A/N: I'm glad everyone is having fun and is willing to indulge me. Speculation is rife as to what's going to happen next, and I love reading your reviews where you make guesses and tell me what you've enjoyed and what your theories are. As for whether your guesses are right or not, all I'll say is...on with the show...
When the wine goes in, strange things come out.
~Johann Christoph Friedrich von Schiller, The Piccolomini, 1799
The truest expression of a people is in its dance and in its music. Bodies never lie.
~Agnes de Mille
I.
Amy couldn't find any fault with Irial's dancing. He was every bit as cat-sure on his feet as the Doctor had been, guided her through the unfamiliar steps with every bit as much confidence and gentleness as the Doctor had, and Amy was trying, genuinely trying just to relax and enjoy his skill. However, it wasn't easy.
Áinfean and the Doctor made quite an enchanting sight as they spun across the dance floor. The queen in white barely reached the Doctor's shoulder, and although she maintained the discreet distance dictated by the dance, Amy could see the expression on the lovely Rishellian's face as the Doctor lifted her slightly for one of the turns. There was nothing, absolutely nothing, discreet about that smile.
Fairy tart! What does she think she's doing? And now, with the hand? Oi! That's supposed to stay on his shoulder, dearie. Wonder what she'd do if I walked over there and pulled those bloody wings off...
Her eyes narrowed, and her hand tightened on Irial's. His deep voice interrupted her reverie. "You must not take Áinfean so much to heart, Lady Amelia. She behaves in the way that is expected of a Rishellian lady on the dance floor."
Amy saw Áinfean's fingertips brushing lightly over the Doctor's bowtie, saw her lean into him and laugh, shake back those raven curls, and she would have headed for them, but Irial tightened his grip ever-so-slightly. "I mean that certain patterns are ingrained in her, Lady Amelia, and that if you look around you will see that her behavior with her dancing partner is tonight somewhat...circumspect...by comparison with some of the others."
For the first time, Amy looked at the behavior of the other couples who danced near them. Irial was right. The partners as they spun seemed engaged in enticing each other as much as they were keeping up with the elaborate steps. In some cases, the couples looked as though they would have been much happier in a more private location with many fewer clothes between them. Only Irial and she herself, she realized, were not dancing that second dance. She looked up at him with speculation.
"So when can I expect you to start putting the moves on me?"
That small smile crossed his lips. "Ah. Lady, you wound me. So much for my inept attempts at seduction, then. I did know it had been a very long time since I had bothered with the forms of courtship, but I had not thought myself so long out of practice as this..."
She looked at him for a moment, still moving with him, unsure, and then it hit her.
"You're kidding? Oh my God. You're kidding! The Raven Lord made a joke!" She laughed in relief.
That tiny smile blossomed for the very first time into a real smile, and she realized that he had a very nice smile indeed. "Yes. That is allowed. Sometimes..." His silver eyes ran over her animated face, drinking in her happy expression.
"No, I'm sorry. That's rude, it's just that..."
"You need not worry. You will not offend me by speaking your mind, Lady Amelia. I find it refreshing, actually. There are advantages to dancing with the Raven Lord. The first, apparently, is that you don't have to worry about being groped on the dance floor tonight." He smiled again, and his thumb lightly traced over her palm. "Unless you tell me that such is your desire, milady, in which case, I shall endeavor to obey."
She rolled her eyes. "Doesn't matter what species you are, does it? You boys are all alike..."
He grinned. "Your phrasing is charming. And you understand that I must at least give lip service to the protocols, milady. No matter how painful I might find it." He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back lightly.
Amy laughed again. "Oh, yeah, I'm sure. One of those hard jobs that somebody has to do, right?"
He bowed his head slightly. "As you say."
Amy's eyes suddenly spotted the Doctor and Áinfean over Irial's shoulder, but to her distress, they were no longer dancing. They were headed for a door on the side of the large room, Áinfean leading. They were talking animatedly, the Doctor's hands gesturing wildly as they always did when he was interested in something or in lecture mode, and then the door opened and they disappeared. He never looked back to see where she was.
I know he didn't just leave the party with the fairy tart. I know he didn't. Okay, and if he did, I'm sure he had a good reason, right? Because, otherwise, well...
She felt sick. Her stomach actually turned.
Irial's hands gripped her more firmly, noted the frown on her face, the storm in her eyes. "Milady, you are unwell. Shall we take some air?"
"What? Oh, yes. Let's get out of here. Please." Anywhere that's not here.
He kept his arms supportively, lightly around her, and they walked out toward the great open doors of the ballroom. Outside, a wide terrace with small tables and benches scattered here and there spread before them. Irial led her to a table near the edge of the terrace, and a view of the surrounding countryside bathed in pale moonlight became visible.
"Please sit. I believe you will be well in a moment. The ballroom had become quite close. It always does on these occasions." He clapped his hands twice, softly.
She looked at him curiously, and then understanding came as a servant came hurrying up carrying a tray with two small glasses and a lovely beaker of pale golden wine. Amy noticed with a start that the servant wasn't a Rishellian at all, but seemed to be some sort of cat-like creature. It studied her surreptitiously as it knelt to offer the tray to Irial, and there seemed to be something in its eyes that it wanted to say or tell her, but then Irial had the tray in his hand and he was waving the servant away. It slid back into the darkness from which it had come soundlessly. Amy turned her head to watch it go.
"That servant," she began.
"Yes?" Irial asked in a tone that indicated polite tolerance of a topic that was at best impolite. He poured two glasses of the wine the servant had left.
"He...She? That wasn't a Rishellian, was it?"
Irial smiled that tiny smile. "No. Of course not. Why would it have been? Will you take some refreshment, Lady Amelia? I think this will restore you." He held out a glass to her, took up his own.
She took it in distraction. "Yes, thanks. You mean all the servants on Rishell are not Rishellian?"
"Lady Amelia, I will answer any question you have, but this is not something we discuss, really. No High Lord serves. It is unthinkable. It is not done. Does this matter?" He brought up his glass and held it in a salute.
She frowned slightly, remembering that the Doctor had asked her not to violate protocol. And Irial was out here trying to be nice when the Doctor was off who the hell knew where doing who knew what. Ha...emphasis on doing...damn Fairy Queen... if I thought, even for a minute that he was really...I'd...I'd...
She looked at Irial, clinked her glass lightly against his, and forced a smile. "You know what, Irial? You're right. Just now, it does not matter. It does not matter at all." And lifted the glass to her lips, took a deep swallow.
II.
It was like...
Drinking music, and discovering that it at last was the thing that could quench a thirst that had been burning since before she was born, each note satisfying something that ached inside. It was like all the stars had individual secret names that they'd been waiting forever to tell only to her, wanted to be her friend, came and sat down beside her, whispered in her ear the secret of shining, of dancing can-cans and tangos on the velvet that stretched above her. It was like a flock of very small birds flew inside her veins, their feathery wings brushing against each vessel in a million tingling caresses, and then they all collected in the high-ceilinged chamber of her heart, circled there, singing. She felt as though she could fly with them, wanted to join the music and the stars and the birds, wanted to sail into the moonlight that seemed to be soaking into every single cell of her being...
And she came back to herself gasping, grasping for something, anything, realizing that she was blind, fear consuming her. She felt hard stone underneath her.
"Doctor?" She called out for him. "Where am I?"
"Lady Amelia," said a soothing familiar voice, "you're fine." She felt fingertips gently resting against her neck. "Your pulse seems to be calming somewhat. Good. That should mean that the worst of the effects are passing." Irial.
"Why can't I see then? I can't...I can't..." She grabbed at him.
She felt Irial's hands gently cup her face. "I believe, milady, that you are squeezing your eyes closed. It is an involuntary muscle response, a spasm like the others that seized you when you took the wine." She felt his thumbs softly stroke over her eyelids. A very mild warmth seemed to radiate from his touch, and suddenly she could open her eyes again. She looked up into concerned sterling silver eyes studying her carefully.
"Lady? Are you well?"
"You just saw me collapse after a sip of wine and then think myself blind because my eyes were shut. I think you can officially drop the 'lady' bit, now Irial."
His lips crooked. "As you like, but how do you feel? The wine affected you so strongly."
She sat up slowly holding on to his arm and with his assistance, and she moved to lean against the low wall that was the edge of the terrace that was just behind her. She wasn't sure how she'd gotten here... "You're telling me? What's that stuff made of?"
Irial shrugged. "It is the festival drink of Rishell. We make it of one of the native fruits, a small melon. It has a very long formal name, but mostly the wine is called Lunacy."
Bloody hell. Of course. So worried about him running off with the winged tart that I forgot to watch out for the dangerous libations. Another reason to rip him a new one...
"I don't think it agrees with me, do you?"
Irial sat down beside her. "You may be right, Lady Amelia."
"Please. Amy. Just call me Amy."
"Amy, then." He seemed to savor that. "And I do think you should avoid the wine. I mention this not to embarrass you, milady, but just so you know the seriousness of it...you were trying to fly off the terrace railings..."
Aaaand all the little pieces click right into place. Oh great. Just fantastic. At least the Doctor wasn't around to watch that. I'd never live it down...
"I was forced to restrain you."
More joy. This just keeps getting better and better and better...
"I've never seen it affect anybody as strongly as it affected you."
"Ah, well. Just a human, you see. I guess we don't have the tolerance to it that Rishellians do." She laughed a rueful little light.
Irial took her hand in his and brought it to his lips lightly, a courtly gesture. He opened his mouth in response, but whatever he would have said was lost as the Doctor came running frantically out the great double doors of the ballroom, looking frantically from side-to-side, and his eyes fixed on the two of them sitting there in the darkness alone.