in the room who hast the fortitude to endure such tramplings."
Aravis grinned back. "I shall indeed." They walked back to the head of the hall, and she boldly met the eyes of many who passed her, and thought she could see a new deference therein. She turned to Lune. "Wish my unfortunate shoes well," she said archly.
"They will need it," he said with a twinkle in his eye.
Aravis found Cor easily enough, standing uncertainly surveying the hordes of doe-eyed young ladies who were hovering all around him. She strode directly through the lot of them and stood before the fair Prince with purpose. He looked up hopefully at her approach. Well, tidings of war and hope were often one and the same.
Boldly she spoke.
"You will waltz with me."
"Well that's nice! Nothing like a polite request! Just for that, I will not."
"Your father says you shall."
"Father said no such thing."
"Do you call me a liar?"
"I call you insufferable."
"Did you look that word up in your dictionary today?"
"You little – "
"Dance with me before you say something unpardonable."
"What did I do to deserve such abuse?"
"That's rich, considering it's my feet that are about to be stepped on for the next several minutes."
"Oh shut up for two seconds, will you?"
"Cor, I sincerely hope I am the only one you talk to in this manner."
"Oh trust me, Aravis, you are."
"Bilal, move to the left! You will knock over poor Lady Flora…"
"I'm the one who's supposed to be leading."
"Then try moving your mouth a great deal less and your feet a great deal more."
And that was exactly how Aravis spent her waltz with Cor.
***
A/N: I did not set out to make it this long. Thanks to everybody who had the patience to read. Next time I shall try a drabble.
A/N: This fic owes a huge debt to both
pencildragon11 for the idea of the English Country Dances taking place in Archenland, and to Regency England itself. That was the only way 3000 words of worldbuilding were going to pop out of my head in less than 10 hours. My apologies if I botched any of the dancing bits - I will handwave it with the assumption that Archen Country Dances may differ in exact form! Thanks also to rthstewart for help in forming Aravis's character here; it was invaluable!In the bright flurry of the well-lighted dancing hall, Aravis was an island apart from the rest, standing wordless and self-contained as she watched the lords and ladies whirl before her.
She was not an island by choice. She was dressed as they were. The tight lacings of her corset seized her ribs with every breath. The neckline was shockingly low, and she wore only a single petticoat under the thin skirt of the gown as the Archen ladies did, instead of the comforting layers and layers of silk that were customary to her people.
And she had made every effort to join them. She had studied for weeks with Corin's (and now Cor's) royal deportment tutor, learning the complex mores of Archenland's social structure and the strict guidelines that governed the interaction of men and women. This was not a new concept to her, for Calormen had had that too.
But here it was so very strange. Here, women actually touched men's hands as they passed them in the dance. They looked them boldly in the eye, instead of modestly casting their gaze downward as a genteel Tarkheena should. They flirted openly and outrageously, all coy smiles and fluttering glances. They might even put a hand put a hand on a man's arm, as if by accident in conversation, or by intent during the shockingly intimate dance between couples that the Archens called a waltz.
And despite their boldness, the Archen ladies all followed the unwritten code that the men should lead: in the invitation, in the dance, in the first display of interest. A woman must do her very best to primp and please the male gaze, and then must look in great need of being talked to and hope that her charms were sufficiently magnetic for the purpose.
To Aravis, this seemed a profound waste of time. If men and women were allowed to mingle freely as the Archens did, why would they not simply do as they pleased? Why such artifice and affectation? The Narnians were much more sensible about the matter. It was a pity they could not have come tonight, for she could have used some sense amongst all this nonsense.
But still, for the sake of her new place and determination to master its peculiarities, Aravis stubbornly stuck to the rules, and clenched her fists in the scant folds of her gown to keep from fidgeting at her elaborately upswept hair.
In theory Corin was her escort this evening, but as always he was off somewhere either planning or executing his next prank, after the smashing success (from his standpoint) of the lark he had pulled at dinner. (It was quite smashing, Aravis thought with a slight grin, but the poor fat lord whose chairlegs Corin had unscrewed prior to dinner had not appreciated the humor in it!)
It would have made things much simpler if she could just have accompanied Cor for the evening, but this was his official court presentation ball, and nearly everyone who was anyone at all was at Anvard for the celebration, including (naturally) every eligible young lady in the kingdom. And they were all (naturally) quite aflutter at the handsome new Crown Prince who was so nice to them and endearingly shy and not all like his horrid brother.
Aravis watched with some amusement as Cor fumbled his way through nearly every dance with this or that princess or duchess. He was truly hopeless at this business of girls, she decided, although he was so nice about it that very few of the younger ladies cared very much. But he was also in danger of making some serious blunders…even at that moment she could see him asking the same girl to dance the next set with him. Aravis noted the fans that went up between the matrons seated on the opposite side as they leaned their heads together and gossiped about the Crown Prince and his particular favorite. Cor, you idiot. Perhaps she might catch him between sets and mutter furiously that he was supposed to dance with each girl only once tonight, as the dancing master had drilled into them.
And, she thought with a sigh, this was how it would be from now on. She might still ride with him, and train with him behind the armory where the squires were sworn to secrecy about the strange Tarkheena's predilection for unwomanly pursuits, and study astronomy and literature and history with him in the afternoon when his royal instruction in the morning was over.
But here in the Archenland court, she would dress as they did and behave as they did and follow their silly rules, and then later on tell Cor exactly which ones he broke and how to do it better next time. He would no doubt be very put out about it, and tell her to stop ordering him around, but by Zardeenah he needed someone to help him get on here! He wasn't even looking at his current partner, and was consequently making a mess of the steps (not that he was doing especially well at them before then).
Aravis shook her head. How typical, that he was out there on the floor botching nearly every carefully drilled step of the dance that they had learned from the instructor, and she was standing motionless on the side mentally reviewing each turn and glide, the raised palms to touch there, the circle and step back. Well, at least she was prepared in case anyone asked her to dance. Which wasn't very likely. This wasn't pessimism, simply realism.
She should really be smiling, shouldn't she? The other ladies were. And socializing more. One of the older lords was standing nearby. Lord Colin, she remembered, having meticulously memorized each of the names and faces that populated the court, yet another thing Cor needed to work on. She tried on a smile and turned to Lord Colin with a polite nod. "Are the Archen balls always this grand?" she said, attempting to channel the arch lightness of tone that she had heard the other ladies speak with.
"Nay, this is the grandest in a long while," he replied, in the formal manner of the older Archen nobility, which tended toward the infuriatingly inscrutable. "They are usually only small affairs amongst our own and whoever happens to be visiting Anvard. Tonight is the first kingdom-wide celebration since Yuletide." His tone relaxed just the slightest bit toward confidentiality. "As you can, many of the younger ladies are very glad for an occasion to dance."
Aravis's smile was genuine. "Clearly. And yet it is hard not to wish to take a turn when the music is so very invigorating." There. She had managed the kind of demure angling for an invitation that was proper for a gentlewoman to offer.
"Indeed, but I'm afraid my dancing days are over. Please excuse me." Lord Colin bowed and retreated into the line of onlookers. Aravis sighed. His was one of the more polite retrenchments amongst the nobility who deigned to converse with her, for he was safely married and middle-aged and safe from her Calormene wiles. The irony of the thought was not lost on her. Archen ladies would be considered veritable hussies in Tashbaan.
Cor stumbled into entirely the wrong minor set of dancers. He apologized profusely to the older woman he (not surprisingly) bumped into from his error. The poor lady stared at him, for a Crown Prince should not be speaking so self-deprecatingly to one of his subjects; a simple, "Your pardon, madam" would have sufficed. Thank Zardeenah the set was almost over, because the whispering behind Aravis was becoming hard to ignore.
If she hurried, she could catch him before the next dance started and he did something stupid, specifically like asking the insipid little duchess to dance with him a scandalous third time. Aravis stepped carefully in the unstable pointed heeled shoes that were all the rage (she suspected the exceptionally elegant Queen Susan had had a hand in that; heels were just the sort of elegantly difficult fashion that Susan excelled at). She was very close to the line of dancers now, and the music was ending and everybody was clapping. The perfect time to duck in and give Cor a well-needed etiquette cue…
Someone touched Aravis's shoulder. She whirled, startling herself with the instinctive motion of her hand to her hip for a sword or dagger, although there was nothing there of course. Which turned out to be a very good thing. For King Lune himself stood before her, looking as kindly and grand as he usually did. "My dear Aravis," he said, bowing slightly and smiling broadly at her. "May I have the honor of the next dance?"
Aravis curtsied automatically, though her mind was rapidly evaluating this new development. The King rarely danced, she had surmised, thinking it wise for a widowed monarch to be choosy in his singling out of any one woman as a partner even in such a small thing as a dance. But to the Archens, the dance was not such a small thing; it was a microcosm of their culture, the carefully prescribed steps of their social interaction.
So Lune was making a political statement here. She drew a deep breath, and remembered she had to breath out of the top of her corset. Bilal, she swore silently. The King was holding a gallant hand out to her, and she accepted it gracefully. "It would be my honor, Sir."
He led her to the top of the forming set, for of course the King would lead the set if he condescended to dance. Aravis could feel every eye in the room upon her, and a thrill ran through her. This was the moment she had prepared for. She held her head high as she passed the staring matrons, the tittering maidens, the stately noblemen and foppish youths. For she was a Tarkheena as well as a Lady, and she could rival any of them there in pride and grandeur.
Aravis took her station at the head of the set. She noted in passing that Cor was sitting this dance out. But there was no time for further thought, for the musicians were playing the opening strains to signal the Honour. Aravis curtsied to King Lune in front of her, as there was no one to her right to curtsey to. She noticed that Lune's reverence to the woman next to her – Lady Delcina – did not involve the standard genuflect of the right knee but rather was a dignified bow of his head to her. This was quite befitting a King, she reflected with admiration. And then she was curtseying to the Lord to his left – Dar – who returned the Honour with grave respect.
And the dance began.
The steps came easily enough, but Aravis found herself fighting the distractions of many competing thoughts: first, that Lune was explicitly signaling her place in the Archen court, not just as a guest but a person of honour there; then, that she was being scrupulously watched for her fitness in this role, as dancer and partner to the King; and finally, that the dancing master had not prepared her for the strangeness of actually dancing in this fashion. Her hand was being touched; not just by one man but by each of them down the line, and each were boldly meeting her gaze as she wove in and out of them…
But Lune was speaking to her. "…find yourself this evening? Hast been enjoying the ball thus far?"
"Yes, thank you," said Aravis, not entirely untruthful. Because there was an odd sense of enjoyment at beating this new challenge at its own game. "However, poor Cor seems too overcome to truly enjoy the occasion." Turn, glide, pass. "I am sure that you observed his numerous missteps this evening."
"Poor lad. He has not the long years of experience at this that royalty demands." Lune looked thoughtful as he returned to her, not at all put out by her honesty. "He shall learn quick enough. But you, my dear." Turn, cast off, return. "You have taken to our ways marvelous fast. You even have learned our dances like a seasoned veteran."
Aravis grinned at the comparison of the dancing hall to a battlefield. "You are too kind, Sir. You haven't seen me waltz yet. I falter terribly at that." Turn, glide, pass.
"It is all very strange to me still," she confessed, prompted by Lune's kind glances as they passed. "A few months ago I would never have danced like this in mixed company. I have had to relearn many things in order to belong here."
He nodded as they gipped and circled, and in the midst of the unnerving eye contact that this formation required, Aravis saw extraordinary compassion in Lune's gaze. "We esteem your courage, my dear, in taking our land as your own, though it differs in nearly every way from the one you were born to." Though Lune's words were formal, his voice was warm and heartfelt.
Aravis was struck silent for a moment. He understood. Since the Narnians had left, no one else there had understood how alien she felt in this land, like a wildflower transplanted to a hothouse and expected to flourish there in the confined air and filtered sun. She was thankful she had had Lucy to talk to in the early days at Anvard, for Lucy was as frank as she, and had plainly spoken with her about the difficulties of her new life, and had given her much wisdom in how to go about conquering them. It was a very great blow to her when Lucy, Edmund, and the newly arrived Susan had all been called away back to Cair Paravel by the news that Peter's war with the Giants was at a perilous stand. Nevertheless, that kind of battle now seemed very simple to Aravis.
"I never entirely belonged to Calormen either," she said slowly as she took the King's hand and turned. "I was unwilling to stoop to the demands it placed upon me, to submit unthinkingly to my father and husband. I am glad now to have the power to make my own choice."
Lune smiled. "And so you shalt always, for as long as you call Archenland home."
The words warmed her greatly, though her heart ached a bit at his generous use of home. "I am forever in debt to your kindness," said Aravis, and meant it.
"Nay, daughter, it is we who are in your debt." Lune circled her in the gip once more, before taking her hand and squeezing it. "You sent the warning news that saved Anvard from Rabadash's ambush. And just as you sent tidings of war then, you bring hope now of peace between our peoples."
His endearment was unexpected and tender. Aravis looked at the King for a long moment. They had nearly reached the very end of the line, and the musicians were playing the closing refrain. "I pray it is so, Sir," she said as they danced their final figure.
King Lune took his closing stand on the opposite line, and bowed to her. Aravis curtsied to him, dipping her head in respect, and felt the King's hand once more upon her shoulder. "Well done, daughter," he said in a low voice. She couldn't speak, wishing in that moment that she might have had such a father as he.
The set around them broke, and the dancing hall was once again abuzz with voices and laughter and the comings and goings of the newly forming couples. Lune suddenly grinned at her. "Come, the next is the waltz," he said at his normal pitch, a merry booming declaration. "Shalt not take pity on Cor and his bumbling feet? For I fear you are the only lady in the room who hast the fortitude to endure such tramplings."
Aravis grinned back. "I shall indeed." They walked back to the head of the hall, and she boldly met the eyes of many who passed her, and thought she could see a new deference therein. She turned to Lune. "Wish my unfortunate shoes well," she said archly.
"They will need it," he said with a twinkle in his eye.
Aravis found Cor easily enough, standing uncertainly surveying the hordes of doe-eyed young ladies who were hovering all around him. She strode directly through the lot of them and stood before the fair Prince with purpose. He looked up hopefully at her approach. Well, tidings of war and hope were often one and the same.
Boldly she spoke.
"You will waltz with me."
"Well that's nice! Nothing like a polite request! Just for that, I will not."
"Your father says you shall."
"Father said no such thing."
"Do you call me a liar?"
"I call you insufferable."
"Did you look that word up in your dictionary today?"
"You little – "
"Dance with me before you say something unpardonable."
"What did I do to deserve such abuse?"
"That's rich, considering it's my feet that are about to be stepped on for the next several minutes."
"Oh shut up for two seconds, will you?"
"Cor, I sincerely hope I am the only one you talk to in this manner."
"Oh trust me, Aravis, you are."
"Bilal, move to the left! You will knock over poor Lady Flora…"
"I'm the one who's supposed to be leading."
"Then try moving your mouth a great deal less and your feet a great deal more."
And that was exactly how Aravis spent her waltz with Cor.
A/N: I did not set out to make it this long. Thanks to everybody who had the patience to read. Next time I shall try a drabble.
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Date: 2012-10-22 01:50 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2012-10-23 04:10 pm (UTC)