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ayane_tsurugi
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rarepair_shortsAuthor: peskywhistpaw
Recipient:ayane_tsurugi
Title: What Lies Beneath the Stars
Pairing: Rowena/Salazar
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~915
Summary: Rowena is lonely, he knows. Of the four of them, it is she with the hardest heart; yet it is also she who longs for love the most, in spite of everything she has and is and aspires to be.
Author's Notes: I’m sorry this turned out rather angsty and not much fun. You had some wonderful pairings to choose from, but this is the one that stuck, I guess, even though I don’t usually pair them together.
What Lies Beneath the Stars
He is silent as he slips out of the castle, cloak slithering like a snake along the grass. His boots do not sink into the ground, though it has rained heavily for nigh upon a week, and the wind still howls and thrashes about in the distant forests. Lightning strikes the mountaintops.
Yet above, the sky is clear, for tonight, the clouds dare not break their oath.
Salazar is the storm.
Rowena turns to him, even before he is near enough to hear. She is not surprised. She only nods at him in a way that would seem cold to anyone who does not understand her completely, who cannot in the way that he can. He knows her thoughts. Sometimes, he believes he knows her heart, though it is as changing as it is steadfast.
She does not know his. She pretends to, perhaps, for she knows everything else, and cannot tolerate her own ignorance. Yet he knows her; he sees her uncertainty and her flaws. Her potential. Her fear. She does not trust his eyes, and this is what they both know best.
“Your senses never fail you,” he says once he is close. His lips curve into a smile – one that is only ever for her.
“Never,” she agrees. It is not always a lie. Tonight, she notices his smile, and her heart flutters in due course, though her eyes remain fixed upon the sky. She is steadfast and changing. She craves what she knows he can give, and knows what price she would pay to take it. Of this much she is certain: there is a darkness that brews within him that has not yet been released. She does not wish to end its captivity.
“Perhaps your senses are more trustworthy than your stars,” he suggests.
This tears her eyes away. “They are not my stars,” she says tightly, “no more than they are possessed by anyone. And they cannot deceive me with their messages. Nay, Salazar. There is nothing that I trust more.”
“Then you misplace your trust in fate and fortunes. I had not thought you so foolish as that.”
Her eyes flash. “You are the fool.”
“Centaurs read the stars, Rowena. It is their nature to mislead, and so they have made fortune-telling their craft. You are no beast of the wood, and should not fall prey to the crudeness of their games. The stars are not worthy of you.”
Even without the light of the moon, he can see her shoulders tense. “Then what is more worthy of my attention than the stars? Is it yourself, Salazar? Is this what you have come to tell me tonight?”
She seeks a confession; he can hear it in her wild thoughts. There is a thrill in the soaring of her heart as she dares to wait for her question to be affirmed, though she feigns disinterest and disgust. She is never as strong as she pretends – he does not need stars to tell him that.
“I have come with no intention.” His voice sends a shiver darting down her spine. When he places his hand gently on her arm, she does not pull away, but forgoes her coldness to lean slightly into his touch.
Rowena is lonely, he knows. Of the four of them, it is she with the hardest heart; yet it is also she who longs for love the most, in spite of everything she has and is and aspires to be. Hers is a particular greed that desires innocently and naturally, but continues always, reaching out to grasp what can be taken – and what cannot. It is her greatest weakness, after pride.
She closes her eyes. “You are never without intention, I fear. It is what drives you.”
Salazar regards her quietly in this rare moment of openness. Her lips are sadder than they once were, her cheeks less lively. He remembers that once her hair shone nearly blue beneath the night sky; but now it is black, not dull, not lustrous. Rowena is an in-between place, ready to face a sweeping storm. And as it comes to her walls, it will either barrel through them or fortify them forever.
“That is not all that drives me.”
A night bird calls out in the darkness, a piercing sweetness to its solitude.
Suddenly shy, she turns away.
“We are fated to live among the stars, Salazar,” she tells him, returning to an old subject. She finds security in the past. “Our doings are mapped out between them. Then someday we will pass from this earth, and someday not long after, we will be found only through the labor of old charts. Eventually, we will no longer be sought, for I fear there will remain no being to hear our whispers. There is a sadness in the stars, Salazar, for already there are those who do not believe them. I do not lightly trust stories and superstitions, you know that I do not. Yet I...”
He touches her arm once more, cups her chin.
She swallows. “I will not abandon the...”
His thumb brushes her cheek, and he catches the last word as it tumbles from her lips.
Hope.
The trees begin to creak anew with the coming of another storm. Behind them, the castle stirs.
“There are better vessels in which to place your faith.”
peskywhistpawRecipient:
ayane_tsurugiTitle: What Lies Beneath the Stars
Pairing: Rowena/Salazar
Rating: PG
Word Count: ~915
Summary: Rowena is lonely, he knows. Of the four of them, it is she with the hardest heart; yet it is also she who longs for love the most, in spite of everything she has and is and aspires to be.
Author's Notes: I’m sorry this turned out rather angsty and not much fun. You had some wonderful pairings to choose from, but this is the one that stuck, I guess, even though I don’t usually pair them together.
He is silent as he slips out of the castle, cloak slithering like a snake along the grass. His boots do not sink into the ground, though it has rained heavily for nigh upon a week, and the wind still howls and thrashes about in the distant forests. Lightning strikes the mountaintops.
Yet above, the sky is clear, for tonight, the clouds dare not break their oath.
Salazar is the storm.
Rowena turns to him, even before he is near enough to hear. She is not surprised. She only nods at him in a way that would seem cold to anyone who does not understand her completely, who cannot in the way that he can. He knows her thoughts. Sometimes, he believes he knows her heart, though it is as changing as it is steadfast.
She does not know his. She pretends to, perhaps, for she knows everything else, and cannot tolerate her own ignorance. Yet he knows her; he sees her uncertainty and her flaws. Her potential. Her fear. She does not trust his eyes, and this is what they both know best.
“Your senses never fail you,” he says once he is close. His lips curve into a smile – one that is only ever for her.
“Never,” she agrees. It is not always a lie. Tonight, she notices his smile, and her heart flutters in due course, though her eyes remain fixed upon the sky. She is steadfast and changing. She craves what she knows he can give, and knows what price she would pay to take it. Of this much she is certain: there is a darkness that brews within him that has not yet been released. She does not wish to end its captivity.
“Perhaps your senses are more trustworthy than your stars,” he suggests.
This tears her eyes away. “They are not my stars,” she says tightly, “no more than they are possessed by anyone. And they cannot deceive me with their messages. Nay, Salazar. There is nothing that I trust more.”
“Then you misplace your trust in fate and fortunes. I had not thought you so foolish as that.”
Her eyes flash. “You are the fool.”
“Centaurs read the stars, Rowena. It is their nature to mislead, and so they have made fortune-telling their craft. You are no beast of the wood, and should not fall prey to the crudeness of their games. The stars are not worthy of you.”
Even without the light of the moon, he can see her shoulders tense. “Then what is more worthy of my attention than the stars? Is it yourself, Salazar? Is this what you have come to tell me tonight?”
She seeks a confession; he can hear it in her wild thoughts. There is a thrill in the soaring of her heart as she dares to wait for her question to be affirmed, though she feigns disinterest and disgust. She is never as strong as she pretends – he does not need stars to tell him that.
“I have come with no intention.” His voice sends a shiver darting down her spine. When he places his hand gently on her arm, she does not pull away, but forgoes her coldness to lean slightly into his touch.
Rowena is lonely, he knows. Of the four of them, it is she with the hardest heart; yet it is also she who longs for love the most, in spite of everything she has and is and aspires to be. Hers is a particular greed that desires innocently and naturally, but continues always, reaching out to grasp what can be taken – and what cannot. It is her greatest weakness, after pride.
She closes her eyes. “You are never without intention, I fear. It is what drives you.”
Salazar regards her quietly in this rare moment of openness. Her lips are sadder than they once were, her cheeks less lively. He remembers that once her hair shone nearly blue beneath the night sky; but now it is black, not dull, not lustrous. Rowena is an in-between place, ready to face a sweeping storm. And as it comes to her walls, it will either barrel through them or fortify them forever.
“That is not all that drives me.”
A night bird calls out in the darkness, a piercing sweetness to its solitude.
Suddenly shy, she turns away.
“We are fated to live among the stars, Salazar,” she tells him, returning to an old subject. She finds security in the past. “Our doings are mapped out between them. Then someday we will pass from this earth, and someday not long after, we will be found only through the labor of old charts. Eventually, we will no longer be sought, for I fear there will remain no being to hear our whispers. There is a sadness in the stars, Salazar, for already there are those who do not believe them. I do not lightly trust stories and superstitions, you know that I do not. Yet I...”
He touches her arm once more, cups her chin.
She swallows. “I will not abandon the...”
His thumb brushes her cheek, and he catches the last word as it tumbles from her lips.
Hope.
The trees begin to creak anew with the coming of another storm. Behind them, the castle stirs.
“There are better vessels in which to place your faith.”
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Date: 2010-02-23 10:08 pm (UTC)no subject
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