Author's note: This is just some drabble of a story that came to my mind after I finished reading Bitterblue the other day. I was feeling dissatisfied at the end and wrote this to help ease my desire for a sequel hehe. Please review and let me know what you think, I've never posted a fic before so I'm anxious to hear other people's opinions. =) Enjoy!
Even before she was fully conscious she could feel the dream slipping away from her. She grasped at it with desperate fingers, reaching for the tendrils that evaded her grip. It twisted away from her, slipping and sliding around her like an eel, unwilling and unable to be caught. The last edges of the dream vanished completely as Bitterblue opened her eyes to the morning sunlight that lit her room. She lay there for some time, staring, unseeing, at the ceiling, as golden yellow light danced across the white paint.
It had been a good dream, she reflected, closing her eyes again and laying back against her pillow. A dream filled with love and kindness and happy endings. It was the kind of dream that made you never want to wake up to face the harsh picture of reality.
A feeling of discontentment washed over Bitterblue as she resignedly swung her legs out of bed. There had been a time in her life where such dreams had meant things. The early days after his departure had been filled with such dreams, ones that nurtured strength and optimism and left her feeling that everything would turn out okay, that the goodbye would be only temporary.
But the dreams faded. As the days turned into months and then, unavoidably, into years, they dwindled and flickered, like flames holding on desperately to the end of a wick. At first, it nearly destroyed her. The full realization that he wasn't going to be returning to her nearly ripped Bitterblue to shreds. It certainly threw her into a period of depression, the feeling of emptiness accompanied by long, dreamless nights.
She pulled herself together though. It helped that she had friends who weren't afraid to knock some sense into her. Slowly, she had mended, her resolve to be a good and fair queen eventually winning out over the loud protests of her heart. She stitched herself back together as best she could, patching over places that couldn't be replaced, and storing the pieces that refused to be mended in a place where she could easily overlook them.
Something about this lost dream brought all of these conflicted feelings and events back into the forefront of Bitterblue's mind. What are you doing? She asked herself irritably. It's taken you the good part of eight years to get over all of this. Don't let yourself be torn down by childish feelings that shouldn't have a place in the life of a queen.
She shook her head, trying to brush off the sentiments that threatened to overwhelm her. 230 times 14... 3320... now, divide that by 40 gets you 83... The mathematics still helped her clear her mind and focus on herself. It was not the time to be thinking about foolish childhood flings. She was sure her advisors would have some papers for her to sign.
The routine of her day passed quickly, without excitement. Katsa had left a day earlier on Council business and to meet up with Po (Bitterblue was relatively certain that the latter was the main motivation for her friend's departure). Midsummer politics and complaints were relatively few among the citizens in Monsea, leaving her with few tasks and a fair amount of leisure time in the afternoon which she spent catching up on paperwork.
Despite having put the dreams from her mind and throwing herself into her duties, Bitterblue found that a feeling of restlessness resided over her for a majority of the day. When her work was all completed, that the feeling only intensified and she found herself scowling as she made her way back to her rooms for the night.
Her nightclothes were laid out on her bed for her and she stared at them, making no movement to put them on. She felt wide awake, there would be no chance at sleep for several hours at least. Suddenly, the room around her seemed very small, its walls crushing instead of comforting her. Struck with a need for fresh air, she made her way over to her small wooden chest that sat in the corner of her room. Digging to its bottom, she pulled out the hood and trousers that had sat there for the good part of eight years. She didn't know what was possessing her, but the need to escape, just for the night, had suddenly grown so strong she could barely contain it. She threw the boyish clothes over her small frame and silently made her way out of her castle.
It was nearing the end of summer, so while the days were still warm, the nights had begun to take on a crisp feel. She pulled her hood close to her face both in attempt to keep herself warm and as an effort to prevent anyone from noticing her. Things were different from when she used to sneak out. These days she spent much more of her time interacting with the people of the city, so the likelihood of someone recognizing her if they saw her face had multiplied considerably. She walked through the shadowed streets, no real destination in mind. Some of the restlessness had abided with the cool night air and she felt a smile creeping across her face. How long had it been since she had last devoted any time to herself? The needs of the people far outweighed her own well being and therefore it had been ages since she had spent any time doing what she wanted.
She pulled herself out of her thoughts and stopped, looking around and suddenly realizing where she was. The house that stood in front of her had gotten older in the years since she had last been there. Its former inhabitants had moved to a bigger one – more room for a larger print shop and more books. Bitterblue didn't eve know if anyone was still living there. It certainly didn't look like it, as the outside still seemed to be in disrepair from the previous winter storms. A sad smile played at her lips, as she briefly allowed the memories to flow over her. Then, shaking them away, she turned and scurried off around the nearest corner. It was no good dwelling in the past.
A dull thud echoed down the narrow alleyway as she collided with something, no, someone who had been rounding the corner in the opposite direction. Bitterblue swore, forgetting herself for a moment, as she flailed and landed roughly on the cold stone. "Oh blast it... sorry!" She peered up at the figure in the dark, her hood falling back from her face as she pulled herself to her feet. A small gasp escaped her lips and her knees shook, threatening to give out beneath her.
He hadn't changed much in eight years. His face was slightly more angular, his brow slightly more furrowed. A couple of faint lines had started to form where they hadn't been before, and he was desperately in need of a haircut and a shave. But it was him. His two-toned purple eyes glinted in the darkness, overflowing with sorrow and disbelief, his voice wavering slightly as he spoke.
"Hello Sparks."
The familiar tone of his voice nearly left her in a dead faint as everything that she had suppressed for the previous eight years rushed to the surface. It was as if she was 18 again and he had never left, this was just another one of their nighttime adventures. She had no voice to answer him, nor could she find the strength to move her limbs or even give any sort of indication she had heard him. Only her eyes seemed to be free of the spell that froze her in place, wandering over his face and drinking in everything about her.
And then, before Bitterblue was even capable of understanding what was going on, he was kissing her. Gathering her in his arms, he drew her to him until she was pressed against him and she found herself clinging to him. She wound her hands in his hair, grasping at him as if he were a dream that might slip out from her fingers and vanish into the cold night air. But he remained grounded in front of her, his lips unyielding as the two of them remained locked in their embrace, each of them pouring out what had been stored away for eight years.
There would be time to ask him what had happened, where he had been. Time to ask him why he never wrote her letters and why it had taken him eight years to return to her. Maybe even time to talk about what the future might hold. But at that moment, none of it mattered. All that mattered then and there were Saf's hands holding her to him, his lips against hers and the joyous realization that this dream wasn't going to disappear with the night.