|and for a moment, she feels so free
Author: fabricated fantasies PM
He takes her other hand in his and pulls her close, and his touch makes her feel electric.Rated: Fiction K - English - Romance - Dominique W. & Edmund Pevensie - Words: 1,318 - Reviews: 12 - Favs: 8 - Published: 04-11-11 - Status: Complete - id: 6895590
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
For the girls at NGF – you are all amazing, and I love you so much.
This story fits into the canon of trying to believe – Dominique's second visit to Narnia.
Written for the Story Off! at the Dreamerverse Forum.
and for a moment, she feels so free
Dominique laughs over the steady beat of the music, her pinned hair bobbing dangerously and threatening to come undone.
"That is the most terrible French accent I have ever heard," she teases the man opposite her with a smile as they curtsy, bow and clap their hands to the music.
"It is, is it?" Edmund replies cheekily, throwing her a wink as they separate, joining hands with their new partners. They don't see each other for a while after that, and both miss the touch of the other's hands in their own.
The dance continues in that fashion for a while, and she's swapping partners so often and spinning and twirling and clapping, and oh! She could live like this forever.
She pauses for a moment and sighs, looking longingly over at the blonde-haired man she calls Edmund.
"That's the King, missy." A hoarse voice interrupts her thoughts and she stops her staring and turn to see an older man looking down at her. The first thing she notices is that he has a large scar across his left cheek, before spotting his brilliant blue eyes.
"I know," she says, grabbing his hand and continuing the dance. "Is that supposed to make a difference?"
"You are very strange, you know," the man says, completely ignoring what she said and staring intensely at her with his too-blue eyes.
"Er… thankyou?" she says, confusedly. He starts to laugh, and she releases his hand and backs away, slightly scared. She bumps into another boy wearing the robes of a King – but this one has dark hair, and brown eyes, and dimples that remind her of Edmund.
"Whoa, steady there, Nika," he says, a teasing note in his voice. She smiles; Peter is like an older brother to her already – this is only her second visit to Narnia – and she'd much rather have Peter as a sibling, instead of Victoire.
He bends down to speak softly to her, looking for all the world like he is her sweetheart whispering sweet nothings in her ear. "Don't worry about him, Nika. He's always been a little odd."
"That tickles," she giggles, "and I won't worry." She still has a few doubts though; Dominique has always been affected by people's judgement of her, and she hasn't changed that much since she arrived in Narnia.
"Aha!" a loud voice calls, and she looks up to see Edmund striding towards her, an invisible wind blowing his hair so it lays artistically across his forehead. "Are you trying to steal my favourite dance partner, Peter?"
At his words she smiles brightly, and she feels like she's dancing on air - and she doesn't want her feet to ever touch the ground.
She pulls away from Peter and takes Edmund's proffered hand, swishing her coral-coloured skirt as they make their way back into the crowd of dancing people.
They squeeze into a space between a fat lady wearing the brightest turquoise dress she's ever seen – don't comment, Dominique, don't comment – and a man whose face can barely be seen past his moustache.
The tempo changes from the country-like tune to a much slower pace, and she feels a frission of excitement run through her veins. He takes her other hand in his and pulls her close, and his touch makes her feel electric.
All around her, other couples are mimicking the dance steps, but she feels like they are the only people in the room – the only people in the magical world that is Narnia.
All good things must come to an end, and as magical as the ball was, there are more practical matters to attend to.
Dominique enters the room she always stays in when she comes to Narnia to find two serving girls already in there. They rush at her, fussing with her hair and clothes, nattering about the state of her nails and getting in her way.
"I'm fine, ladies, thank you," she says, stepping away from them and ushering the two girls out the door, shutting the door in their faces. "I can dress myself," she grumbles quietly at the closed oak door.
She walks over to the ornately carved dresser, smiling at the pictures engraved in the wood. She pulls a long wooden stick out of her hair, freeing it from the pronged instrument so that her hair falls gently against her back and displays her knotted curls. She growls softly at her reflection, foreseeing her evening being spent untangling the mess. Bending over the dresser, she picks up a silver hairbrush, the only item she had on her when she entered Narnia. It's times like these when she wishes she had her wand, though usually the magic of Narnia is enough for her.
A knocks sounds at the door and she straightens, startled out of her thoughts. "Coming!" she calls, sounding unhurried, though inside she's panicking; she has a pretty good idea of who's at the door, and it's practically illegal for the always beautiful Dominique to be seen with hair that resembles a bird's nest.
"Just a minute!" she calls, remembering all the many times when she has yelled those same words at Victoire – and Louis, who is strangely fanatical about his hair. She hurriedly runs the brush through her hair, hoping that (as if by magic) her hair will straighten itself out.
The door opens with a creak, and she whirls around, mock anger painted on her face.
"Edmund! Hasn't Susan ever told you to knock?" she reprimands him. He just starts laughing hysterically, and she touches her hair self-consciously.
At first, she feels offended, but quickly sees the humour in the situation – she's a Weasley, after all – she must look like Medusa, and he like Perseus, come to slay the Gordon. Yum, Edmund in shining armour, riding on his steed… she thinks, drifting off into fantasies of Edmund in battle, Edmund on a horse, Edmund, well, anywhere.
Edmund finally stops laughing, and she is shocked out of her trance by his silence. She glances up to find him gazing steadily at her, and she just smiles. She doesn't blush, of course; she never blushes. She's trained herself to keep her face completely calm and smooth; to not betray any emotion.
"Kind of creepy there, Barramundi," she remarks, waiting patiently for his reaction.
"Barramundi?" he asks, blinking.
"Yes, Barramundi. See, your name is Edmund, and you were gaping at me like you were a fish," she teases gently, attempting to disentangle the knots in her hair under the pretence of twirling a lock of her hair.
"Alright then, angel, would you like to accompany this Barramundi to the beach?" he asks with a coquettish smile, not waiting for her answer before running out the door.
"Angel? What kind of a fish nickname is that?" she calls after him. He doesn't reply.
She sighs and rushes after him, a smile on her face the entire time.
She feels more and more herself every day, and there's a constant ache in her heart whenever she thinks about having to leave. Edmund brings out the side of herself she always tries to hide, and she has no regrets about falling in love with him.
But when it's time for her to leave again, she almost believes that it's a dream; because nothing can ever be this perfect.
((Except, it isn't a dream))
Sorry for the shortness - please review?