So, a storm is looming at the horizon. Two, actually. Enjoy the calm. I also strongly recommend to listen to the flower duet on youtube, the version with Sabine and Marianne Crebassa. Their duo is the best because none of them outshines the other.
I do thank hearlity the guest who left me a review, it made my day to have someone dropping a comment out of the blue !
Hannibal's chest was filled with pride. Somehow, he had not foreseen that such emotions would assault him. Not as strongly, not as vividly. Yet, as he watched his beautiful wife relished in the dish he had cooked – far in advance – for the wedding guests, he couldn't help but find her exquisite. Beautiful, of course, but it wasn't the main source of his pride. She was … so much more. Emphatic and clever, witty yet soft, cultured and multi-talented, an artist, like himself, with an incredible mind. Beside him at the head of the table – yes, he had, for once, shared the place of honour – Frances outshone her surroundings. It wasn't only her noble poise – albeit it helped – neither the glint of gold in her eyes, nor the delicate lace that covered her arms. It was her, altogether, and her choice to take his name as her own and attach herself to him. The keeper of time, grounded by his side.
A token of love, a token of trust. And while the guests bantered and threw compliments and pleasantries his way, Hannibal revisited the moment he had stored in his memory palace. It was but five little minutes of their afternoon, but they held such significance.
Hannibal's hand slid from Frances' neck to her hip, taking the time to savour her skin along her exposed spine. The young woman shivered at the sensuality of his touch; aside from the twinkle in his eyes, the psychiatrist's phlegm didn't falter as he entertained Mrs Komeda. Sensing Frances' amusement, he felt her little hand circle his own back, digging under the waistcoat to caress him until she settled on his belly. Her fingers played below the raw silk, hidden from their guest as she caressed the sensitive spot just above his waistband. Cheeky lady.
Mrs Komeda's eyes narrowed slightly, feeling that she was missing something. Hannibal nearly snorted; the old woman was still spooked that Frances had stolen the bachelor from her clutches. Especially after her performance at the wedding. Since his guests from the Baltimore Academy still oozed their scepticism about their couple, he was glad that his wife's demonstration had crushed their doubts and preconceptions. Without even knowing, Frances had shown them how wrong they had been to assume she was a gold digger or a young thing going after his money. But in sight of Mrs Komeda's pursed lips, Hannibal couldn't refrain the urge to nail it hard into her skull. Taking advantage of her gushing about Frances' singing, he gave his wife a smile that conveyed the extend of his affection.
— "Would you sing the flower duet for me, my beautiful?" he asked.
The young woman's eyes widened slightly, craning her neck to meet his gaze. She knew that singing was a skill he did not possess, and probably wondered the reasons for his request.
— "Hannibal, the girl cannot perform alone, this is a duet," Mrs Komeda tutted.
How predictable she was, this not very friend of his! Frances lifted an eyebrow at being called "a girl", but refrained from commenting as she spotted the twitch at the corner of his lips. On a whim, she stood on her toes to kiss his lips gently. Taking advantage of her closeness, he breathed into her ear a faint "trust me". The hungry look she sent him caused his body to hum. And despite the absurdity of his request, she complied with his wishes and started singing the soprano introduction, her gaze turning distant as she searched for the proper words. Thank her memory for being so fine.
The room went silent, entranced by the beauty of the Lakmé Opera. Or perhaps by Frances' control and so clear voice. After his wife's tirade, the mezzo was supposed to respond and he could see in her interrogative gaze that she had no idea was he was planning. So when he started whistling his part of the tune, she couldn't help but smile incredulously. He knew this piece by heart, and the mezzo voice was so easily replaced thus.
He would never forget the fond look she gave him then; the golden flecks telling him everything he needed to know. And as he led her, setting the pace, Hannibal read how amused, how awed she was by his creativity. His hand asked for hers as they both joined the flower duet, he whistling the mezzo melody so that she could top it with her amazing soprano voice. And for once, they were reunited in their art, totally attuned to each other, and sharing something they considered of equal beauty. Their fingers intertwined, their eyes firmly planted in the others, and her voice washed over him like a benevolent wave. The connexion was so strong, the energy flowing between them like an open link, an unbreakable bond. The result of undying love? Of fifteen hundred years of yearning? He would never know, he didn't need to know for her love, at this moment, flooded him entirely.
Yes, a fond memory indeed. One that had made his statement more than clear. Tomorrow, the whole of Baltimore high society would know that Dr Hannibal Lecter had found his match. There would be no more talk of gold digger and sugar daddy.
Hannibal's lips quirked up, his smile more relaxed than she had ever seen him. Frances reached for his hand, her little fingers caressing his much larger ones, sliding between them to establish the contact she longed for. She knew how Hannibal had planned the day, inviting the people that could benefit him in the future, or testify of his love. Not one person was here by chance, or only for the affection they thought they shared with him. Not even Will. Yet, in the midst of this planning, cunning and manipulation, she was surprised to find that her own emotions had found an echo in the older man. Tristan, somehow, and his pulsating heart still existed beneath the surface. She was seeing him, right now, with his gentle smile and glazed look. Hannibal's emotions worn on his face, his features peaceful.
He was so beautiful with his hair swept aside and his three-piece costume, her embroidery displayed proudly upon his chest. Reclined against the sofa – the Baltimore high class had left – high cheekbones, strong jaw and amber eyes. And those lips … mmm. How sensual they could be when he tasted her like a dish. So dashing, especially since she knew what rested below the amazing suit. For none of those present – or so she hoped – had ever seen Hannibal undone expect for her. The psychiatrist, bathed in sweat and panting in exertion, his hair askew and chest hair on display. She knew his body by heart now, worshipped him even. Such a handsome man… Hers, now. Frances set her head upon Hannibal's shoulder, letting the slight dizziness of the champagne wash over her. Her hand had not left his this evening, and she wasn't about to let go as his voice rumbled in his chest.
Of the wedding party, only Will, Alana and Bedelia remained. Dinner had come and gone, a sumptuous ballet of dishes and wines tastier than she had ever had. There had been some meat, too, and Frances had obliged her husband in eating some of his preparations. He had promised to never feed her human flesh, and she hoped that, on this day, he had kept it. Frances sighed; she felt awful for doubting him, but who knew how the cogs of his mind ran? Hannibal could lie to her without blinking, and she now knew she was powerless to detect his half-truths. He had told her it was Kobe beef, and truth be told, she'd never eaten anything so delicious. Her intense look had been spotted by Bedelia, and Frances had dropped any questions in favour of sampling the dishes with a hum of approval. She couldn't bring more suspicion, especially from Hannibal's psychiatrist. Bedelia had a sharp mind. Speaking of which, the blond woman was now addressing her, her disturbing gaze fixed upon her.
And even if Frances's eyes were closed, she could still feel the tingle in her spine that indicated danger. Did it come from Hannibal's proximity, or Bedelia's scrutiny? The woman's drawl washed over her senses like a coat of sticky liquid.
— "I couldn't help but notice your little addition to the vows, Frances. In death and beyond…"
As usual – or, what was usual for Bedelia, at least – the woman didn't finish her sentence. A known manipulation technique to have people answering whatever was on their mind. But Frances refused to take the bait, opening her eyes to level a smirk at the blonde.
— "Yes. Did you have a question?"
Blunt. Hannibal squeezed her hand to indicate to play nice, but Frances was rather fed up with their non-communication. Taken aback, Bedelia blinked her wide blue eyes before her mind tried to pry the information more directly.
— "I haver never heard this particular take on the notion. I was wondering what you meant by it"
Frances refrained from blurting out, "see, when you want to speak plainly you can!' Instead, she straightened on her seat, keeping one of her knees in contact with Hannibal. And rather than playing hide and seek, she opted for the truth.
— "It just means than when Hannibal dies, I will find a way to follow his soul, wherever he goes…"
— "I would sleep more soundly if you refrained from mentioning our death, my beautiful."
Hannibal's smooth voice caused her to drop a kiss to his cheek.
— "I am not responsible for the traditional vows, darling. Til death do us part, remember?"
The psychiatrist squeezed her hand a little tighter and they both heard Will mutter his agreement.
— "And even then…"
Frances smirked; out of those people, Will was the only one who could understand what she had meant. Fifteen hundred years and death had not managed to separate them. Alana, on the other hand, was a pretty rational woman who looked at her boyfriend as if he was dumb.
— "Nothing beats death, Will"
— "Never say never," came Hannibal's smooth voice.
His statement set an incredulous atmosphere, but Alana, who had been mentored by Hannibal, was used to debating with him. Sometimes, Frances wondered how blind the woman was for she pushed him without an ounce of fear, ignorant of the beast that laid within. How could she not feel the darkness that lay between those golden flecked orbs? The power beneath the three-piece suit? The savagery that waited, lurking behind the civility, ready to pounce?
— "Death seems rather final, Hannibal."
— "How do you know?" Frances asked.
Alana turned her beautiful gaze to her, pondering. There was always a little frostiness between them, as if the young psychiatrist was afraid of her somehow. Or only jealous? After all, Frances had wormed her way into her mentor's bed in less than a week, and was now best friends with her boyfriend. All of it in such little time that it probably irked Alana who had known Will for years.
— "I … didn't know you were religious," she stated.
Her face was open, her manners pleasant. But her eyes were guarded. Frances gave Alana a warm smile that seemed to work for her shoulders dropped a little.
— "I am not. But I am adamant that love can go way beyond the chains of human life."
— "In a figurative way, because the love we bestow upon our relatives changes people for the best."
— "Yes, there is that as well."
And the discussion ended there, without an ounce of information being truly exchanged as Hannibal stood from the sofa and wend to the sound system. A minute later, a waltz was playing in the living room, and he extended his hand to Frances.
— "Mrs Lecter, would you honour me with a dance?"
A wide smile split Frances' face and she slid her little fingers into her husband's strong grip. There had been no plans for an official ball, but the living room was wide enough to dance in, and it seemed than Hannibal wanted to stick to traditions. His warm hand slid behind her back and he lifted their joined hands to the right, ready for a swirl. They kept the pose for a moment as Hannibal plunged his gaze into her eyes, a swirl of untold emotions dancing in amber orbs. Frances didn't move, didn't blink as his gaze pierced her, as if he'd turned her upside down, laid bare for all to see. But it was just an illusion, for no one but him could roam her soul so easily, so deeply. And she gave it all, as she always had, and always would, for he was her everything.
Hannibal's deep orbs softened, a gleam of understanding shining within. Gratitude as well. And just before he swept her away, he whispered words she would never forget. "Tave Myliu," his own declaration of love in his mother tongue. She would never hear it again.
They twirled around at a leisurely pace, none of them too eager to make a demonstration or overexert themselves. This evening was about love, and both their body hummed with the rhythm as Hannibal led them. There was no need to show off, no need to push any muscle to its limit, no show to sustain. For once, her husband was at peace, his attention solely centred upon her, his need to perform forgotten.
Never had Frances enjoyed a round of waltz so strongly, and when, at last, the piece ended, her heart was ready to burst from happiness. The young woman accepted another glass of champagne as Hannibal asked Bedelia for a dance, and she eyed them carefully while exchanging a few words with Will. Alana had gone to the restroom for a moment, and she grasped the opportunity to tease her friend.
— "Won't you ask Alana for a dance?"
Will's flustered squeak caused Frances to laugh. Her mirth caused Hannibal to steal a glance in her direction, and she smiled at him. The psychiatrist danced beautifully, and it was great to see it from the sidelines for once. His lean body twirled expertly, his feet moving of their own accord, graceful. But despite the easiness with which he led Bedelia, Frances could see the stiffness of his posture, the slight tension at the corner of his mouth. No one else could have noticed; Hannibal's was always very composed. There was such a fine line between tense and poised when it came to him, such control…
But if Frances had first been worried, or jealous, she now knew there was nothing to fear. For what it was worth, Hannibal was much more relaxed when he held her close than in Bedelia's reach. Perhaps because he knew she would never sell him. Despite her misgivings about his 'art', she loved him through and through, and he could trust her to never go behind his back. Frances would never betray him; Hannibal knew this like he knew his own heart.
When Alana returned, Frances mockingly asked her for a dance. Strangely enough, the young psychiatrist accepted her proposal, and the two ladies started twirling around the living room. Frances' creamy dress mixed with Alana's blood red skirt, and the two women laughed at their own stupidity as they went backwards, Frances leading Alana in an attempt to follow the rhythm. Perhaps it was the champagne, but she found that she appreciated the psychiatrist's giggles much more than her usual worried frowns.
— "I'm so happy you are together with Will now. He's been pining for you."
Alana lifted a dark eyebrow, her blue eyes twinkling in delight as her body seemed to deflate in Frances' arms.
— "It's been complicated, but I'm glad too."
— "I'm sure you can make it work. You're both pretty empathic after all. You'll take care of him, right?"
— "I've been taking care of him for a while already"
Frances bit her lip. Yes, she had to admit that Alana had been longer in Will's life than herself. Even if she totally ignored Will's past as Galahad. How could she express her affection for the man without Alana feeling threatened? Brother-in-arms? Yes, he was family.
— "He's like a brother to me, he deserves all the happiness he can get."
And while they danced like a couple of stray dogs, the two women conspired about Will, and Hannibal, and mended a bond they had not even known could be here. Worried, Will eventually relented and offered his hand to Alana who took it with a grin. For a moment, Frances watched as they swayed on the dance floor, absolutely out of rhythm, but totally adorable. Hannibal appeared by her side, his arm sliding around her waist once more and she leant into him.
— "See, I convinced Will to dance by stealing his girlfriend."
— "You are sneaky, my wife. Alana is a fine woman, but I didn't know you swayed that way."
Frances levelled Hannibal with a shocked look.
— "You know all about that, darling. And especially my likes and dislikes."
A smirk flourished on his sensual lips. Any other guy might have remarked how she loved riding stick far too much to be interested in a woman or whichever rude nonsense that would make her blush in shame. But not Hannibal who simply kissed her hair, breathing into her ear.
— "And I wouldn't dare forgetting, my beautiful."
Before any innuendo could lead to total lack of control – he was way too handsome in this suit! — Bedelia Du Maurier came to bid them goodnight. Perhaps a side effect from being the only single one in between two couples that seemed very much in love. Frances refrained from sighing; there was no chance of rekindling her former friendship with the woman Scully had become. And so, she bowed with grace, receiving Bedelia's 'heartfelt' congratulations, before Hannibal took her to the entrance. She didn't need to see his face to know the thoughtful look that would grace his features as he let Bedelia go. Would they ever see her again?
Bah, who cared? For now, the evening was about them both, and Will and Alana's new couple. Frances would be damned if she didn't enjoy her wedding day until the wee hours of the morning. And while Hannibal offered his hand to Alana next, Frances and Will crashed on the sofa to watch them twirl around the living room. None of them felt like dancing together – it would be too weird among siblings. And when the ladies' feet hurt too much to take another dance, Hannibal settled in the harpsichord to play his new composition.
Frances sat beside him, mesmerised by his hands. She was under his spell, entirely and totally, and there was nothing she could do about it. Midnight passed and went, and they all ended with a cup of coffee – and tea in Frances' case – slouched on the sofas. Well, apart from Hannibal who sat, relaxed, with his wife's head upon his shoulder.
— "Are you planning a honeymoon?" Alana asked, trying to keep a yawn at bay and failing miserably.
— "No. Work is too busy at the moment and Jack doesn't seem agreeable to an absence."
No one remarked how Hannibal was needed to keep Will from going absolutely insane. After his encephalitis, Jack Crawford had asked for closer supervision and both men seemed quite satisfied with it. If any, Frances found that her men seemed to be mending their bond quite nicely. They even started to share looks that she couldn't decipher, one of them being right now. The young woman frowned; she had the distinct impression that they were hiding something from her. Perhaps it was the alcohol that made her suspicious. Well, she was too tired to interpret it any way, and she reclined against Hannibal's shoulder. He was so warm, he smelt so good – especially in that spot at the junction of his jaw and his neck – she felt safe in his arms. So when his smooth voice washed over her, Frances could only hum in agreement.
— "You need not stay stranded if I cannot travel yet. Perhaps you can take advantage of the milder season to spend some time at the beach house?"
Frances nodded absently. Honeymoon would have to wait, but she didn't mind much.
— "I could practise the piano."
— "Why not, you love the sound better than the harpsichord."
Yes, there was nothing like a grand piano to lift her mood. And she had another project up her sleeve as well.
— "Yes. And I wanted to install targets to train my archery. It soothes the mind. I wonder if it wouldn't benefit you as well, Will"
Frances gave the empath a pointed look to which he responded with a nod. Yes. He had mastered archery rather well as a knight, and wanted to test his skills anew. To train under the guise of learning to focus and calm his mind was a good excuse.
— "What say you, husband?
Alana chuckled at her words, her cheeks reddened by the alcohol.
— "Now you just sound like Aragorn!"
Frances' blood froze, her face paling instantly.
— "What? What did you say?"
The young woman's tension caused Alana to straighten in her chair, worried she might have said something wrong. Little did she know that her innocent jab had, indeed, opened a gaping wound. So it was with very little malice that she answered back.
— "Aragorn, in the caves of the army of the dead. Lord of the rings, the return of the King?"
Frances' mind went blank. Could it be a coincidence? Was it even possible? Hannibal's hand squeezed hers tightly, his eyes searching her frozen features; he couldn't ignore the name for she had spoken of the future king at length. Frances was trying so intently to hide her shock, but her hands were shaking. Eventually, she found her voice, trying to sound detached.
— "You are telling me that there is a set of movies that tell the tale of Aragorn?"
Of course, her husband wasn't fooled by her attempt to sound casual, but Alana had stopped eyeing her as if she was crazy.
— "Yeah. Haven't you seen them? The adaptation is quite loose so you'd better read the books first."
Frances swallowed thickly, her mind running too fast for her to grasp all implications.
— "The book. Ok, ok"
— "Have you been living under a rock recently? This is so famous that even Will knows about it."
The shock was so great that Frances nearly choked. Seeing her level of distress, Hannibal came to her rescue.
— "It is not in my habit to keep informed about such things, and neither does Frances."
By now, Will was eyeing Frances suspiciously. He knew how sturdy she could be in the face of danger, and was wondering what this Aragorn dude was. After all, she'd spoken little about her travel to middle earth, and always called him Estel. Hope. The name she clung to desperately.
— "Well, it's a great book. Tolkien was praised for his world building, and the languages he created. His work has inspired modern fantasy. A lot."
— "Tell me the end."
It was an order, not a request. One uttered through clenched teeth. How could she have missed something so damn important! Dismissed the trailers and frenzy about this "Lord of the Rings" movie altogether? Ignored the huge commercial posters here and there? Truth be told, she had seen them, but not paid attention for she didn't care much about movies in the first place. And none of the actors had reminder her of Aragorn anyway.
— "If you want to read it…" Alana trailed.
Frances nearly exploded then, and was grateful for Hannibal's intervention.
— "My wife has the peculiar habit to always start a book with the last pages."
— "That's … strange."
Frances took a deep breath, wondering how to ask for information while claiming ignorance. After all, the book could be partially wrong, and have different characters in it. Considering they were speaking of the same Aragorn, of course.
— "I hate things that finish badly. So… how does it end?"
— "Well. The main hero, the hobbit, loses a finger while casting the ring into the Volcano, which kills the evil guy. His best friend is okay."
An immense wave of relief washed over Frances at hearing that Frodo and Sam had survived the explosion of mount doom. As she lay, dying on the battlefield, she had lost all hopes of seeing them again. Once more, Hannibal's sturdy presence by her side grounded her.
— "And the others?"
Alana shot her another look – probably wondering how she knew about others – but went on. Behind her, Will was wearing a worried frown, his clear blue eyes boring a hole into her.
— "Mmm, Aragorn becomes king and marries his elvish girlfriend, Arwen."
— "An elf?" she asked, trying to hide the huge smile that split her face.
The false surprise in her voice fooled Alana pretty efficiently, for the psychiatrist felt compelled to explain.
— "Yes. Fantasy elves, not Santa or Harry Potter elves. Tall, beautiful and so on"
Frances actually chuckled at that. Yes, Legolas as a Santa elf, right. Fortunately, by now, Alana was rambling. Thank the alcohol! The young psychiatrist seemed quite taken with the book, and eager to share her passion. Good; until she read it, Frances would never have enough information.
— "The dwarf is OK too and becomes friends with another elf. In the end, they sail to the grey havens and to the immortal lands together."
Frances swallowed… Legolas had sailed, as promised. As she deflated against Hannibal, hiding her face into his shoulder, she wondered if her husband was jealous. By now, he must have understood, at least partially, what they were talking about.
— "Are you OK, Frances?" Alana eventually asked.
Pushing the hurt from the loss at bay, she nodded.
— "Yes, sorry. I'm getting tired, that's all. So, good ending for all, right? I might read this book then."
— "Yes. A happy ending"
Frances nodded, breath short. She hated herself for caring so much when her life had changed, hated Alana for bringing it up on her wedding day. The debriefing with Hannibal was going to hurt, and she would need time to come to terms with her feelings. How jealous was he going to be? Tristan already knew that she had been in love with an elf before meeting him in the fifth century; it didn't mean Hannibal would accept it anew. Could life be more complicated?
Will and Alana left not long afterwards, feeling the shift in the mood quite keenly. And if Will's eyes promised Frances to have a long talk, she embraced him all the same to thank him for walking her down the aisle.
And when Hannibal brought her to bed, his eyes guarded, Frances sighed.
— "You have much to explain, wife," he said, tugging on his ascot tie.
The young woman refused the sadness that wanted to take hold of her heart, replacing Hannibal's fingers instead. The gesture of a wife towards her husband. The psychiatrist's hands settled upon her hips as she worked, his intense gaze boring holes into her skull.
— "Tomorrow, Hannibal," she stated firmly.
Once the ascot untied, her hands roamed his broad shoulders, coming to rest on each side of his marvellous cheekbones. He was so beautiful, so incredibly carved.
— "This evening is all about us, and I'd rather fall asleep in your arms after our lovemaking that dig up the past."
Her words seem to hit home, for Hannibal's features relaxed instantly. She was acknowledging their bond, and newlywed status. Setting priorities, telling him that today, he was more important than anything else. For once, it was all he needed.
The psychiatrist covered her hands with his own, dipping to kiss the beautiful woman that had decided to grace his life. This night, Hannibal endeavoured to show his wife how much he loved her. How her attention touched him, how her singing had called his heart, and her beauty enthralled him. Unlacing the long flowing dress, he found a set of lacy underwear that washed, for the moment, at least, the questions that danced in his mind. The sight of her creamy skin covered in this stunning set of garter belt, plunging bra and knickers of dentelle de Calais caused every other function to shut down effectively.
Frances welcomed him warmly, as usual, relishing in every caress, every kiss, every single breath and moan that escaped him. Little by little, he shed the layers that covered her soft skin, his sensual lips replacing the items to keep her warm. Her little hands gently freed him from the three-piece suit, her own mouth roaming his body as if he was made of candy. How good her lips felt upon his bare body! How flattering the gleam of greediness in her eyes as she took in his naked form. How sensual the moan that escaped her when she climbed in his lap, engulfing him in the depths of her core.
This evening, Hannibal and Frances danced once more the intimate waltz of love between the pristine sheets.
So, little plot twost of non consequence. The perks of alternate realities hehe.
Pleeeaaaase leave a review. I am flying blind in that mess since the people who read me don't tell me if their likes/dislikes.