A/N: A quick salute to authors Frosted-Darkfox and Saraswathi, for their fics "Pianissimo" and "Desperation." I think the style for this fic was inspired by theirs to some extent, so again, much kudos. If you like this, then I bet you'll really like those two.
You may note that this is rather sappy. Sap is necessary now and then, though, or at least that's what I think. So please, enjoy, and try not to hurt yourself out there.
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Spiral
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"Nervous?" he asks in her ear.
She hesitates. "A little," she admits to him, sheepish.
He chuckles. "Don't worry. It's not as bad as my lord makes it out to be. If it gets too awful, though, I do know a few ways to sneak us out."
She smiles at the floor and nods, walking alongside him into the ballroom. She isn't entirely sure how he ended up being her escort for the evening, but knows that it had something to do with his cousin, a friend whom she will thus hold in eternal contempt - and, more secretly, gratitude. Attending the ball alone would have been a nightmare, but she would have raided a nest full of griffins before asking anyone to help her in something so...so trivial; just accepting this offer had been a near thing.
The thought of his being there at her side is welcome, but strangely terrifying. There is a kind of thrill at his nearness - how his grin holds her eyes like a fire sparking, making her heart spring, and the way that everything he says fills her with an urge to smile, even laugh. But she is nearly silent, her tongue a bumbling soldier that she can no longer trust to take orders. Instead she listens, letting music fade against the sound of his voice as they begin to dance.
He leads and she follows, the melody all but ignored as her movements fall in step with his. She hears only him now, his casual words a comfort to her as a thousand thoughts tumble helplessly inside a once-cool head. His silence would have only brought panicking, she realizes; warmly, she wonders if he'd figured this as well. He is so kind, and so calm, but could it be that he is simply hiding his worries - just as she does? This idea pleases her, and out of habit she tries to keep her smile from broadening, though the effort is barely a conscious one.
Seeing a change in her eyes - the eyes have always been the hardest, she remembers - he trails off in mid-sentence and looks at her curiously, his own blue eyes dancing as they study her warm hazel ones. A slow grin breaks onto his face.
She is surprised that she continues to breathe, let alone dance properly; the eyes and the grin combined have effectively killed all other processes of thought. She glances down at their footwork, her face feeling warm, and an embarrassed laugh escapes her. When she looks up again he is still grinning, still watching her, and the only response she is capable of now is to shyly grin back at him. His expression lights up with something like surprise, and it occurs to her that she is a hypocrite for snubbing alcohol all this time. This man, she has decided, is as bad as any drink.
They continue to waltz unbroken, except now there are no words to distract them. She is determined to focus on the sounds of the music, but his hand is warm where it rests on her waist and she knows it is a losing battle that she fights. A minute more and she has lost, her senses overcome by him - his footfalls, his scent, the blue of his tunic, the warmth of his hands, his eyes. Their surroundings seem distant to her, hardly even real anymore. He is real, though. He is wonderfully real.
He loses to her too, though it happens gradually and he makes no struggle against it. At first it is only small things - the color of her hair, her dress, the way her eyes catch the light - but soon everything about her seems vivid, and somehow important. She is so different, this woman who needs to grin more, to smile more, if only when he is around to see it. He wants to find her reasons to do these things, but it is difficult to think of any right now. He will try later, when his attention is not so fully absorbed.
She tilts her head slightly as they turn, and he observes this with utter fascination. Much later.
At last he comes to a stop, and as her body halts to match him she blinks, feeling slightly dizzy. A deep haze clears away in her mind, and she is shocked to find that the music has ended completely. He flashes a jaunty grin and bows gracefully to her, and she begins to do the same before scrambling into a shaky curtsey. Catching this, he chuckles, then offers her an arm. She takes it gratefully, and watery legs force her to lean against him as he guides her off the dance floor. She tries to avoid thinking about how long they must have danced together.
He notes her exhaustion and leads her through the waning crowd, bringing her to a side door that opens to a servants' stair. They descend carefully on the creaky wooden steps, and more than once he offers to carry her the rest of the way down - jokingly, of course. She denies flatly on each count, though by the light of the candles hanging from the stone walls he can see that her cheeks are glowing faintly.
At the bottom of the stairs he pauses, meaning to let her rest for a moment, but suddenly he is yanked back and she is pulling him down behind the stairs, crouching, hissing a warning that she hears someone coming. He goes still beside her, alert and waiting.
Hurried footsteps and the clatter of dishware approach them, sounding overhead as a lone servant scurries up the stairway. The door opens and shuts, but they stay down a while longer, listening cautiously.
Long moments pass. Hearing no one else, she rises, then sways and curses softly, not understanding how her legs could have gotten so weak just from stepping in circles. In her mind, she blames the heels. Still, she is led to wonder about less logical reasons when familiar hands clasp onto her arms and steady her. She looks up at him, and her breath stops in her throat at the look on his face, soft and strange in the dull orange candlelight.
His eyes flicker between her eyes and her lips, and she knows what is coming.
"Nervous?" he asks again, his voice low.
"No," she whispers, and his lips cover hers.
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