Fall

shemalfoy13:

One day, with no distinctive characteristic, other than it was a gala, the couple met.

It had been years since they saw each other last, and upon laying eyes one on the other, they were rendered speechless, for seasons had made drastic changes on their appearances.

Whereas once they had been young kids, barely teenagers, with soft features, and overflowing energy, now they were adults, to whom time had drawn new lines on their faces, and added curves and planes to their bodies.

He saw the Princess he’d never met before. Long, red and gold dress, fitted to her chest, hugging her hips, and draping down to caress the floor with each of her gracious steps. Her hair was longer, and only half of it up, adorned by her crown and a few filigree leaves, that laced on her top knot. She was courteous, refined, so much that she made everyone else at the room feel inadequate, even the host, with her delicate regalia, and poise. She was walking towards him, and he felt the air leave his lungs.

She saw the warrior she didn’t quite remember. Silky blue hues, that showed his new status of Councilman, hugging tight over muscles that weren’t there before. Broad shoulders, strong arms, a thick beard covering his squared jaw, but with his characteristic wolf tail. His height, although imposing, given that he towered over most people in the room, was not what attracted people to him, but his charisma. His laugh filled the vast ballroom, and he turned heads, hers included, and before she knew what she was doing, her feet took her to him.

Their conversation was polite, tentative, after all, last time they saw each other, they were on opposite sides of a war, and she was very enthusiastic about ending him and his friends. She made a joke about it, partly ashamed of her own twisted humor, and when he laughed and returned the jab, her cheeks coloured.

He offered a drink, a dance, she asked for a way out of the room instead; galas were her brother’s thing, she just had to attend because appearances were important when one was trying to prove recovery. But what if you leave, he’d asked, won’t that harm your image? Not if I leave with you, she answered. He offered his arm with a warm smile, and she took it with a warm chest.

The night was clear, and the stars shone on her hair adornments, and the buckles on his coat as they walked the gardens; in silence, conversing, joking, discreetly probing at the other’s interest, catching up on what had happened in the past years. He told her about his job at the city, she avoided talking about the asylum; he explained about his inventions, his projects, she told him about the developments she’d made with lightning bending, and the ways in which she helped her brother.

And when the gardens, and the safe words ran short, she apologised. Brief, but honest, she told him about the past that lead her to the hunt, the fight, the taunts, the broken perfection. He took her hands in his, and assured it wasn’t needed, he knew, not back then, but now he did, and he forgave her. She nodded, unable to say much more. He took the silence as an opportunity, ever the strategist, and led her under a tree.

There was nothing special about that tree in particular, in fact, it was the same kind that as in the rest of the gardens. But it was big, and its treetop had fallen almost entirely, the leaves creating a makeshift pillow to where he led her.

If she was uncomfortable, if this was not what Princesses did, sit on the ground on a bunch of leaves, she did not complain, but played with them as he fixed some more to take a seat next to her. They match the ones on your hair, he said, and she took a hand up to touch them, a small blush on her cheeks. He moved closer to her. They don’t match anything in you, she said after a moment of exploration on his appearance. He laughed, and she shifted, leaning into his shoulder.

If he minded, if this was not apt for her to do with someone whose life she’d threatened in the past, he didn’t complain, but draped his arm around her shoulders, and rested his back against the tree. Will your friends not worry that you’re with me, she asked, after a moment of silence. He took his free hand to cup her cheek. I’d be more worried of your brother, when he finds out you left with me, he answered, tilting her head up to meet her eyes. She closed the distance and kissed him.

It was soft, and deep, and they let their hands explore one another slowly, not a single garment off, not a hair out of place. Just their tongues tasting each other, their fingers tracing the visible skin, pressing on the covered one, and letting their minds work out the rest. And it was perfect like that, there was no rush, no place to go, nothing else to do but enjoy the moment. The full moon above, the fallen leaves under, the silver of his coat and the golden of her dress.

It had been a day like any other, with no distinctive characteristic, other than it was autumn, on a pillow of fallen leaves, in garden, in a palace, that summer and winter fell in love.