Disclaimer: I do not own Soren or Lucia or any of the other characters appearing in this fic. But if I did... Oh, if I did...
There had been an orange moon hanging in the sky the night of the dance, the night she had met the man with the eyes the color of sweet red wine and hair as dark as the star studded night sky above; the man that had consumed her mind from the moment she saw him.
She had not seen him at the start of the night. He'd remained, unperceived, in the corners of the Great Hall, drifting between the door he looked as if he wanted to flee through and the corner that beheld the most shadows in the room.
Once noticed, she studied him a while. He was not tall or of magnificent build; he did not even appear to have a healthy complexion. But the dark green dress robes he wore did not wash him out; rather, they had fit him well, and seemed only to add to the mysterious aura that swirled about him.
But his most striking feature was his eyes. If they were said to be the windows of the soul, these crimson gems bore the glow of a soul that held to the consciousness of life with almost fearsome tenacity. While the eyes of other men were clouded over as they moved in pairs with girls to the humming of string and wind instruments or gazed longingly at those that they wished to hold, this man's eyes were a sharp contrast. They did not roam; they pierced. He took in his surroundings with avid, intentional glances, and even from here she could sense the almost animal-like anxiety that he withheld in a façade of tight, calm demeanor.
She was also acutely aware that those intense ruby gems had not once flitted in her direction.
She held no grudge against him for this; it was, after all, the Queen's coronation celebration, and there were dozens of other women to entertain a man's vision. But she knew that her appearance did not warrant his cold indifference. While it was nothing compared to the golden beauty that was the Queen that night, her silver gown fitted her slender frame perfectly, and the long blue hair that normally fell to outline her face had been twisted into a single, curling plait, held back with green ribbon that matched the emerald slippers and belt that she wore. Jade powder had been rubbed over her sapphire eyes, and the green gem set in silver that hung gracefully around her throat completed the picture that made her the envy of numerous eyes in the Hall.
Her attention was momentarily averted as the Queen took the hand of a familiar blue haired man and moved towards the dance floor, the crowd parting before them in a ripple. She listened to the small buzz of amused whispers that rose just before a violin broke into the loping 3/4 tempo of a waltz. A smile drew up the corners of her mouth as shy couples moved slowly around the room, and she wondered that, if she should have accepted one of the hands that presented themselves in hope of her approval, this feeling of loneliness she felt would've abated. But, she recalled, she was not the only partnerless individual in attendance that night, and she moved to resume her quiet contemplation of the man in the corner.
But he was not there.
She gave a start, her once calmly poised figure becoming stiff with surprise. She stood, and, for reasons beyond her conscious knowing, became consumed with the task of finding him. She murmured apologies to the dancing couples that she brushed with her shoulders as she wove a path to the corner where she had last seen him. Her thoughts wandered over the possibility that he might have been one half of one of these pairs, but she at once remembered how he'd tried so earnestly to escape from the view of the multitude, and decided that this must be her answer. He must've finally found escape.
She sighed, moving out towards the balcony, where she would once again be alone. She jumped as a willowy hand placed itself on her shoulder.
"Were you looking for me, Lady Lucia?"
She whirled around, her blue eyes catching a flash of red before the man continued to walk past her, into the frosty winter air. A slight inclination of his head showed his wish for her company. He spoke as she joined him outside.
"…I find it odd to think about how long you have been watching me tonight, when you never sought me out before."
"Before? But I—" Her words halted abruptly as she realized. She knew this languid face, which held stubbornly to its child-like proportions. She knew this self-effacing stance, for she had often seen it in the gaps between tents at the army's encampment during the war as she wandered after the Queen and he wandered after the General. She recognized the hushed, yet firm, lilt of this voice from the briefings between battles.
But she had never known him like this. He seemed, by some means, transformed by the night, the same and yet different, and she felt this way as well. She stood by him in the frozen air, feeling as if she were on the cusp of something entirely foreign and somehow familiar. This night had changed them both, for tonight they were not soldiers as they had been a month ago, not victors as they were two weeks ago, not even tacticians, which they both continued to call their place. They were just two people. The night drained away everything else.
He waited in silence as she recalled his name. "Soren."
She thought she saw a shadow of a smile pass over his face, but his look of stoicism returned quickly. So, he'd been glad that she'd remembered…
"I despise dances. They are pointless, and the only people that they attract are stuffy nobles who care only to speak about how it was "only by their status" that they were invited and women who believe themselves to be the center of the universe."
She could not help the laugh that escaped her. But when he did not react, she assumed that he did not take offense. "You are not in one of those groups?"
"Certainly not."
"Then how is it that you managed to find yourself here tonight?"
"I received an invitation, along with the rest of the mercenaries. So I did the appropriate action and accepted." He shifted slightly, and then spoke again. "To be quite honest, I do not think we belong here."
"Ike's a Lord."
His laughter was short and clipped. "Who would've thought? Lord Ike? He has about as much qualification for the title as you do of peasant. The complete opposite…" he closed his eyes, leaning onto the stone rail.
She blushed at the comment. Her mind scrambled to find words to fill the silence that elongated between them.
"Certainly you must've had another reason to come other than courtesy, though?"
"What else is needed?"
It hadn't really been an answer. Her heart fluttered softly, but she did not know why. His eyes had roamed over to her just after he spoke. Why had this simple action taken away her ability to speak?
"The musicians are playing wonderfully."
She gave a nod to his words. "They are. Soren, do you dance?" She did not know where the question had come from. Her heart spurned her voice before she could think through what words she wanted to say.
"I know how."
"That's… that's, well, good. Considering the event."
His sallow cheeks twitched. He'd smiled again. "Yes, considering."
She stood in silence, hoping for a question to be asked before the song ended. She already knew her reply, and knew that he did as well.
The song ended, and the question didn't come. The air between them seemed tense, once more in the void of silence, before a new melody wafted in from the open doors that led to the warmly lighted Hall. It seemed an eternity ago that she had been seated inside, rather than perched out here in the raw winter night. But she felt warmer out here than she had in there.
She cleared her throat.
"It's… it's a nice night."
"I despise this season."
She evaluated his terse reply, looking him over once again. He nearly blended into the night, and remained turned away from her. She found this curious. Though he was by no means a social butterfly, he had always been polite. He knew the science of conversation, she knew so well of this fact because of those meetings during the war. In those brief gatherings, he had never once been impolite in conversation. He even knew something of the art; she recalled those instances in which he spoke fluidly, poetic phrases learned from books and already heard dialogue. He was not normally so reticent in conversation... Was there something wrong?
"Is that so?"
"Winter only brings death."
"So, then, it must be spring you like."
"…I sometimes envy people who can find pleasure in such simple things."
She smiled. He was true to form; everything she'd heard about him came through. His aloof demeanor, his hesitance to reveal anything of himself… Did she dare pry?
"Isn't there anything that you do like?"
The pause in conversation startled her. He, like she, normally had a ready supply of words. Was he also finding speaking difficult?
She turned to him, fearing the question may have been received as offensive on his end. He remained turned away, stubbornly quiet. She cautiously broke the silence. "Soren?"
He turned quickly. "Lady Lucia, would you care for a dance?"
She had not realized the span of time that they'd been out here. The endless silences must've built in spans of tens of minutes in time. The music from the ball had faded, though voices could still be heard, talking… the feast must've started.
But she nodded and extended her hand. He took it, and the two took a few steps around the balcony, their bodies close, but not touching. Every so often, she would tarry a fraction of a second in her step, and he would run into her. She would mutter an apology, but the redness in her cheeks was not from embarrassment. She guessed that he knew this. Why else would he continue to twirl with her to the whistle of the wind swirling snow flurries around him? Why would he not immediately pull away and declare this a waste of his time?
Before she knew what she was doing, her mouth was affixed to his.
He jerked away, red eyes wide and startled. She saw that his face matched the color of his eyes.
"Soren… I…" she began, but words once again would not come. Was he angry? She took a small step back, only to have him grab her wrist and pull her in.
His lips crashed into hers.
She felt the blood rush to her face once again, but she did not pull back. Her hands found their way to his shoulders, and, similarly, his found the way to her hips. Her pulse quickened, her heart feeling as if it might pulse right out of her chest. She felt as if she were floating. The feeling of loneliness that had followed her the entire night drifted away. Had she been waiting the entire night… for this?
As abruptly as it started, the kiss ended.
She pulled back, breathless, and melted under his scarlet gaze. But he quickly turned away, his cheeks not red, but white.
"I… apologize."
She frowned, the fluttering butterflies in her stomach turning to lead stones. What was he saying? That he had not meant to return her affection? She reached out to him, and his shoulder tensed with her touch.
"It was wonderful."
Those rubies lifted to gaze at her face, searching for truth behind her eyes. She let her hand rest on the balcony rail, and was not surprised when his fell over it.
"You think so?" his voice was hesitant, as if he were afraid to be deceived by her words. She smiled.
"I loved it."
His face bore a thin smile. "To… to answer your question."
"Isn't there anything you like?" She repeated, her face still a pink color.
He leaned in once again, and she was ready for him this time. The kiss was brief, but her lips were tingling when they pulled apart.
"…yes."
Author's note: So how was that? Not to horrible, I hope? Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think that with this story I have created an entirely new pairing...
And I love it.
More to come, I'm going to spread out the posting of this story, but be looking for the next part. Next snippet is a one-shot called "Company", and that will be followed by the multi-part finale, "Ice". If you haven't guessed, it's already written and some posted over on Deviantart. So if you really wanted to read it, you could check it out over there.