Post by Muse on Jun 9, 2011 1:30:56 GMT 10
Title: Sometimes
Rating: PG
Word Count: 742
Prompt: Dream - #23
Summary: Sometimes, Gwynnen dreams. (Possibilities 1)
A/N: Special thanks to Nat for beta-ing!
Sometimes Gwynnen dreams, and she loves these dreams because they have magic and high adventure and dashing romances like in the stories her nurse told her before she was old enough to go to convent. Surrounded by high stone walls and the do’s and don’ts of being a Court Lady, Gwynnen closes her eyes and dreams of escape and freedom and her blond knight in shining armor offers her his hand.
Her father’s manservant isn’t blond, or a prince, but he offers her his arm just the same when she arrives in Corus, at the palace, and she wonders if this is what freedom feels like. There are princes and squires and knights, just like in the old tales, but no one at court is quite like the blond knight in her dreams.
Sometimes Gwynnen dreams, and she loves these dreams because she can share them with Cythera, her closest friend at Court, behind their hands and giggles while they picnic in the sloping gardens of the Palace. They braid daisy chains, which they drape over the ever good-natured Sacherell and Douglass, and Gwynnen whispers into Cythera’s ear about how her shy blond knight holds her hand gently, smiling just so as he leads her on the dance floor.
“So, he’s more graceful than these?” Cythera remarks, so that Gareth the Younger and Raoul, who sit near their flower bedecked squires, can hear. Gary, who had asked Cythera to dance the night previous, flushed dully as Cythera and Gwynnen gave in to peals of laughter.
“Of course,” Gwynnen informed her friend seriously, “he’s much more like Squire Alan or the Prince, except without Alan’s temper or the Prince’s flair for women!” She dissolves again, giggling madly in the early summer sunlight, and living like this is almost better than her dreams.
Sometimes Gwynnen dreams, and she loves these dreams because they are dreams of Court and of ladies and knights and adventure and romances and Gwynnen finally knows that the tales from her childhood are based on something real. Sometimes, when Gwynnen dreams these things, they’re as real as the life she lives in Corus, but there’s someone else there, in her dream, and she doesn’t know anyone with blond hair and a shy smile. Her knight, no matter how many times he smiles at her, makes her laugh, no matter how many times she teases him until his ears burn dark red against his fair hair or laces her fingers with his, her knight disappears when she opens her eyes and her romance lives only inside her head.
Sometimes Gwynnen dreams, but the paper cut on her finger as she opens the letter beads up red with blood and her stomach sinks. Her mother’s words are light and flowery and dreamless, grounded firmly by her father’s steel will, and for the first time Gwynnen feels sorry for her mother. Gwynnen’s dreams are the same as always that night, her knight romancing her in the slow summer twilight, but when Gwynnen wakes she has no illusions left to her.
She’s slower to laugh with Cythera, and for the first time, she’d rather not chatter about knights and adventure and love and heroic deeds; her knight doesn’t come up in conversation. Gwynnen dreams, but when her father arrives to escort her home, the hoof beats underneath the carriage break up every thought and she isn’t able to retreat to the familiar embrace of her knight in shining armor.
Sometimes Gwynnen dreams, and she wants to love these dreams and she wants to believe in these dreams but romance isn’t only supposed to exist in her head, she reminds herself as she smiles sadly across the dinner table-- her fiancée is old blood and rich and her parents beam happily. She thinks of her knight, her blond knight with the gentle eyes who offered her a single daisy, and she sits straighter while inside her heart crumbles just a bit more.
She’s glad romances exist inside her head, she reminds herself as her father places her hand in the groom’s wrinkled paw. He speaks his vows, jowls wobbling, and Gwynnen bites back her tears before she replies with her own vows, looking beyond the pale skin and clammy fingers clutching at her hands.
Sometimes Gwynnen dreams, and her shy blond knight wraps an arm around her shoulder and whispers romance in her ear and just for a moment, dressed in white, she smiles true.
Rating: PG
Word Count: 742
Prompt: Dream - #23
Summary: Sometimes, Gwynnen dreams. (Possibilities 1)
A/N: Special thanks to Nat for beta-ing!
Sometimes Gwynnen dreams, and she loves these dreams because they have magic and high adventure and dashing romances like in the stories her nurse told her before she was old enough to go to convent. Surrounded by high stone walls and the do’s and don’ts of being a Court Lady, Gwynnen closes her eyes and dreams of escape and freedom and her blond knight in shining armor offers her his hand.
Her father’s manservant isn’t blond, or a prince, but he offers her his arm just the same when she arrives in Corus, at the palace, and she wonders if this is what freedom feels like. There are princes and squires and knights, just like in the old tales, but no one at court is quite like the blond knight in her dreams.
Sometimes Gwynnen dreams, and she loves these dreams because she can share them with Cythera, her closest friend at Court, behind their hands and giggles while they picnic in the sloping gardens of the Palace. They braid daisy chains, which they drape over the ever good-natured Sacherell and Douglass, and Gwynnen whispers into Cythera’s ear about how her shy blond knight holds her hand gently, smiling just so as he leads her on the dance floor.
“So, he’s more graceful than these?” Cythera remarks, so that Gareth the Younger and Raoul, who sit near their flower bedecked squires, can hear. Gary, who had asked Cythera to dance the night previous, flushed dully as Cythera and Gwynnen gave in to peals of laughter.
“Of course,” Gwynnen informed her friend seriously, “he’s much more like Squire Alan or the Prince, except without Alan’s temper or the Prince’s flair for women!” She dissolves again, giggling madly in the early summer sunlight, and living like this is almost better than her dreams.
Sometimes Gwynnen dreams, and she loves these dreams because they are dreams of Court and of ladies and knights and adventure and romances and Gwynnen finally knows that the tales from her childhood are based on something real. Sometimes, when Gwynnen dreams these things, they’re as real as the life she lives in Corus, but there’s someone else there, in her dream, and she doesn’t know anyone with blond hair and a shy smile. Her knight, no matter how many times he smiles at her, makes her laugh, no matter how many times she teases him until his ears burn dark red against his fair hair or laces her fingers with his, her knight disappears when she opens her eyes and her romance lives only inside her head.
Sometimes Gwynnen dreams, but the paper cut on her finger as she opens the letter beads up red with blood and her stomach sinks. Her mother’s words are light and flowery and dreamless, grounded firmly by her father’s steel will, and for the first time Gwynnen feels sorry for her mother. Gwynnen’s dreams are the same as always that night, her knight romancing her in the slow summer twilight, but when Gwynnen wakes she has no illusions left to her.
She’s slower to laugh with Cythera, and for the first time, she’d rather not chatter about knights and adventure and love and heroic deeds; her knight doesn’t come up in conversation. Gwynnen dreams, but when her father arrives to escort her home, the hoof beats underneath the carriage break up every thought and she isn’t able to retreat to the familiar embrace of her knight in shining armor.
Sometimes Gwynnen dreams, and she wants to love these dreams and she wants to believe in these dreams but romance isn’t only supposed to exist in her head, she reminds herself as she smiles sadly across the dinner table-- her fiancée is old blood and rich and her parents beam happily. She thinks of her knight, her blond knight with the gentle eyes who offered her a single daisy, and she sits straighter while inside her heart crumbles just a bit more.
She’s glad romances exist inside her head, she reminds herself as her father places her hand in the groom’s wrinkled paw. He speaks his vows, jowls wobbling, and Gwynnen bites back her tears before she replies with her own vows, looking beyond the pale skin and clammy fingers clutching at her hands.
Sometimes Gwynnen dreams, and her shy blond knight wraps an arm around her shoulder and whispers romance in her ear and just for a moment, dressed in white, she smiles true.