Post by indifferentred on Aug 13, 2012 22:22:59 GMT 10
Title: On Beltane Night
Rating: PG
Team: PotS/DL
Prompt: Conversations while dancing
Word Count: 1, 069
Summary (and any warnings): When he asks her to dance, she doesn’t expect the Inquisition…
Notes: A bit of semi-fluff on Thom and Cathrea, since my other two fics about them have been a bit brutal.
Margarry, Cathrea had to admit, certainly had a flair for entertaining. The courtyard was filled with elegantly dressed young people, mainly couples, and candlelight glinted off silks and gauzes. The merry hum of chatter and laughter provided a pleasant counterpoint to the minstrels currently playing. The night was temperate - it had rained that morning, but the afternoon had been graced by sunshine, and some of its warmth lingered yet. The stars and moon shone clearly over the scene, and Cathrea, somewhat blasphemously, wondered if the Goddess had had any hand in it.
“Will you not dance with me, Lady Cathrea?”
She looked up, found Thom of Pirate’s Swoop - Master Thom now, she supposed - standing at her elbow and blinked. She hadn’t even had any idea that he would be at this party, at Margarry and Owen’s town house. But, then, Owen knew Sir Nealan, and Sir Nealan had been squire to Master Thom’s mother, so… She sighed privately. The network of connections young nobles were expected to build up exhausted her at the best of times. At least, she thought, Thom was a more interesting companion than some of the gaping fools her sister’s household was hosting. “Just ‘Cathrea’,” she said at last. “I gave up all pretence to a title when I took vows.”
He took this as an invitation and sat down on the bench next to her. “Very well. Cathrea. Will you dance with me?” She adjusted the trailing sleeves of her high-necked white silk dress habit, saved for the great festivals and those social occasions she was expected to attend, and did not reply for a moment. Her veil of silver gauze, pinned in place over, and completely covering, her short dark hair, and trailing down her back, made her look much older than she probably was, Thom mused, and far more serious than she should be. Then: “It would not be proper.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Thom’s red head twitch with what she suspected was suppressed laughter and frowned. Her suspicion was proved right a moment later, when Thom spoke again; his voice was thick with amusement. “Not even at your own sister’s house?” He tutted softly. “And on Beltane night, too.”
Cathrea snorted. “Especially not on Beltane night,” she murmured dryly. She had chosen this bench so that she could remain out of the way and observe the party from a distance, but it now occurred to her that it was rather pleasant to sit here and talk to Thom, even if he did talk nonsense much of the time. He chuckled outright at her gentle rebuke. “I shall be the model of gentlemanly behaviour,” he promised. “I shan’t ask you to jump the embers with me, I give you my word.”
Eyes dancing, Cathrea fought to keep a straight face. She turned to face him properly. “Thank Mithros for small mercies. If you did, I should be forced to behave in a most unladylike manner.” Boldly standing, she extended her hand. “One dance, then.”
Once the initial awkwardness of positioning themselves was over with, Cathrea found that Thom was an elegant if not strictly practiced dancer. At least he knew the steps, which was more than could truly be said for her. Years of life in the temple had driven from her head any of the steps that she had learned as a youngster, and since taking vows she had never been called upon to teach the skill to any of the convent girls. Her train of thought seemed to fit in remarkably well with Thom’s, for after a moment, he asked, “What made you become a priestess? I remember you as a small child at Court, seven or so. Bright, laughing. I wouldn’t have expected it.”
She smiled and chanced a look down at their feet. “Because at all of nine years old, you were, of course, busy plotting the future careers of your playmates?” At this point, the steps required the dancing couples to split and twist amongst themselves, and Cathrea spun gracefully away from Thom to pair Sir Nealan. Satisfied, she made polite small-talk with her brother-in-law’s friend for the next movement, and by the time Thom skipped along the set to reclaim her (Nealan twirling back into the arms of Lady Yukimi), she had recovered her composure somewhat.
“You evade questions very well,” Thom grinned, and Cathrea narrowed her eyes. So he would persist, then! She sighed and accepted his hand once more. “My Gift made it easier, I suppose,” she murmured. “The training I could receive. The sense that I would be doing some sort of good.” She rarely ever spoke of this part of her life - she hadn’t even given Papa a true explanation, when her decision had been made, and her bags packed. “I see.” Thom looked thoughtful, but Cathrea sensed that he was trying to understand. Was this how he felt about his mage-work? But there was a glimmer of something else in his eyes too, something with which she was all too used to dealing.
Exasperation made her a little curt. “Master Thom, I’m well used to the idea that a woman becomes a Daughter of the Goddess because she cannot get a husband.” He opened his mouth, but she had not finished. “I assure you that this was not the case.”
He at least had the grace to blush. Sheepishly, Thom admitted, “I did wonder. You - “ paused, and shook his head. His mouth seemed more taught than it had done a moment ago, and his voice was very quiet when he said, “Forgive me.”
“Not at all,” she replied coolly, graciously. She was a Priestess of the Goddess, and ice. “What had your imagination conjured up?” she inquired, attempting a light tone. “A handsome but impoverished officer in the Own? A young knight?” Her mouth twisted disconcertingly. “If it relieves your conscience at all, I can tell you that, before I took vows, there were courtships and flirtations, but they never amounted to anything serious, and if they ever caused a broken heart, it was not mine.”
His greenish eyes flickered oddly and his hand tightened almost imperceptibly on hers. “Lady Cathrea, I am very glad to hear it.”
The music ended. Thom bowed, and before she could stop him, he had lightly kissed her fingertips and melted away into the crowd.
Rating: PG
Team: PotS/DL
Prompt: Conversations while dancing
Word Count: 1, 069
Summary (and any warnings): When he asks her to dance, she doesn’t expect the Inquisition…
Notes: A bit of semi-fluff on Thom and Cathrea, since my other two fics about them have been a bit brutal.
Margarry, Cathrea had to admit, certainly had a flair for entertaining. The courtyard was filled with elegantly dressed young people, mainly couples, and candlelight glinted off silks and gauzes. The merry hum of chatter and laughter provided a pleasant counterpoint to the minstrels currently playing. The night was temperate - it had rained that morning, but the afternoon had been graced by sunshine, and some of its warmth lingered yet. The stars and moon shone clearly over the scene, and Cathrea, somewhat blasphemously, wondered if the Goddess had had any hand in it.
“Will you not dance with me, Lady Cathrea?”
She looked up, found Thom of Pirate’s Swoop - Master Thom now, she supposed - standing at her elbow and blinked. She hadn’t even had any idea that he would be at this party, at Margarry and Owen’s town house. But, then, Owen knew Sir Nealan, and Sir Nealan had been squire to Master Thom’s mother, so… She sighed privately. The network of connections young nobles were expected to build up exhausted her at the best of times. At least, she thought, Thom was a more interesting companion than some of the gaping fools her sister’s household was hosting. “Just ‘Cathrea’,” she said at last. “I gave up all pretence to a title when I took vows.”
He took this as an invitation and sat down on the bench next to her. “Very well. Cathrea. Will you dance with me?” She adjusted the trailing sleeves of her high-necked white silk dress habit, saved for the great festivals and those social occasions she was expected to attend, and did not reply for a moment. Her veil of silver gauze, pinned in place over, and completely covering, her short dark hair, and trailing down her back, made her look much older than she probably was, Thom mused, and far more serious than she should be. Then: “It would not be proper.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Thom’s red head twitch with what she suspected was suppressed laughter and frowned. Her suspicion was proved right a moment later, when Thom spoke again; his voice was thick with amusement. “Not even at your own sister’s house?” He tutted softly. “And on Beltane night, too.”
Cathrea snorted. “Especially not on Beltane night,” she murmured dryly. She had chosen this bench so that she could remain out of the way and observe the party from a distance, but it now occurred to her that it was rather pleasant to sit here and talk to Thom, even if he did talk nonsense much of the time. He chuckled outright at her gentle rebuke. “I shall be the model of gentlemanly behaviour,” he promised. “I shan’t ask you to jump the embers with me, I give you my word.”
Eyes dancing, Cathrea fought to keep a straight face. She turned to face him properly. “Thank Mithros for small mercies. If you did, I should be forced to behave in a most unladylike manner.” Boldly standing, she extended her hand. “One dance, then.”
Once the initial awkwardness of positioning themselves was over with, Cathrea found that Thom was an elegant if not strictly practiced dancer. At least he knew the steps, which was more than could truly be said for her. Years of life in the temple had driven from her head any of the steps that she had learned as a youngster, and since taking vows she had never been called upon to teach the skill to any of the convent girls. Her train of thought seemed to fit in remarkably well with Thom’s, for after a moment, he asked, “What made you become a priestess? I remember you as a small child at Court, seven or so. Bright, laughing. I wouldn’t have expected it.”
She smiled and chanced a look down at their feet. “Because at all of nine years old, you were, of course, busy plotting the future careers of your playmates?” At this point, the steps required the dancing couples to split and twist amongst themselves, and Cathrea spun gracefully away from Thom to pair Sir Nealan. Satisfied, she made polite small-talk with her brother-in-law’s friend for the next movement, and by the time Thom skipped along the set to reclaim her (Nealan twirling back into the arms of Lady Yukimi), she had recovered her composure somewhat.
“You evade questions very well,” Thom grinned, and Cathrea narrowed her eyes. So he would persist, then! She sighed and accepted his hand once more. “My Gift made it easier, I suppose,” she murmured. “The training I could receive. The sense that I would be doing some sort of good.” She rarely ever spoke of this part of her life - she hadn’t even given Papa a true explanation, when her decision had been made, and her bags packed. “I see.” Thom looked thoughtful, but Cathrea sensed that he was trying to understand. Was this how he felt about his mage-work? But there was a glimmer of something else in his eyes too, something with which she was all too used to dealing.
Exasperation made her a little curt. “Master Thom, I’m well used to the idea that a woman becomes a Daughter of the Goddess because she cannot get a husband.” He opened his mouth, but she had not finished. “I assure you that this was not the case.”
He at least had the grace to blush. Sheepishly, Thom admitted, “I did wonder. You - “ paused, and shook his head. His mouth seemed more taught than it had done a moment ago, and his voice was very quiet when he said, “Forgive me.”
“Not at all,” she replied coolly, graciously. She was a Priestess of the Goddess, and ice. “What had your imagination conjured up?” she inquired, attempting a light tone. “A handsome but impoverished officer in the Own? A young knight?” Her mouth twisted disconcertingly. “If it relieves your conscience at all, I can tell you that, before I took vows, there were courtships and flirtations, but they never amounted to anything serious, and if they ever caused a broken heart, it was not mine.”
His greenish eyes flickered oddly and his hand tightened almost imperceptibly on hers. “Lady Cathrea, I am very glad to hear it.”
The music ended. Thom bowed, and before she could stop him, he had lightly kissed her fingertips and melted away into the crowd.