Just a small piece that occurred to me while listening to one of Coldplay's new songs, "Paradise". The tale of an unfulfilled Tower mage, her dreams, and what paradise is to her.
Fits with my other work, but this can be any femAmell, I suppose.
She Dreamed Of Paradise
She stares at the wall, clutching at the memory of her mother's scent, of her father's arms, and the tears run down her face.
At night, she dreams of them, but the dreams are always chased away by the morning candlelight, just out of reach. They're never quite enough, anyway - they're memories of what she thinks of as her parents, not them; she can't remember what they look like.
Paradise is her father's embrace, warm and safe, and her mother's kiss on her cheek, their voices mingling and their laughs ringing in her ears.
She holds desperately onto the books, hoarding them under her bed, though she knows it's against the rules; she opens them carefully, making sure never to rip them. She turns to the maps, then opens another one, and here it's the stars; she searches in the book of tales for that page, and there it is. She runs a small hand over the trees she'll never see, and she smiles, imagining flat, smooth leaves and branches scratching at her legs as she runs, things she has read about..
Paradise is the woods and the stars.
Then Anders comes, all long hair and wide grin, and tells her about a world she can't remember: the scent of fresh grass, of pine, the colours of a sunset. The feel of rain.
He is twelve, of course he knows - he has seen it all, felt it at his fingertips, he is still tanned from the sun - and he's had it all taken from him by this place, just like everyone else. She doesn't miss the sadness in his eyes as he describes it to her, the way his smile drops when she asks him about his family. She doesn't think about it then, of course - she thinks of the world he speaks of, the world he has been in.
Paradise is the sun and the rain on her skin.
A few years later, she finds that shelf, the one that Senior Enchanter Wynne favours - but utterly denies it if you ask her - and takes some of the slightly less... odd books.
She watches the others in the halls, the whispers in ears and the locking of lips, the soft touches and the noises she keeps hearing coming out of the closets and trying, red-faced, to ignore.
She sees the way Anders smiles at some of the other apprentices and the way they walk out of rooms together, giggling, to find some dark corner. She ignores the gossip - almost all except her, she hears, and is glad of it.
She isn't looking for him, and she isn't looking for dark, dusty corners - no, she still dreams of the sun and the earth under her feet.
Paradise is her first kiss. She'll think about the rest when she has that.
She sees Lily and Jowan, the way they look at each other; the way he hovers around her, always there, always protecting, as if she is the light to his moth. He seems less tired, less scared, when he's with her.
She will not let the Tower, the templars, take this. She refuses to watch that spark in his eyes die.
She takes the rod of fire, and she leads them to the repository; just for a moment, she believes in escape, in that "outside" place she's heard so much about, and they make her believe.
Paradise is freedom and that wonderful, timid spark in someone's eyes, only for her.
He has run, left her on the ground, run for freedom of his own. She knows what the punishment will be for assisting a blood mage; she will never dream, never feel again.
Then the Grey Warden is stepping between her and Greagoir, heavy black brows knitted in concern and hand raised in protest, and there is a way out.
She turns to look at the heavy, bolted door, then back to them; she will be a Warden like this Duncan, strong and free and tanned. She nods, smiles, the smile growing into a grin as the door opens and she sees sunlight, glaringly bright and oh so new.
Paradise is within her reach.