The Raven King’s Ball
Jan. 1st, 2017 08:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scripsiI’m home. I love Prague. Will be more coherent later. But here is my main Yuletide fic:
Title: The Raven King’s Ball
Fandom: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
Rating: All ages
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 1159
Characters/pairing: Jonathan Strange/Arabella Strange, Stephen Black/Emma Pole
Warnings: None
Summary: Four people who has lost each other meet again for an enchanted night.
AN: Thanks to tantamoqwrites for beta!
*
Emma Wintertowne longed to go to a ball. She wanted to dance in a white muslin gown with a wreath of pink roses in her hair. The handsomest gentleman would be her cavalier and everyone would look at her in awe and admiration. But when you can’t take more than a few steps without coughing, dancing can not even be contemplated. Instead she poured over the dance manuals, memorized the steps, learned the music, and danced in her daydreams. When death gave her back to life, she came filled with energy and and though she had never taken a dance step before, she found knew them all as if she had been drilled since childhood. She got her muslin gown and her roses, and everyone looked at her as she danced. For a few weeks, Emma was happy. She would never, she felt, grow tired of dancing.
**
The only time Stephen felt any solace in Lost-Hope was when he danced with Lady Pole. The touch of the faeries were always a tad too cool, only Lady Pole’s hand was warm and human in his. At first they did not dance often. For a long time the Gentleman allowed no one to dance with his prize but himself, though on occasion he could grant Stephen a turn. Only because Stephen was, he always said, the man he admired most in any world. But as the years passed, the Gentleman’s interest waned and Stephen would often dance with Lady Pole several times every night.
He got to know her in well during those dances. They held a conversation in bits and pieces, mere minutes at the time, but over the years she told him everything about her life. What she had once dreamed and hoped for before she had been sold to the Gentleman, and what she would do if she was free. And in return Stephen told her about himself. One night he realised she knew more about him than anyone else, and that he loved her. It’s hard to not love someone you share an endless ordeal with, and harder still to not love someone who knows your heart. Emboldened by his feelings he danced her away from the throngs of faeries, finding a solitary alcove behind a pillar. He kissed her there and she tasted like freedom, like he held a small piece of heaven in his arms.
After the Gentleman’s demise the ballroom of Lost-Hope stood silent and empty. Stephen had told his subjects he had vowed not to dance again until his wedding day. Such vows were not unknown in Faerie, so no one questioned him. He had not told them he would never marry.
***
As time passed in the Darkness, Jonathan found it was the small things in life he regretted the most. Having breakfast with his wife. Taking a stroll. Dance. Arabella had been fond of dancing, but he had never had the time for it. Now he remembered those balls where he had been too busy discussing magic to properly notice how Arabella’s eyes came alight when she heard the music. He had, all too freely, given her away to dance with a string of admiring men and he had prided himself for not being jealous. But Arabella had wanted to dance with him, and now it was too late. Sometimes he stole away from the library where he and Mr. Norrell worked. There was a ballroom at Hurtfew Abbey, a room which had never been used for as long as Mr. Norrell had had his residency there. Now Jonathan danced there alone whenever his longing for his wife grew too strong. He imagined he held her little hand in his in a brightly lit room as he swirled over the unpolished and dusty floor in darkness.
****
Arabella had decided to not wear widow’s weeds, but she gave up on dancing. It didn’t feel the same when she couldn’t turn her head to see Jonathan whenever she wanted. She had always been able to find him, tucked into a corner. Despite being deep into an animated discussion, he always sensed her gaze. His head would go up and then he would see her and smile, just for her. Arabella didn’t mind he didn’t dance, not as long as he was still there with her. Now, when she chaperoned Flora, the crowded balls felt strangely empty. She usually watched her young friend, but sometimes she couldn’t help herself and she found herself searching among the people after the one guest who was never there.
*****
They met in a meadow, under a full moon and many stars. Arabella and Emma in their white nightgowns, the former very sensible in plain cotton, the latter a cloud of lacy gauze. Jonathan’s striped nightshirt and bare legs could have made him look very silly, but did not, even compared to Stephen. The king of Faerie wore a dressing gown in red velvet, so stately and adorned with goldwork he could look nothing less than sovereignty personified despite looking very surprised.
They all stared at each other in amazement, but as soon as Emma saw Stephen she bore down on him.
“How could you! How can you do this to me when you know how I detest magic?”
“Lady Pole. Emma. It is not I who has done it. I would never-” His voice broke. “How can you think I would do anything to hurt you?”
Emma's face softened. “No, you would not. I’m sorry. But where are we?”
“Not in Faerie.” Jonathan said, looking up from his wife’s fierce embrace. “England, I think, but it’s not quite real either. I would say we are all sharing the same dream. Magic, for sure, but only temporary magic. I wonder why we are here.”
There was suddenly music all around them, though they could see no orchestra. Piping flutes and rumbling drums, solemn and eerie.
“Well,” Arabella said. “Even if this is just a dream, it is still quite cold. And as there is music, I suggest we keep ourselves warm with a dance.”
She looked at Emma. “Even if I know you don’t like dancing anymore.”
“I will make an exception for tonight.” Emma reached out her hand to Stephen and smiled. “I have missed dancing with you.”
They danced. The music played unfamiliar tunes, but they danced the dances they knew by heart. Gazes and hands meeting, parting, only to meet again. All their longing and love expressed in minute caresses which nevertheless spoke loudly in their minds. The strange music gradually changed. The tempo increased, and the tone turned faster and joyous, jubilant even. In the end they chased each other more than they danced, breathless with laughter. Then the music abruptly stopped, and they woke up.
Alone in their beds in the morning light or in darkness; in Faerie, England and somewhere else, they did not feel despair over what they had lost. They felt hope.
Title: The Raven King’s Ball
Fandom: Jonathan Strange & Mr Norrell
Rating: All ages
Genre: Drama
Word Count: 1159
Characters/pairing: Jonathan Strange/Arabella Strange, Stephen Black/Emma Pole
Warnings: None
Summary: Four people who has lost each other meet again for an enchanted night.
AN: Thanks to tantamoqwrites for beta!
*
Emma Wintertowne longed to go to a ball. She wanted to dance in a white muslin gown with a wreath of pink roses in her hair. The handsomest gentleman would be her cavalier and everyone would look at her in awe and admiration. But when you can’t take more than a few steps without coughing, dancing can not even be contemplated. Instead she poured over the dance manuals, memorized the steps, learned the music, and danced in her daydreams. When death gave her back to life, she came filled with energy and and though she had never taken a dance step before, she found knew them all as if she had been drilled since childhood. She got her muslin gown and her roses, and everyone looked at her as she danced. For a few weeks, Emma was happy. She would never, she felt, grow tired of dancing.
**
The only time Stephen felt any solace in Lost-Hope was when he danced with Lady Pole. The touch of the faeries were always a tad too cool, only Lady Pole’s hand was warm and human in his. At first they did not dance often. For a long time the Gentleman allowed no one to dance with his prize but himself, though on occasion he could grant Stephen a turn. Only because Stephen was, he always said, the man he admired most in any world. But as the years passed, the Gentleman’s interest waned and Stephen would often dance with Lady Pole several times every night.
He got to know her in well during those dances. They held a conversation in bits and pieces, mere minutes at the time, but over the years she told him everything about her life. What she had once dreamed and hoped for before she had been sold to the Gentleman, and what she would do if she was free. And in return Stephen told her about himself. One night he realised she knew more about him than anyone else, and that he loved her. It’s hard to not love someone you share an endless ordeal with, and harder still to not love someone who knows your heart. Emboldened by his feelings he danced her away from the throngs of faeries, finding a solitary alcove behind a pillar. He kissed her there and she tasted like freedom, like he held a small piece of heaven in his arms.
After the Gentleman’s demise the ballroom of Lost-Hope stood silent and empty. Stephen had told his subjects he had vowed not to dance again until his wedding day. Such vows were not unknown in Faerie, so no one questioned him. He had not told them he would never marry.
***
As time passed in the Darkness, Jonathan found it was the small things in life he regretted the most. Having breakfast with his wife. Taking a stroll. Dance. Arabella had been fond of dancing, but he had never had the time for it. Now he remembered those balls where he had been too busy discussing magic to properly notice how Arabella’s eyes came alight when she heard the music. He had, all too freely, given her away to dance with a string of admiring men and he had prided himself for not being jealous. But Arabella had wanted to dance with him, and now it was too late. Sometimes he stole away from the library where he and Mr. Norrell worked. There was a ballroom at Hurtfew Abbey, a room which had never been used for as long as Mr. Norrell had had his residency there. Now Jonathan danced there alone whenever his longing for his wife grew too strong. He imagined he held her little hand in his in a brightly lit room as he swirled over the unpolished and dusty floor in darkness.
****
Arabella had decided to not wear widow’s weeds, but she gave up on dancing. It didn’t feel the same when she couldn’t turn her head to see Jonathan whenever she wanted. She had always been able to find him, tucked into a corner. Despite being deep into an animated discussion, he always sensed her gaze. His head would go up and then he would see her and smile, just for her. Arabella didn’t mind he didn’t dance, not as long as he was still there with her. Now, when she chaperoned Flora, the crowded balls felt strangely empty. She usually watched her young friend, but sometimes she couldn’t help herself and she found herself searching among the people after the one guest who was never there.
*****
They met in a meadow, under a full moon and many stars. Arabella and Emma in their white nightgowns, the former very sensible in plain cotton, the latter a cloud of lacy gauze. Jonathan’s striped nightshirt and bare legs could have made him look very silly, but did not, even compared to Stephen. The king of Faerie wore a dressing gown in red velvet, so stately and adorned with goldwork he could look nothing less than sovereignty personified despite looking very surprised.
They all stared at each other in amazement, but as soon as Emma saw Stephen she bore down on him.
“How could you! How can you do this to me when you know how I detest magic?”
“Lady Pole. Emma. It is not I who has done it. I would never-” His voice broke. “How can you think I would do anything to hurt you?”
Emma's face softened. “No, you would not. I’m sorry. But where are we?”
“Not in Faerie.” Jonathan said, looking up from his wife’s fierce embrace. “England, I think, but it’s not quite real either. I would say we are all sharing the same dream. Magic, for sure, but only temporary magic. I wonder why we are here.”
There was suddenly music all around them, though they could see no orchestra. Piping flutes and rumbling drums, solemn and eerie.
“Well,” Arabella said. “Even if this is just a dream, it is still quite cold. And as there is music, I suggest we keep ourselves warm with a dance.”
She looked at Emma. “Even if I know you don’t like dancing anymore.”
“I will make an exception for tonight.” Emma reached out her hand to Stephen and smiled. “I have missed dancing with you.”
They danced. The music played unfamiliar tunes, but they danced the dances they knew by heart. Gazes and hands meeting, parting, only to meet again. All their longing and love expressed in minute caresses which nevertheless spoke loudly in their minds. The strange music gradually changed. The tempo increased, and the tone turned faster and joyous, jubilant even. In the end they chased each other more than they danced, breathless with laughter. Then the music abruptly stopped, and they woke up.
Alone in their beds in the morning light or in darkness; in Faerie, England and somewhere else, they did not feel despair over what they had lost. They felt hope.
