The song that echoed in her blue candy only brought longing to her heart. As Jean Jacques Goldman's lyrics sank into her skull, Frances realised how tired she was of her job. 'On ira,' he said, 'toi et moi, où je sais pas. Peu importe…'. 'Let us go,' it said, 'anywhere, who cares where we end up.' And she wanted to do just that. Leave this pointless job behind, leave her boss' face in the dirt he'd just dragged her in, and roam the world with her newfound knight.
Today had been her annual review. Her own personal hell, for she couldn't possibly unsheathe a dagger and pierce her boss' heart. Or slit his throat. Sigh. That rascal of a superior dared telling her the team was less efficient because her, that she fomented some kind of coup, and had turned his guys against him! Of course they had, with the conditions they were working in! The man had no sense at all, was counterproductive, and his people were getting fed up with his bullshit. Maybe she was a catalyst … to this, she could plead guilty. Frances could be subdued, but was not one to back down before injustice. And this stupid job was a giant injustice! Damn! She'd just left an email to Daniel, asking for some advice, before leaving the office. As one of her best friends, he always managed to calm her down. But he hadn't called back; he probably was off world hunting some answers to find Merlin's weapon, and she was feeling guilty about her outburst now. Daniel was probably neck deep into research to prevent the Ori invasion; there just wasn't time to flatter her fragile ego!
Horns blared, and she started. The light had turned green half a second earlier, and the impatient people of Montpellier were already yelling at her. Yes. She needed to get out of here, out of this job, out of this life that sucked the energy out of her and would eventually leave her drained. For a woman who'd gone to war, fought at Helm's Deep, served on a nineteen century Man-O-War and helped King Arthur instate his reign, it was rather ironic. Hopefully, spending some time with Kristan would clear her mind, and cheer her mood a little. Provided he was home; she'd not called beforehand. Could she possibly barge in at his place without previous warning? Would he be pissed, or annoyed at her gall? Parking her blue candy in front of his building – a little edifice with balconies in the west end of the city – she pushed the button to ring his apartment and waited. A few seconds passed, a minute even, and she rang again. Damn. No one answered. Pissed beyond measure, the young woman sat on the steps, her head falling into her hands. Sometimes, this world didn't make sense anymore.
Wallowing in her pity, she heard some music playing above. Standing still, she could clearly hear the notes of 'Everglow'. Frances smiled. It was one of Kristan's favourite songs, he'd introduced her to 'Colplay' nary a week before, stunned by her ignorance on the subject. 'You'll find that there are plenty of basics missing in my culture, I was probably too busy staying alive or swallowing meaningless teachings,' she had retorted. It didn't unfaze him. Nothing quite unfazed him truly, his placid demeanour so alike Tristan's old indifference. Although now, acceptance had replaced aloofness, which was much more socially acceptable, and felt better than facing a cold wall of detachment.
The music was a little loud, filtering through his bay on the balcony; probably the reason why he'd not heard the doorbell … or knowing the man, ignored it altogether. Frances took a few steps back in the street to assess the building. Kristan's terrace was on the second floor and a convenient tree provided an easy access. The young woman dropped her bag in her trunk, and grit her teeth around her car keys. Then, gathering momentum, she jumped from the pavement to grasp the lowest branch, using the ground-floor balcony to haul herself up. Swinging her legs, she managed to catch another branch, and restored her balance with a mighty pull. Then, the climb became easier as smallest branches provided both support for her feet and arms. At last, she was level with his balcony, and dropped soundlessly on the tiles. The music was louder now, and Frances stepped to the window frame. A smile crept on her face as she spotted Kristan.
He was dancing, shirtless, a pair of wide sweatpants encasing his powerful legs, cropped at the calves. His furniture, pushed aside, gave him some space on the wooden floor as he moved graciously, his body attuned to the music. There seemed to be no main thread; his performance a mix of classical and modern dancing, his powerful muscles glistening with sweat in the summer heat. Mesmerised, Frances could only gape as he occupied the whole space of his living room; a wide area he had chosen especially for the deed. Legs lifted, attitude, arms followed, his chest flexing, twisting in a controlled display. Then he was liquid, moving like a river, before he stopped short, posture taut. Every muscle moved in tune, every fibre pulled as he performed moves that she was incapable of completing. It was as beautiful as it was enthralling, the perfect counterbalance to her singing – or so he said.
At last, his eyes met hers behind the glass, as if he'd known all along she was there. Cheeky man, nothing went past him. But instead of stopping in his tracks, Kristan only smiled, and pushed the glass door aside in a fluid movement. His hand shot out to enclose hers.
— "Come," he murmured in her hear, his smooth voice creating goosebumps on her skin. "Dance with me"
Frances panicked instantly, tugging on his hand, but he refused to relent.
— "I can't dance"
Grey eyes gave her a 'no nonsense' look.
— "I've seen the way you fight, Frances."
And just like that, Frances was swooped into his warm embrace, his gaze effectively trapping her, keys discarded on the floor. His body barred the escape route, and his mouth bestowed a feather like kiss on her cheek before he murmured in her ear.
— "Humour me, little fairy."
Frances nodded her assent, well aware that she couldn't resist him. What Kristan wanted, Kristan obtained. The former scout started slowly, swaying with the music as he led her from left to right, in tune with the slow rhythm of 'Everglow'. His left hand held hers firmly, his right splayed on her upper back, and Frances fumbled a little with her legs. Was she supposed to do the steps? What was he expecting? What was the correct posture?
— "Let go," he told her. "I won't lead you astray."
No, he never had. In this life, nor the previous. Frances relaxed in his embrace, surrendering her body and will to him. He was a strong leader, as he was in life, his mesmerising gaze holding her in his power, his body guiding her around without a fault. His arms moved, the pull too strong to resist, making her twirl to the side, then latched her again against him as he went the other way around. Little by little, the young woman accepted his lead, her mind shutting down. The verse came again, the singer's voice soft, the rhythm slowing.
"Yeah, we swore on that night we'd be friends 'til we die
But the changing of winds, and the way waters flow
Life is short as the falling of snow."
Kristan's hand caressed her back slowly, descending to her waist to pull her closer. His lips lingered over her mouth in a tantalising caress, his fingers sliding in between hers, the massage sending tingles through her whole body, begging her to let go, to surrender her body to the moment.
He was so close, so warm, the epitome of sensuality as his breath caressed her face. Hips swaying slowly, sensually, strong hands pulling her lower body against his, one of his legs laced between hers. For a while, there was just the heat of his hands on her lower back, the sweet contact of his hips leading her back and forth, and the caress of his breath on her lips. Frances' body hummed, her core warming up in anticipation, her whole being melting against him in surrender. Her lips brushed his once, twice. Yet he didn't respond, teasing her. Just as she was about to relinquish and kiss him soundly, he bent her backwards slowly, one hand accompanying her as he rocked her around, fingers firmly set at her nape.
Frances shuddered, her head rolling entirely as she let go, trusting him to bring her back. When he pulled her upright, a flurry of piano notes picked up the pace. Kristan twirled her swiftly in a series of small steps rhythmed by the music. Frances laughed; she felt so free, and bent her head backwards as he moulded her body to his will. Dancing! She was dancing! The little girl unleashed, shedding her layers of self-doubt and restraint as she remembered her classes of classical ballet. Suddenly she was flying, her whole chest and head bend outwards in an impossible position, arms outstretched, her body flush again Kristan who had picked her up for a lift. When her feet touched the ground, he laced his leg with hers, and balanced them back, keeping the positions, then forth, the move reminiscent of ice skaters dancing waltz together. For a split second, she realised it must have looked weird from the outside, but she couldn't care less as Kristan now twirled her around, and picked her up once more, lifting her upon his shoulders. Stiffening her body, she let him take a few turns in rhythm before he set her down without interrupting the movement. Frances passed three times below his outstretched hand, content that his height allowed the move so flawlessly.
Ecstatic, she climbed on one leg, finding that her classical dancing had come to front, beating her shyness. He gave her an appreciative look, and took her hand as she posed in attitude, his hand steadying her before bending low. Frances' outer leg shot up behind her, and she gracefully made an arabesque before coming back to him, her steps assured. Now she was dancing, really dancing, and he led her around with the ease of a professional. Two souls reunited, their moves graceful and as attuned in battle as it was on the planks. The melody unleashed without pause, and Kristan's hands came around her waist, lifting her once more, setting her down, starting the chase anew until the song climaxed. And then, as the piano created this beautiful and slightly sad moment, he pulled her to him anew, and roamed his hand from her hips to her shoulder, following sensually the line of her spine. This time, there was no taunting as his lips claimed hers, bodies still swaying to the music, both out of breath. His deft fingers caressed her back, her waist, and eventually hooked her legs up around his toned waist as their kiss deepened.
Swirl of tongues, dance of lips, two souls moulding against each other. Nothing existed except his warm body against hers, his scent mixed with sweat, the sweet movement of his muscles against her light dress. Each and every time he kissed her she lost her mind, and now more than ever, she surrendered willingly. Kristan's caresses were so sensual, his hips against hers so hauntingly, her whole body attached to his. He did not even sway from her weight, holding her like there would be no tomorrow, seemingly unfazed by the strain. The muscles of his upper body, tightly strung, betrayed the flooding blood that kept them going. Without a shirt, Kristan was a vision of pure maleness, chestnut curls spreading upon his torso. When at last they landed on the sofa, Kristan looked into her eyes with so much love than her heart nearly burst.
— "You dance beautifully, elskede"
The young woman reddened, hiding her face into his sweaty shoulder.
— "You are a great leader. And I love dancing, I just have no structure nor technique, and I get mixed up with right and left all the time"
Kristan chuckled, the rumble reverberating through his chest. True, Frances sometimes had issues coordinating left and right, just like her father. Something to do with an ambidextrous tendency that could be to her advantage if she trained her other side as well, or so he thought. He had not submitted the idea to her yet.
— "It is sometimes a wonder how you learnt the art of the sword."
Frances straightened in his lap, miffed by the playful twinkle that danced in his mesmerising golden eyes.
— "Lots and lots of training in many different places"
And to this, Kristan could only nod. If he had only channelled Tristan, the fearsome warrior, while he learnt medieval fencing, Frances had gone a different way. Trained by a ranger born to be king, elves and later one Japanese samurais had created an incredible set of skills to Frances. But most of all, her perseverance and many hours of training had embedded the moves like reflexes into her brain. She wasn't a natural, but her grace and stubbornness had done the trick, and he respected her for that. He would have to ask her to show some of her moves; Kristan was always eager to learn new techniques that he usually mastered pretty easily. Tristan was still there, buried into his core, after all.
Frances freezing in his lap, her warm chocolate eyes wide, sent tension through his body. Tightening his grip, the former knight suddenly asked.
— "What is it?"
— "This song…"
Kristan took a moment to recognise the melody. His mp3 now played 'The scientist', further down his 'Coldplay' list. One that he loved dearly, but always called much sadness in him.
— "The scientist, still Coldplay. What about it?"
— "Damn! That's the last song you listened before the battle. I didn't even know it was from Coldplay at the time, don't remember why it was in my mp3 in the first place either, probably music I scavenged from my brother's computer"
Kristan closed his eyes, settling Frances' head upon his shoulder once more as he listened to the words. For sure, they called forth a memory of Tristan, roaming the countryside with a strange device plugged into his ear before the battle of Badon Hill. He vaguely remembered the sense of exhilaration and pride to be the recipient of Frances' secrets, to be her confidant even if he knew, at the time, that they would never be together. Yes. He remembered.
"Come up to meet you
Tell you I'm sorry
You don't know how lovely you are
I had to find you
Tell you I need you
Tell you I set you apart
Tell me your secrets
And ask me your questions
…
Tell me you love me
Come back and haunt me
Oh and I rush to the start
Running in circles, chasing our tails
Coming back as we are
Nobody said it was easy
Oh it's such a shame for us to part
Nobody said it was easy
No one ever said it would be so hard
I'm going back to the start, 'what we do today'".
Gently rocking the young woman against his chest, Kristan awaited for her to speak her mind. Moist graced his shoulder, and he knew she was crying. Another traumatic memory – she truly suffered from PTSD – that would have to be cleared. Kristan frowned; he really needed to find someone to heal her mind, but finding a psychologist that could hear about the Keeper of Time was impossible. All in all, Kristan wondered what would have become of his little fairy had he not shown up? Would she crumble down entirely? Perhaps then, the timing wasn't so ill after all. It was now that she needed him.
In the meantime, the former knight tightened his hold on Frances despite the stifling heat until she was ready to tell him what the song reminded her of.
— "I found it after the battle. Just before Arthur's and Guinevere's wedding."
— "Oh"
No words were needed, and Kristan kissed the crown of her head before resting his cheek there. Present, sturdy and alive beside her as she revisited the memory of his death. Long seconds ticked by until Frances wiped her face and sat upon his legs, her arms circling his neck still. She had regained composure and watched him in awe, as if she couldn't believe he was there.
— "It's a song I could have sung for you. It is ridiculous how the lyrics fit, how I wanted to get back to the start. Such a shame for us to part … and I never thought it would be so hard"
Words were too weak to convey the swirl of feelings that had assaulted her when she had discovered this song, lost in the forest, her collarbone shattered and Tristan buried. The grieving process had been as its worst, regret flooding her mind at not realising how much this particular knight meant to her.
— "And I have haunted you…"
— "Yes. And you came back, just like he says."
— "And now we've gone back to the start," came his soothing voice.
And Frances couldn't help but deflate against him, realising that, at last, they were both alive and free to love each other.
— "Never apart, never again," she said, her hand caressing his cheek.
— "Never apart, little fairy"
And he sealed his promise with a kiss. Even though the world might fall apart weeks from now, even though the threat of the Ori loomed upon their heads, even though anything could happen in Frances' crazy life, Kristan was honoured to be her man and determined to stick by her side. For a moment, he wondered what their life would have been had she chosen to stay with Arthur in the fifth century … provided he had survived Badon Hill. The knight in him would give anything to see King Arthur and his former brothers in arms. It tore him apart, this fifth century core into a modern man's body and upbringing.
Perhaps it was better this way, to live in the 21st century without Tristan's darkness permeating his soul, avoiding altogether to witness, firsthand, the demise of Arthur's kingdom. For his legends were true, it was only a matter of time before all hell broke loose in the fifth century and Arthur was killed by his own son.
— "Think they will tear each other with Lancelot?" he eventually asked.
Frances bit her lower lip in thought, her eyebrows gently rising as she seemed to come to terms with the notion.
— "Don't know," she eventually answered. "And for the moment, don't care. Kiss me senseless?"
Kristan's lips quirked up in amusement.
— "Aye, woman."
The buzz of the front door interrupted their moment, and Kristan groaned. Then he attacked Frances' mouth once more, lips demanding. A second buzz, more insistent, had him glare at the corridor. Frances giggled, hoping fervently to never be the recipient of such an intimidating look, while his lips caressed hers once more. But he didn't let go until loud bangs wracked his front door. Kristan stood with a sigh of regret.
— "Do you ever answer the doorbell?"
His response was short, as if, with those little words, it explained it all.
— "Not when I'm busy."
Grabbing a t-shirt that lay discarded, he passed a hand through his hair, the result more hazardous than a haircut by a five-year-old. Frances smiled; she loved it when he was unkempt like this; the sweat and sticking hair gave him an almost animalistic look that she appreciated. How far she'd gone from her pristine elvish prince!
— "Open up, it's the police!" came muffled voices.
The noise of his door being unlatched echoed in the hall, and Frances could just picture Kristan standing there, giving the intruders his most heartfelt glare, policemen or not.
— "Good evening sir. Your neighbour has signalled an intruder climbing to your terrace, and we're here to make sure that everything is all right"
Frances muffled her laughter. Damn the neighbour, probably an old lady with a cat with nothing more to do that spying on the good-looking fencing instructor!
— "Er. It's nothing to worry about. Just my … er. My woman, she forgot her keys."
Woman. As in 'wife', in French. Had Kristan done it on purpose?
— "And climbed to the second floor?"
The surprise in the man's voice was almost too much to bear, and Frances bit her fist to prevent from laughing.
— "Yes. That is very much like her," answered Kristan's smooth voice.
There was something in his tone. Resignation, admiration, amusement perhaps.
— "Where is she now?" asked the police officer sternly.
— "She left. With her keys"
It was not often Kristan was caught lying … the fact that he would do it, for her sake, warmed her heart. Could that conversation get more awkward than this? But Kristan was handling it properly, and protecting her at the same time, shouldering the shame of being interrogated without battling an eyelash. The scout would have threatened them for disturbing his moment, but Kristan was more civilised than that now. Still, she could nearly hear the officers fidget under his stern glare. At last, the police left, extracting a promise for his "woman" to stop climbing buildings, and to go and see that old crone of a neighbour to introduce her so that she wouldn't be mistaken for a thief. The door clanged, and Kristan retreated to the sofa, his footsteps absolutely silent on the wooden floor. As he landed, one arm outstretched to face her, a gentle smile adorned his lips.
— "Anywhere you go, you can't help but draw attention, can you?"
Frances wasn't sorry she'd climbed; it was quite a lot of fun.
— "As I told you before, you weren't answering your door."
— "Ever heard of mobile phones?"
Frances lifted a playful eyebrow, her hazel eyes the very picture of innocence.
— "Mobile what? You fifth century man!"
A smile crept to his face.
— "Anyway. You are crazy, woman. And I love you just like that."
He loved her, and told her so every now and then with the most heartfelt sincerity. Frances, though, had yet to return the favour. Ignoring her absence of response, Kristan bent forward, meeting his woman in a searing kiss. But before they got carried away, she landed a hand on his chest.
— "Did you call me your wife on purpose?"
There was a slight smirk at the corner of his mouth, the tightening of his eyes telling her that he was trying not to laugh. So yes, he perfectly knew that 'woman' and 'wife' were the same word.
— "Well, you have the proof that French is a little archaic, right?"
Frances' laugh was short-lived, as very soon, her mouth was otherwise occupied. Helpless … she was absolutely helpless when it came to him. His voice, sensual, his body, taut and warm, his hands, his touch … a glimpse of paradise. And his lips. Whenever his lips touched her skin, she lost her sense completely. And from the way his body pressed against hers, his mouth kissing hers like there would be no tomorrow … well, the feeling was quite mutual. There would be no talk of her stupid boss before they treated barefoot to the fridge, only to find out that it was hopelessly empty, for only the call of their stomach could distract them long enough from each other. And even barely!