A Moonacre Fanfiction Peace on Earth

"All right," Maria murmured up to Robin, "Let's go."

Miss Heliotrope and Digweed were curtsying and bowing. Everyone else was clapping emphatically. Meanwhile, Robin and Maria slipped out the door and into the cool, dark hallway.

"I can only take people for so long," Robin explained, inhaling the solitude with gratefulness.

"Though you put it crudely, I understand." Maria chuckled. "Human interaction can be tiresome. Now then," she slid her arm through his, "What do you propose we do?"

"I propose…" he considered with a frown, "we take a stroll. Strolls are typical courting activities, right?" Maria's eyes danced with amusement.

"It's absolutely freezing outside," she pointed out.

"Well, we can stroll in the house."

"And that's not the least bit strange?"

"No, it's not," he said confidently.

"It sounds like something from a Brontë novel."

"A what?"

"A Brontë novel. Wandering the house at night, freshly fallen snow outside—or, relatively fresh—shut out from the merry party in this big cold mansion—but there aren't any ghosts, of course."

"I still don't know what you're talking about," he shrugged, "but how do you know there aren't ghosts?"

"Don't be silly," she said reprovingly, "Ghosts don't exist."

"How do you know?"

"A person's spirit goes straight to heaven or hell when they die, they don't stay around—"

"There you go, being all sensible and smart. But supposing there were ghosts in this manor—"

"But there couldn't possibly—"

"Just suppose," he said, enjoying this quite thoroughly, "just suppose there were ghosts here. Where would they go?"

"I'm not a ghost; how should I know?"

"This is where a beautiful thing called 'imagination' comes in handy," Robin said.

"Well…" Maria held his gaze for a moment, then gave in. "Well, I suppose they would be someone desolate and solitary. Secret passageways are always good; in a mansion like this, there are sure to be some. Or a cellar. Or an attic, that'd be good—"

"And here you said you didn't know."

"I happen to read a great deal, Robin," she lifted her chin haughtily. "Not that I could expect you to understand anything so sophisticated as literature—"

"I can read," he said defensively. Then he shrugged. "Just because I don't choose to every moment of the day—"

"No, indeed, that intellectual stimulant is replaced by shooting down wild animals."

"To feed my family."

"And you don't mean to tell me that you derive no pleasure whatsoever from hunting—"

"I never said it wasn't fun, but it beats looking at words on a page any day."

"That is where you and I differ."

"That's not the only thing we differ in," he said. When she gave him a questioning look, he went on, "Well, you see, I'm a boy, and you're a girl—"

"Oh, you noticed?" Maria chuckled. "Astute observation, really. I applaud you, O keenest of mind and wit."

"All right, all right," Robin rolled his eyes, muttering, "And they call me sarcastic."

"You forget that I have ears, and I am standing very close to you, so if you expected me not to hear that—"

"It's very hard to forget you're standing close to me, thank you very much."

"Oh?" she peered up into his face, eyebrows arched.

"Well, with you shouting in my ear and all—"

"Oh, you—" she pushed him gently, rolling her eyes. But he brought her back in for a kiss, sweet as cream.

"Now then," he said brightly, stepping back, "shall we go explore the cellar? Or was it the attic?"

"I really don't know if we have either. But if we keep climbing stairs, we're sure to find something."

"You haven't explored this house yet?"

"I've been busy nearly dying, both with the curse and then with the snowstorm."

"Fair enough. Shall we climb stairs?"

"Yes; but first," she bent down to the ground, surfacing again with two shoes, "My feet were killing me. You don't mind?"

"Why didn't you say so?" He scooped her up, gown and all. "I don't see why they make girls' shoes uncomfortable."

"I don't see why they make girls' everything uncomfortable," Maria chuckled. "We should make men wear corsets and bustles for a day, and see how they like it. You can put me down, though, Robin. I can walk barefoot."

"And freeze your feet on this tile? I'd as soon throw myself into the snow as let you suffer like that." And he began to walk, smooth and steady.

"Robin, really."

"Maria, really."

"You're going to get tired," she warned. "I'm not light."

"You say that like it's a problem."

"You'll be worn out."

"But you see, I've had so much practice lugging animal carcasses around—"

"Are you comparing me to a dead deer?"

"I'm merely pointing out the benefits of hunting, nothing more." They were climbing stairs now.

"You don't know how many stairs there are." Robin shrugged. Maria tried again. "You'll collapse pretty soon."

"Have some faith in me, eh, Princess?" Maria sighed, sinking back into his shoulder. Well, she wouldn't complain. It was his energy being exerted, his arms aching, not hers. She had done what she could to spare him sore muscles, but being the cocky, pompous young man that he was, he had insisted. Of course, the cocky, pompous young man was also being rather chivalrous and sweet at the same time…

"How do you expect to find these ghosts?" she prodded.

"Maybe they'll be having a Christmas party."

"Oh, of course, why didn't I think of that? Actually," she played with his neck feathers, "there is a novella about ghosts having a—a sort of Christmas party, I suppose. It's called A Christmas Carol."

"There, you see? I'm not being entirely daft."

"Not entirely, no," she agreed, "though of course it was fiction."

"Whatever. But do you think that if we were still in that ballroom, we would be able to talk so freely?"

"I suppose not."

"That tells me that even if we don't find any ghosts, this trip will have been a success."

"I suppose so."

"You suppose a lot of things."

"I do. Suppose," she smiled mischievously, "suppose I tickled your neck. Your hands are otherwise engaged. What do you suppose would happen?"

"I'm oblivious to tickling," he said quickly. "Quite immune."

"Oh, indeed?" Her fingers flickered up under his jawline, watching his features. He was making a brave attempt at a poker face, but a man can only last so long, and Maria knew this. Her fingers skirted up to his ear, then dropped down to his throat, teasing. His arms tightened around her, anxious to defend himself but unwilling to drop her. Pretty soon, the ghost of a smile flitted across his face.

"Aha!" she declared, triumphant.

"Well, that's unfair."

"What's unfair?"

"You—well, you—look, here we are," he changed the subject swiftly. Maria chuckled at his sputtering, but turned to see where they had stopped. They were on a cold, dark landing very high up. A slightly damp smell permeated the air. Surely, this must be the tallest part of the manor.

"Now will you put me down?" she asked.

"As you wish," he set her on her feet. She turned to look at the door they faced. It looked just like any other door, but surely this would be the attic. Robin moved forward and grasped the door handle, turning it. A faint metallic click was heard.

"Shall we explore?" He grinned, dark eyes glinting.

"I suppose so." Her lips curved up at the ends. She was ready for anything, so long as it was with Robin.

A/N: Dear reader,

Thank you so much for reading this 27th installment of Peace on Earth! I'm sorry I haven't been able to write as often as I'd like, but never mind that. I'd like to take this moment to thank you.

Your patience and support is greatly appreciated. If you're a writer, you empathize with me in the heartfelt joy one receives when reading kind reviews. If you're a reader, you have probably read thanks like these thousands of times; but its sheer number doesn't devalue or make it any less true. You are a fundamental part of any literature. If it weren't for you, dear readers, for what would books exist?

Thank you, again.

Your

Ponygirl7