Fanfic: Color Schemes (1/1)
Jan. 13th, 2006 03:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dangermousieTitle: Color Schemes
Fandom: Escaflowne.
Pairing: Allen/Marlene. Yeah, I am writing a fic for a pairing nobody seems to like (if my brief glance around the net is correct).
Summary: In the fairy stories she read as a child, the beautiful princess would always but always have a faithful knight and they would fall in love and marry and live happily ever after, whatever that meant, with propriety and servants and sunrises and moonrises that were perfect on command.
A/N: I am not sure about the tenses and would really like a feedback telling me if this works, a.k.a. beta.
She loved him. Of course she did. And she knew she could have him, forever and ever, gold hair mixing with gold, steady eyes looking into limpid blue. In the fairy stories she read as a child, the beautiful princess would always but always have a faithful knight and they would fall in love and marry and live happily ever after, whatever that meant, with propriety and servants and sunrises and moonrises that were perfect on command.
Immediacy. She is caught in the now.
From the moment she saw him, kneeling in the arena, elegant hands and a heavy sword, grace in his stillness (and the remembered spare violence, like a whisper, or an afterthought, still faint about him), she had wanted him like one wants to solve a puzzle, or a fine new gown, or the way she loved the swings as a child.
There are meetings in gardens and on roofs and in corridors musty with disuse. Every time his hair glints in candlelight, it reminds her of the first time she saw him and the sun caught the glint of blue in his doublet and his eyes. She feels the heat and the dust of the arena on her skin, and she wants to pull him to her (and does, sometimes), and to hold hard enough to bruise.
Days go by, and weeks, and months. There are offers for her hand, and she hears of them on a regular basis. She thinks of them between her daily walks, and on hearing the chatter of the maids, and when she breaks up his kiss to swim up for air.
A few months later, her marriage is set and she tries to argue against it, but the court machine proceeds and her protests are unheard. Her sisters come to visit and they look at the gallery of portraits on the second floor, and at her jewels neatly packed in their boxes, and they look at her servants, and her guards and Allen. She tries to argue with her father again, and she brings up Allen, and her feelings, as a last resort, feeling her fairy tale slipping away through her fingers, and there are scenes and more scenes, and orders for Allen to be transferred from his post.
She can never remember afterwards if he finds her, or she finds him, or if they stumble into each other in a rush of hands and lips and teeth and breath that feels too short. He isn't graceful for once.
It isn't the end of it, of course. They fight again (others and each other) and they lose again and everything moves on.
She can't have him, she realizes. She will get married where she should and to whom she should. Golden knights will stay in fairy tales and she will have a husband who is good-looking, and royal, and kind. And in time, if she is lucky, she will love again and be glad.
There are long blond strands of hair on her pillow. She wishes they were his.
Fandom: Escaflowne.
Pairing: Allen/Marlene. Yeah, I am writing a fic for a pairing nobody seems to like (if my brief glance around the net is correct).
Summary: In the fairy stories she read as a child, the beautiful princess would always but always have a faithful knight and they would fall in love and marry and live happily ever after, whatever that meant, with propriety and servants and sunrises and moonrises that were perfect on command.
A/N: I am not sure about the tenses and would really like a feedback telling me if this works, a.k.a. beta.
She loved him. Of course she did. And she knew she could have him, forever and ever, gold hair mixing with gold, steady eyes looking into limpid blue. In the fairy stories she read as a child, the beautiful princess would always but always have a faithful knight and they would fall in love and marry and live happily ever after, whatever that meant, with propriety and servants and sunrises and moonrises that were perfect on command.
Immediacy. She is caught in the now.
From the moment she saw him, kneeling in the arena, elegant hands and a heavy sword, grace in his stillness (and the remembered spare violence, like a whisper, or an afterthought, still faint about him), she had wanted him like one wants to solve a puzzle, or a fine new gown, or the way she loved the swings as a child.
There are meetings in gardens and on roofs and in corridors musty with disuse. Every time his hair glints in candlelight, it reminds her of the first time she saw him and the sun caught the glint of blue in his doublet and his eyes. She feels the heat and the dust of the arena on her skin, and she wants to pull him to her (and does, sometimes), and to hold hard enough to bruise.
Days go by, and weeks, and months. There are offers for her hand, and she hears of them on a regular basis. She thinks of them between her daily walks, and on hearing the chatter of the maids, and when she breaks up his kiss to swim up for air.
A few months later, her marriage is set and she tries to argue against it, but the court machine proceeds and her protests are unheard. Her sisters come to visit and they look at the gallery of portraits on the second floor, and at her jewels neatly packed in their boxes, and they look at her servants, and her guards and Allen. She tries to argue with her father again, and she brings up Allen, and her feelings, as a last resort, feeling her fairy tale slipping away through her fingers, and there are scenes and more scenes, and orders for Allen to be transferred from his post.
She can never remember afterwards if he finds her, or she finds him, or if they stumble into each other in a rush of hands and lips and teeth and breath that feels too short. He isn't graceful for once.
It isn't the end of it, of course. They fight again (others and each other) and they lose again and everything moves on.
She can't have him, she realizes. She will get married where she should and to whom she should. Golden knights will stay in fairy tales and she will have a husband who is good-looking, and royal, and kind. And in time, if she is lucky, she will love again and be glad.
There are long blond strands of hair on her pillow. She wishes they were his.
