Disclaimer: I'm not AAR, nor do I own this.
A/N: I've got this story set in the year 1326. Not that it changes anything, but I realized I'd never put a date in, because of the format, so I thought I'd mention it now. Also, many wonderful loving thanks to my most constant reviewer, dreamlndxfantasy - check out her lovely fics if you get a chance.
Chapter 6
(Upon seeing Jager, Fala bows her head slightly, as though paying homage to a king. She stays a few long feet away from him, shy, uncertain, hesitant.)
Fala: I shouldn't have left you. It was wrong.
(She's never before pretended to care about 'wrong.'
But she's always had this habit, near Jager, of lying though her teeth. If he's ever seen past her deceptions, he's never mentioned it; generally, he seems to buy them with ease.)
Fala: I'm sorry. Can you –
(All she wants, right now, are his warm arms around her neck, his voice telling her it'll be all right. All she wants is to forget Moira. She's had to forget so many things throughout her existence, it's become a talent, an art.)
Fala (nervously; she can't remember ever feeling so unsure before): – can you – I mean, I'm sorry. Sorry, all right?
Jager: What did she do to you?
Fala: Nothing. I –
(Well, that much was strictly true. Moira had done nothing.)
Jager (voice even, but furious): What did Moira do?
("You hurt her – " he had threatened. And Moira had answered, "I know.")
Fala: Don't.
(She slowly closes her eyes, then opens them again.)
Fala: Just don't.
(Jager winces)
Fala: For me?
Jager: You're here. This is happening.
(Obviously, Fala thinks, but simply nods.)
Jager (softly): Little One?
(Fifteen hundred years, and he still calls her that – she doesn't really mind anymore. She's proven herself enough times, there's no risk of the epithet making her seem weak. )
Fala: I know I shouldn't have come here.
(The shameful situation is degrading both of them, making them feel smaller, frailer.)
Jager: No, no. It's just (his voice grows gentler with each word) you need to choose. You can't keep bouncing around like this.
(Fala thinks, arbitrarily: "And tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we have the greatest match of all time. Jagger vs. Moira, who will win?" Who will win, who will win, who will win…)
Jager (again): Little one?
(Who will win, who will win…
Jager wins.)