DANCE
Author's note: SLASH. But not explicitly…and there's not much of a plot…as usual…oh well…
Dedicated to zephyr and tsurugi-chan. Always be happy my dears.
Standard disclaimers apply.
Watch him dance.
Watch him twirl his way around the floor, an arm wrapped around her waist, guiding her so subtly that she seems a mere extension of himself.
Her skirts barely brush the parquet floor as he leads her through the waltz, the fox-trot, the quickstep; there are never more than two feet on the ground between them as he spins her round and round and round. He dances only with her.
She's breathless soon enough, and as they move nearer, I have trouble catching my own. The years have been kind to him. Beyond a slight deepening of tiny lines in his face, he has not aged visibly in the decade that has gone past; he is exactly as I have remembered.
He frowns a little as they pass me by, and I turn quickly to hide my face. It is too late. His step falters for a moment, then he swiftly recovers, and continues on his way. But now his gaze flickers back from time to time, seeking my own, searching for answers to questions of the past.
It must have happened an eternity ago, and yet it has only been twelve years since the Ring was destroyed; slightly less than twelve years since I left him slumbering peacefully in the hunting lodge while I ran across snow so lightly even he could not track my steps. But twelve years, though barely a page in the story of my life, is a very long time amongst the shorter-lived Men, and I'd thought…
"Did you think I had forgotten?" a quiet voice asks accusingly at my side. I am startled, but I would have died before showing it. No mere man should have been able to surprise an elf. Then again, he has never been a 'mere man'.
"King Elessar," I acknowledge him with a nod of my head, and gesture for him to take a seat at the table, empty for the present of guests who had joined in the dancing.
A fleeting look of pain crosses his face. "King…Is that all I am to you now?" he whispers almost to himself.
"No," I answer in the same soft tones, "But it is part of what you have always been."
The thread of conversation dies off, and we are left in an awkward silence filled with too many unspoken words. There is so much to say, but here and now is neither the place nor time to speak them. The music and chatter around us fade away into the background, so that his enigmatic expression is the only thing I see, and the racing of my treacherous heart the only thing I hear.
Then the musicians strike up a particularly sprightly folk dance tune, and the delighted rise of voices breaks the spell around us. He raises an eyebrow and waves a hand meaningfully at the congregating crowd.
Smiling, I nod and walk with him to where his lady sits, and take the hand of one of her companions even as he leads her onto the dance floor.
The men line up along the length of the room with their partners, and begin tapping out the intricate movements to the beat of the music. As we spin lady after lady in a series of grand pirouettes down the line, our hands brush against each other's for brief moments, a feather's caress, and the thrill of secrets shared runs down my spine.
The song ends, and another begins. Still we dance, savouring the thrill that runs through our fingertips at each pass. We are dancing a secret dance of our own, one made up of minute touches and hastily pulled away gazes, a dance of eyes and hands and hearts.
It is long past midnight before the majority of the crowd has melted away, and the King, his lady and I are among the last to make our way up the broad central staircase to the resting quarters.
At the top of the stairs, the lady turns right, away from their shared chambers. I blink in surprise, and nearly miss her knowing look. She gives us both an approving smile and glides down the corridor to the east wing. "Thank you," I whisper to her disappearing back, the hoarseness of my voice due to more than just the late night and spirits.
In the relative privacy of the dark hallway, we walk side by side to the King's chambers, our fingers not quite touching. He opens the door and I slip silently into the room, unsure of what to do because I do not know what has changed.
"I…" the words die unspoken on my lips as he walks purposefully towards me. I back away hesitantly, but he does not stop until my right calf bangs against a raised platform and I begin to fall helplessly to the ground.
His arms wrap around me before I hit the floor, and at his touch, twelve years of suppressed emotions spring forth from the depths of a heart long thought dead. As he gently lays me down, devouring me with his kiss, I realise that absolutely nothing has changed.
"Will you stay this time?" he asks, tone carefully neutral.
I shrug, debating how much of my answer should be truth and how much a lie when I realise that he's known all along what it would be. So I duck my head in the circle of his arms and say, "No."
"Be here in the morning," he says. It's not a question. The mantle of majesty has settled comfortably on his shoulders, and time has given him an air of command.
I nod because I cannot do otherwise, and relax into his embrace, caught off-guard by how familiar it is to me after all the intervening time.
He runs strong fingers through my hair and I shiver at the pleasure it brings. This is what I have ached for in the silence of long, lonely nights; the comfort of his arms around me, the feel of his skin against mine...
Afterwards, I sit in bed and watch the sun rise, spilling through the clear panes of glass in the window. It creeps up the figure still sleeping besides me, softening his features and granting him a semblance of the innocence lost in the wars of his youth. For a moment the memory of carefree days and bumbling confessions bring a smile to my lips, then reality intrudes, and the dreamscape shatters.
As I slip gently from the sheets, a firm grip around my wrist stops me in my tracks. The sounds of a rousing household warn that there is little time to spare.
"Let me go," I say, unwilling to meet his gaze.
"Never again," he replies, spinning me abruptly back into his embrace. I gasp as he nuzzles flesh cooled by the morning air; his hands are warm and real as they run slowly along my back. Half-formed notions of resistance melt away under his caress and I am soon pinned motionless beneath him.
A discreet knock interrupts our clandestine meeting. Startled, I break away, still breathing hard. He catches me before I tumble off the bed and I scramble quickly out of his hold, gathering my scattered garments.
He leans on his elbow and watches my antics, a bemused expression on his face. "It doesn't matter," he says quietly, "no one will say anything."
"But they will think it," I reply, growing agitated at his display of nonchalance.
"So let them." He rolls indolently off the sheets and lies on his belly beside me. Wrenching the crumpled clothing from my grip, he throws them carelessly into a corner. His hands burn on my shoulders as he forces me to face him, growling impatiently, "I have lived a lie almost all my life, and I am tired of pretense."
I raise an eyebrow in exasperated amusement. "No doubt you think this something else?" I ask cynically. The knocking grows more insistent and I pull sharply away. "Now, let me go!"
His face darkens and a palpable hurt fills the room. I feel him withdraw into himself and bite my lip to keep from crying out in regret. Fool's pride it may be, but the words have been spoken and I will not take them back. Besides, perhaps it would be better this way...
The knocking falls silent. I avert my eyes from his face and pull the clothing in reach over my head. As I make my way to the door, I am caught completely off-guard by the arms thrown suddenly around me, the desperate strength with which he holds me.
Sighing, I relent and gently stroke the head pressed against my chest. "I'm sorry," I admit softly, "I never meant to hurt you."
"I know," he replies.
"It was all a mistake, a terrible, beautiful mistake."
"I regret nothing."
I smile and cradle him closer. Lifting his chin, I beg him to understand with my eyes; a sea of sorrow for what could have been and joy for all that had.
"I have to go," I repeat almost inaudibly.
"I know."
The silence that follows is no longer strained. I can feel his heart beating against mine, pounding a rhythm I do not share. His mortality sings to me, and he is all the more precious for it.
"Farewell my king, " I whisper to him as I draw away, fingers lingering entwined, "my love."
Unshed tears burn in my throat as I tear through the hallways and burst into the stables, throwing myself across Arod's broad back. Bareback and unfettered, I spur him down the open road and away from the castle, watching the silhouette in the window disappear. Autumn beckons, and leaves fall from the trees like tears of blood and gold, dancing to sorrow's song. An eagle screeches its rage to the heavens and dives, claws extended, for its prey; but no eagle ever soared above the ecstasy of love, nor plunged beneath its depths.
May you always live your life for a purpose,
Love like you've never been hurt,
And dance - like no one is watching.
© ai 2003
Dance like no one is watching.