Topic: Inspiration

Merethyl Benoit

Date: 2015-11-10 21:07 EST
Practice makes perfect, or so the saying goes. But perfection was not the aim of the game when it came to Merethyl Cytria, and practice was not something Christian Benoit truly needed. Yet both of them had been putting in the hours, even outside rehearsal time, working together to try and help one another - one with the emotion of her dancing, the other with his confidence to lift. After two months of working every day together, finally they were ready to have Irina offer them some constructive criticism. The dance was an old one, known to every aspiring ballerina - known especially to the Shanachie, for it belonged to Tony and Anya. Romeo & Juliet's pas de deux was simple enough not to offer any movement too damaging, yet emotive enough to challenge Merethyl, filled with enough contact to test the cavalier in Christian.

Irina was delighted at the progress the pair was making, though she still didn't think they were ready to take on the demanding task of pairing on stage. Merethyl's dancing was already technically perfect, but lacked feeling. Every day spent in practice with Christian was helping, but the elf wasn't quite there yet. Irina was astute enough to tell there was a connection forming between the two dancers, whether they realized it or not, and she was hoping the pas de deux with Christian would crack through the last layer of ice protecting Merethyl's heart, so that she could find the emotion inside her that would make her a prima ballerina at last.

There was a connection there, yet neither one of them seemed ready to acknowledge it. For Merethyl, it was the knowledge of how very different she must seem to Christian; the fear that he would never be able to accept her as she was. They had become such firm friends over the past weeks and months, learning more about one another as the days went by, and yet ....she was afraid. Afraid that the very fact of his humanity and her elvenhood would never mesh in his mind. How, then, could she take a chance like that, when it would be at the risk not only of her heart, but her life and soul, too' Still, she had improved, her acting growing more natural as they danced together.

As for Christian, he was growing stronger and more confident with each day he spent dancing with Merethyl. She was an easy partner to dance with, perfectly precise and patient with him as he worked on his own fears and lack of confidence. His back and shoulders were stronger now than ever before, and his confidence was growing, but there was still some small something that held him back. He had grown fond of Merethyl over the last weeks and months.

He had always prided himself on his professionalism, keeping his personal and professional lives separate, and yet, the more time he spent with the elf, the more he grew to care about her and miss her when they were apart. If he was to search his heart, he would understand what he was feeling, but there was a part of him that feared she would never see him but for the mortal that he was. After all, he would one day grow old and die, while she lived on, and he did not see that as a blessing but a curse. Still, his heart ached for more than merely friendship, and it was the perceived tragedy that awaited them that fueled the feeling he gave to his performance, especially with Merethyl as his partner.

They were a strange juxtaposition - the human who wore his heart on his sleeve, and the elf who held hers close, both feeling the same emotions, neither showing it quite as openly as they both should. But it was there to be seen in the trusting touch of hands, in the way they knew which steps were coming without needing to speak, in the glance of eyes in unguarded moments. Even when Merethyl leapt into Christian's arms, her weight barely his to carry as she levitated for his sake, that trust screamed out to the watcher that here was something old and new at once.

Irina watched with a smile on her face, delighted in the progress that was being made before her, and yet, there was still so much untapped potential between them. All in good time though. Rome wasn't built in a day, or so the saying went.

It annoyed Christian that Merethyl felt the need to help by levitating. He needed to feel her weight, to know he was the one holding her and lifting her, and that she trusted him to do so, even if she was doing it for his sake and it cost him a little pain in doing so. He said nothing of this, however, not while they were in the middle of the dance, but it played on his mind. Did she not yet trust him' If she couldn't trust him with her body, how could she ever trust him with her heart"

"Hmm ..." The soft utterance was unnoticed by the dancers and their mistress, falling in silence on ears that had not been opened to it. There was beauty there, yes, and grace in movement, but they lacked the full touch of their connection that would open their hearts not only to one another, but to their audience. Such things did not always happen on their own. Sometimes, they needed a little inspiration. The unseen moved closer, watching as the ballerina spun into the waiting circle of her cavalier's arms. As their eyes met, the watcher reached out to touch them. "It is time you saw the world through each other's eyes."

Spinning on her toes, Merethyl reached out for the arms she knew would be there ....and stumbled when they did not catch her. She came to a halt, looking around her in confusion as the mirrored walls of the rehearsal room faded into mist. Irina, Christian, both nothing more than mist. She could recognize the touch of magic when she felt it, knowing that in some way she was still dancing. This was a moment in time, nothing more, and yet ....what was the purpose of it"

Irina noticed nothing amiss. She merely smiled at the two dancers as she watched them, oblivious to the magic surrounding the pair or the mysterious watcher who seemed to have taken an interest in them.

As for Christian, though it seemed to Irina that both he and Merethyl were still dancing there before her, he, too - or some part of him - had stumbled. His partner had not been there when he had expected her to be, and at first, he thought one or the other of them had made some mistake. It took him only a moment to realize that was not the case at all, as he found himself alone in some otherwhere. There was no Merethyl here, no Irina either. Only himself, the rehearsal room and everything in it fading to mist. He muttered something to himself in his native French, turning to take in his surroundings, wondering what manner of sorcery was this.

Voices filtered through to him from the mists that swirled about him, some he recognized, some he did not. "...what is the point of life if you do not live it ....said that love is immortal ....a promise made cannot be taken back ....the price is worth the joy ..." Slowly the voices grew to a cacophony, until suddenly they all ceased. The mists cleared abruptly, and he found himself in a house, a home.

An old man sat by the window, looking out over the snow-covered garden where children played as the familiar strains of Tchaikovsky played. A voice interrupted the quiet. "You know, there's nothing stopping us from opening that window and letting your grandchildren pelt you with snowballs from there, adar."

The voice drew the eye to a man who seemed strangely familiar, a baby against his shoulder as he paced. He bore a gentle point at the tip of his ears, a certain luminescence about his skin, but his eyes ....Christian knew those eyes. He had seen them in his father, and in the mirror, for too many years not to know his own blood when he saw them.

The fear and panic that clutched Christian's heart eased as some scene came into view. He wasn't sure what was going on or what had caused this vision to play itself out before him, but he found it intriguing. Was he dreaming, or was this something else? Whatever it was, he recognized something familiar in the young man's - no, elf's - eyes. They were his eyes, but the face was unfamiliar. He turned his attention to the old man at the window, fear clutching his heart once again as he moved closer. He seemed like a ghost to them, unseen, undetected, as if he wasn't really there at all. Was this, then, all in his head, or had he entered some other realm where the past and future could be seen and felt' The beloved strains of Tchaikovsky were familiar to any dancer's ears, but it was the old man that drew him closer, needing to see his face, to know for sure if what he feared in his heart had indeed come to pass, at least, in this dream realm.

Merethyl Benoit

Date: 2015-11-10 21:10 EST
The face, though lined with age, was indeed familiar. He thought at first that it was the face of his father before realizing with a jolt that it was his own face he saw there. Who, then, was the young elf with a child on his shoulder" The clues were there for him to see, to recognize, if he so desired. There was only one explanation - the young man was Christian's son, and the children all around were his grandchildren. The gently pointed ears told him still more - that this young man and these children were born of mixed blood, of human and elf. Merethyl and his" he thought with another jolt. Was it even possible" Of course, it was possible, but why was he seeing this" To give him hope" To show him that his fears were unfounded"

Unfounded, indeed. Another voice entered the scene, familiar this time. "Are you suggesting that your father wouldn't put up a fight?"

A familiar laugh, and there she was - Merethyl, almost unchanged, though it was clear many years had passed them by. Almost unchanged; her age showed in her eyes, in the crinkling lines that betrayed a life lived more in laughter than in tears. She bypassed their son, moving to the husband who lingered by the window to kiss him with tender affection that was undimmed by age. And for a moment, Christian saw himself as Merethyl saw him - not merely in the way he presented himself physically, but the deepness of his heart, the strength of his spirit, the loving wisdom of his soul. He would never grow old to her eyes, though age and the long years might wither his body. To her, he would always be simply Christian, the center of her world.

He audibly gasped at the sight of her, though he had already suspected she was in some way connected to this vision, but though he called her name, she did not seem to hear him or even know he was there watching. She was too absorbed by that other him - the older him - and he could not miss the love and affection with which she greeted this other man who was an older aspect of himself. She did not seem to mind that he had grown old with age, that his body was slowly growing frail, and he saw the matching love and affection in the old man's eyes as she embraced him and kissed him, as tender and loving as young lovers. Was this what she had been trying to tell him' That no matter whether he aged and she did not, her love would never falter, as strong and true and sure as the arms of her cavalier.

"Qu'est-ce que c'est?" he murmured, intrigued and yet puzzled by the vision.

But there was more to see, the scene around him fading into mist once again as the voices rose to deafen him. "....worth it ....did you mean ....what is the point of ....the price is worth the joy ..."

As the mists coalesced once again, he found himself somewhere unfamiliar. A bright, open garden-like space beneath a sky lit by only a single moon, beaming its light down upon a gathering of young elves. They looked to their teacher, and there was Merethyl again, still mostly unchanged. But there was a sadness in her this time, an aching sense of loss that no amount of time would heal. Her smiles were touched by it, but most striking of all, her eyes bore the mark of the moonbow she had told him of. Her time was drawing near; she had returned to her home world to teach what she knew before answering the call to her own death.

"But, aerister," one of the young students was saying, "do you not regret that your life has been shortened by loving a human man?"

Christian blinked as the scene shifted, and he found himself on a strange world that was neither Earth nor Rhy'Din. He did not recognize the flora or fauna of the place and even the single moon seemed unfamiliar, but there was that familiar face again, as lovely as ever, though marked with some sense of sorrow and grief. His heart ached to realize it was his own death that had saddened her, drawing her here to this place, where her own life would end. "No," he heard himself say, wishing for her to go on living, and yet, there was something touching and beautiful in the knowledge that she would sacrifice her immortality and join him in death, as she had in life. Like Juliet to his Romeo, in a strange sort of way.

The price is worth the joy ....Is this what was meant by those words" Could she really love him that much that she'd make such a sacrifice for him' He listened keenly to the question asked of the student, curious what her response might be and yet, already knowing in his heart that she would have no regrets. They had lived a life full of love and happiness, it seemed, surrounded by children and grandchildren. What more could one ask of life but that"

The Merethyl of this dreamscape he was wandering smiled at her young student gently. "What do I have to regret, penneth?" she asked him softly. "I have done, in my short lifetime, what so many of our people have not done. I have traveled beyond the realm of my birth; I have met with other peoples, from other times and places; I have studied and learned. I have done what humans do - I have filled a short lifetime with joy. But my greatest joy is that I loved, and was loved. I never regretted binding my soul to the man who won my heart, the man who taught me to feel and to teach through feeling. I learned more from him about living my life than I would ever have learned in centuries of an elven lifespan. Yet with any greatness there is sacrifice, and it is a price I have never shied from paying. I knew I would not live long after he left me, just as I know that the Seldarine are not so cruel as to keep me from him when I enter Arvanaith. I will see my Christian again, and he will scold me for not making him wait longer. But we will be together, and our children will prosper. What price there is, it is worth paying to know that I have lived. That I was loved, and will love again, when my hand touches his in Arvanaith."

What was this" Was it really him that Merethyl was talking about' But it had to be, didn't it' Was this some glimpse into the future or a possible future and if so, how was this possible" And yet, despite all his questions, Christian felt his heart quaking inside him to know such a thing as this was possible - that she could love him. No, that she could return his love. That was more accurate, he thought, for his heart, in truth, was already hers. He was at last beginning to see and to understand what she had been trying to tell him all along. To be loved was the greatest gift anyone could receive, and yet, to share that love was even more profound.

He had always thought that he would have to lose her one day, when death took him. She would forget him and their life together, just a mere speck of time in the vastness of her immortality, but it seemed he had been wrong in this, as well. Could she love him so very much that she'd end her own life early just to be with him in whatever afterlife awaited them' If all this was true, it was nothing short of a miracle, and it was enough to bring him to tears. It was inspiration, nothing more and nothing less. To earn that possibility of a future would require effort, no doubt, but it was an inspiring prospect. As the scene faded around him and the mists returned, one voice came back to him, fading as the words were repeated. "My greatest joy is that I loved ..."

Christian wasn't sure quite what to make of it, though he knew this was no ordinary dream. He had not been asleep when the vision had come upon him, and so, he had no way of knowing who was to blame or credit for this gift, nor did he know how to escape it and return to reality and the woman whose life seemed somehow linked with his. Instead, he only wept for a time, heartfelt tears of joy and sorrow. He'd come to Rhy'Din to heal his body, but it seemed, this place was also healing his heart.

Somewhere in the mists, Merethyl wandered also, watched by an unseen and benevolent force who wished to inspire them to greatness. Voices came to her through the mist, just as they had to Christian - some familiar, some not so familiar, but all bearing a message the elf needed to hear. "To love and be loved is the greatest gift ....Life is not measured by the years you live, but the hearts you touch ....My family is my greatest legacy ..."

Entrapped by the mists that filled her and surrounded her, Merethyl listened to the voices as they rose all around her. Each word resonated to its own chime, but the chorus brought together made her heart ache. Who was it that had interrupted the dance to show her these things" What purpose could they have in befuddling her mind, in filling her head with hopes that made her so very afraid"

Merethyl Benoit

Date: 2015-11-10 21:11 EST
Many voices rose together in a chorus that clamored for her attention, before fading away, the mists parting, like a curtain, to reveal a scene that had not taken place yet, but might if certain choices were made and acted upon. It was a room, not unlike a bedroom, and upon the bed was a woman she would recognize as herself, surrounded by others with gently-pointed ears and a dark-haired man at her side. She could not quite make out what was being said at first. It seemed there was some confusion, and yet, her own face seemed calm and serene even.

The man beside her, tightly clutching her hand, was human and familiar, still young, unchanged by the mortal years that had yet to pass before he became old. "Je t'aime pour toujours," he whispered softly, with a tender touch of lips to the back of her hand. He was rewarded with a smile, and then another sound rent the silence. The borning cry of a child announcing its arrival to the world and to the mother and father who had been waiting so patiently for him.

A ghost in a scene the might someday be hers to live, Merethyl crept forward, toward the confusion by the bed, her eyes seeking out familiarity in the strangeness. There, on the bed, was herself as she might be, hand in hand with a man her heart thumped to recognize. Could this truly be the promise of what might come" Could Christian overcome her otherness to whisper such soft words to her, to love her even as ....She gasped as the thin wail broke the air, her head snapping about to look down at the babe as he was born. Her child ....Christian's child.

Even as an infant, small and newly born and covered in the muck of his birth, there could be seen a similarity between them - a child of mixed blood, both human and elf - a child created of their love. Christian was laughing and crying, all at the same time, as their son wailed his displeasure at being so rudely thrust into the world. An arm went around the Merethyl at his side to let her see the child they had both longed for and awaited. "A son, Mere," he whispered. "As beautiful as his mother."

Silent, Merethyl watched herself take her child into her arms, saw the loving gaze shared between mother and father, the combining of themselves in the son born of that love. Shock rippled through her - shock that there was a chance he might be able to see past how different they were, shock that she might take the risk with her life and soul. She stumbled back from the bed, her breath quick in her chest, something very close to panic seeping through her frame as she searched for something, anything to ground her. Fear gripped at her heart; if she took that risk, what was there to say that this would happen" And yet ....if she did not, would that child never be born"

The scene faded into mist as she backed away, voices making themselves known again that could not be seen, both familiar and unfamiliar. There was a brief flash of them on stage, perhaps at the Shanachie, dancing a pas de deux to triumphant applause. The scene quickly faded and shifted to a bedroom again, quiet and somber, with music playing softly in the background.

There was a small group of people crowded around the bed, some young, some not so young, and on the bed lay an old man, tired and worn, but with a smile on his face, content at a life fully lived. This time, it was Merethyl who sat at the bedside, the old wrinkled hand held in hers. "I will be with you soon, melamin," she told the man quietly. "We are all here with you, your children and grandchildren and me, to ease you on your journey. This is not farewell, my love, for I will see you again soon. Be at peace and know that you have lived a full life."

The man who was and yet was not yet Christian smiled, his eyes still young within a face lined with age. "I will see you all again one day, but only when you are ready," he whispered, his voice quiet with age and weariness, but at peace and without pain. "I have loved you these many years, ma chere. I have lived a happy life, and I have no regrets. You are the greatest gift that life has given me, but do not come to me too quickly. Only when you are ready. Promise me."

"No ..." Trapped in this dreamscape with no way to escape, Merethyl was unprepared for the sight of Christian on his deathbed. It had to be him - there was no other who shone as he did when she looked upon him. And yet it was his time, here in this vision of what could be. She did not need to imagine how it would feel for her on that day, for she felt it in that instant - the swift, icy grasp of a loss she would never come to terms with. Unbidden, tears fell from her pale eyes as she watched this loving farewell, knowing that the people around the bed were the family she might one day share with the man she loved. For she did love him; not as a mere friend, not as a colleague who needed her help. She had grown to love the soul that was Christian Benoit, and only her fear of his rejection held her heart in ice. But even now, watching his death in a vision of what might be, she knew that ice was beginning to thaw. For better or for worse, she was tied to him, whether he wished it or not.

This scene, too, faded slowly from view, just as two voices whispered, one belonging to her and the other to him. "I love you," each said - three small words that meant so much. Words that neither expected to hear from the other, but in this dream-vision, it seemed as natural as breathing.

And suddenly there they were, back in the rehearsal studio under Irina's watchful gaze, the spin just coming to a close. For the first time in her life, Merethyl stumbled as she was shocked back to reality, thumping into Christian's chest as she fell from en pointe, staring into his eyes. Her grip on her own glamor faltered, the normalcy of her appearance falling away to leave her pale and luminous in his arms, no secrets left between them, her eyes glistening with tears. Those last words had been so clear in her mind, and yet ....she did not have the courage to speak.

Christian, too, was shocked back to reality, the last memory he had of Merethyl bidding her student goodbye, reassuring him that she was, indeed, following her heart. He caught her in his arms, his gaze meeting hers, not so shocked by her true appearance as he was by the tears he saw glistening in her eyes that mirrored his.

Irina seemed to sense that something strange was going on between the couple and she rose to her feet. Perhaps it was Merethyl's uncharacteristic stumble, but for once, the elf had erred, and she could not help but notice the way the glamor had given way, and the look on both their faces. "You are tired. That is enough for today. We will continue in the morning," she told them both, a little smile on her face as she departed. It was not the first time she had witnessed two dancers falling in love.

Startled by the sound of Irina's voice, Merethyl gasped, breaking the intense gaze shared with Christian as she looked over at the ballet mistress. "F-forgive me, I ..." Her eyes flickered back toward Christian. "I do not know what happened. You are finished with us for today?"

"Da," the ballet mistress replied. "We are done for today. You are both doing very well. Get some rest. We will commence again tomorrow." And with that said, she was gone.

Christian had not yet said anything, his face a mask of shock and confusion. Had she seen what he had seen" It did not seem Irina had shared the vision, but what of Merethyl" Had it been only his imagination' He did not think so. Had it been only for his sake, or for hers, as well? He did not know.

Manners ingrained into her since childhood, Merethyl inclined her head to Irina as the woman left, some part of her still breathless with the grief she had felt at even the thought of Christian's death. She raised her head to look up at him once again, searching his eyes for some sign that the vision had been truthful. Some sign that the risk she so wanted to take would be worth the sacrifice.

Merethyl Benoit

Date: 2015-11-10 21:12 EST
"You're crying," he said, in undisguised wonderment, the first thing he had observed about her once Irina had left. He lifted a hand to touch her cheek, catching his tears on his fingers, as rare and precious as gems. "Why are you crying?" he asked, still uncertain if she had shared the vision or experienced one of her own.

"I'm afraid," she heard herself say, wondering where her stillness had gone. For weeks, it had been her shield against the ache in her heart, and yet now it was nowhere to be found. No barrier, no buffer, between her heart and her soul. "I saw ..." Her hand rose to touch his cheek, trembling with the force of the vision she had been given. "I saw such joy."

"You saw it, too?" he asked, eyes wide with wonder, his voice a hushed whisper. "Why are you afraid?" he asked, catching her hand in his, but not yet daring to touch it to his lips. If she had been beautiful before, she was even more beautiful to him now that the glamor she wore about her had fallen away, and he wondered why she ever wore it at all, except perhaps to better blend into a world filled with mortals.

She stared up at him, wishing he knew how she saw him. Wishing he could understand that his physical self was only an echo to the heart and soul that shone forth to brighten her vision of him, an appearance that would not fade or dull with time. She could not lie to him, not now, not when he had seen her tears and must know that she had no defenses left. "I am afraid that you will never love me," she admitted tearfully, knowing this confession could well send him running from her arms, never to return even as a friend. "That I will never know what it is to be yours."

"Don't you know that I love you already?" he heard himself whisper before he could stop himself, his heart beating furiously in his chest, fearful that she might reject him, as well. He only had one life to give her - a few years, a half century perhaps. Would it be enough' If his dream-vision was anything to go by, it would. "I only worry it will not be enough. I will not live forever, ma chere, but what life I have I would give you happily. You need only ask and I am yours."

"You love me?" They were words spoken in a whisper, wondering, awestruck, moved by the promise those words held. Though the time would come when she would have to say goodbye to him, it would not be for long. She knew in her heart that she would not outlive him longer than it took to return home and teach what she had learned in her lifetime. "Amin mela lle, melamin," she murmured to him, her hand gently over his heart. "J'adore, mon cheri." Was there another language she should use" She would tell him in every language she could name if he wanted her to. He would never be in doubt as to her heart.

He didn't understand what those words meant, though he would likely come to understand them in time. There was no mistaking the French, however, and his heart soared to hear those words from her lips. He wrapped an arm about her waist to draw his ballerina closer into his embrace. "You do not mind that I will grow old and gray?" If the dream-vision was true, then he already had his answer, but he still needed to hear it from her.

Through her tears, her smile rose shyly on her face, the paleness of her visage shining through for him to enjoy her without the touch of magic that kept her from alarming certain people in the general populace. "I don't see age," she told him. "I see your heart, and your soul. You will always be beautiful to my eyes." Her brow rose as she looked up at him. "And what of you? You do not mind that I am so very much older than you?"

His fingers caressed her cheek, for the first time since he'd met her ready to answer that question. He smiled softly at the memory of the dream-vision, remembering the tender moments he'd witnessed between them. "I saw myself as an old man, surrounded by our children and grandchildren." She had been unchanged by time, still as loving and affectionate as she was today, as though it didn't matter to her how he'd aged or what he looked like. "Not so long as you love me." That was what had been at the crux of his fears, after all. That he'd grow old and she'd become abhorred by him; that she'd spurn him, leave him, forget him, but if the vision was true, all those worries were in vain.

Merethyl's soft gaze gentled as he spoke, touched that he had seen something so very close to what she had been shown. She had seen the birth of their son; he had seen that son with his own family. "I will love you for as long as my soul endures," she promised him. "I am bound to you, Christian, though I have tried not to be. I am not trying to separate myself from you any longer."

"Then, what is the point of waiting any longer?" he asked, though he knew nothing of the mating or marriage traditions of her people. Ceremony or not, he wanted to make her his, hearts and souls linked together forever and always, in this life and whatever life came after. "I love you, Merethyl," he told her again, as if those words were not enough to express his feelings. "I need you."

She blinked, surprised by his impatience even as her smile warmed in answer to it. "I-I do not know how it is done here," she admitted rather innocently. "I do not know who to ask." Belatedly, she remembered that they were both still in their rehearsal clothes, still standing in the middle of the mirrored room, their images reflected into infinity. Her hand curled to his cheek tenderly. "Perhaps we should change before we talk about how we will go about this. A few minutes cannot hurt us, melamin."

It wasn't so much about desire of the body, though there was that, as it was about the heart. He understood that once they were joined, and her soul was connected to his, there would be no going back, no changing their minds, but if the vision had been true - and he had no reason to believe it wasn't - then his future was standing right in front of him. He went down on one knee, like Romeo to her Juliet - or perhaps a prince to princess; a knight to his lady; a cavalier to his ballerina - "Will you take me as your partner, to dance through all life has to offer and whatever awaits us after, mon amour Merethyl?" he asked, looking up at her hopefully, tears shining in his gray-blue eyes.

Perhaps she was startled by his sudden genuflection before her, or perhaps she was simply still reeling from the vision and its aftermath, but Merethyl quite suddenly burst into tears once again, overwhelmed by what she was feeling and the knowledge that he felt just as strongly about her. She slithered down onto her knees with him, curling her arms about his neck as she sobbed against his neck. "Yes," she whispered, each word hiccuped between her gasping breaths. "Forever, melamin, my beloved Christian. For always."

He frowned up at her at first, concerned at her sudden burst of tears. If Irina had wanted Merethyl to feel, it seemed she had at last accomplished that goal. No one had intended or could have anticipated this outcome - no one, perhaps, but their mysterious watcher - and yet, if that dream was anything to go by, then theirs would be a happy ending. And suddenly, as he took her in his arms, he was crying with her, not tears of sorrow but of happiness - of joy. "Pour toujours et a jamais," he whispered back, his own voice hushed and filled with tears as he held her gently against him.

Held close in his arms, Merethyl let herself finally and fully relax, her white blond hair uncoiling itself from its bun of its own accord as she breathed him in. She could feel her heart beating fit to burst, swelling with the knowledge that she loved and was loved. How was death a sacrifice when she would live decades with this feeling before it would ever come to pass"

The door opened behind her, a familiar voice muttering about lights being left on, and abruptly stopped. Anya bit her lip, cringing a little as she took in the tableau the two presented. "Ah ....Is something wrong?"

Merethyl Benoit

Date: 2015-11-10 21:12 EST
His fingers found their way into her hair, as if feeling its silky softness for the very first time, breathing in the scent he already knew so well that could only belong to his Mere. How many times had he held her, just like this, lost in the dance, and now lost in her love. He laughed, his heart lighter than it had ever been, when he heard Anya's voice. Though it might look like something else, this was, in fact, a happy moment. "Nothing is wrong," he replied, with a smile, as he pulled Mere easily up with him, strength renewed, invigorated by her love. He would have a partner again, and that partner would be Merethyl. "We are going to be married," he told his best friend's wife, eyes still shining with happy tears.

To her credit, Anya kept the initial declaration of absolute denial to herself, simply hiking Sofia a little higher on her hip as she looked back and forth between the two smiling, tearful faces. "That is wonderful news," she said finally. "I did not even know you were dating. Isn't that wonderful, malyutka"" she asked her daughter, who, in true nine month old style, blew her a loud, wet raspberry and giggled cheerfully. "See" Even Sofia is delighted."

Tucked close against Christian's side, Merethyl found herself laughing at the baby girl's response to her mother's enthusiasm, grateful that Anya had interrupted them in her own way. Who knew what might have happened if they'd been left to their own devices for too long"

"Dating?" Christian echoed with a chuckle, and a knowing glance at Merethyl. If Anya had seen what they'd had, she might not seem to skeptical. Perhaps it was odd that neither was questioning how it had happened or why, but then, this was Rhy'Din, and stranger things had been known to happen. Why question your dreams when they were coming true" Christian laughed again, at the spontaneity of it all. For a man who had made all his decisions in life carefully and with much thought, this was very much out of character for him. "We must tell Anthony," he said, adding as if as an afterthought. "We should celebrate!" And who better to celebrate with than their closest friends" Or at least, his closest friends.

"You are very welcome to come to dinner," Anya offered with a smile, fairly sure she'd be better able to deal with this when Tony was the one staring in shock rather than her. "But ....in clothes, not leotards."

Merethyl glanced down at herself and Christian, stifling her laugh at the careful qualification. "You are very generous, Anastasia," she smiled gently. "Thank you."

"Clothes, of course!" Christian laughed. "Tres bien!" He turned to his partner with a smile. "Will you accompany me to dinner, mon amour" We have much to discuss." And not all of it private.

Merethyl looked up at him, her smile warmer than she had allowed it to be for a very long time. "I would like that very much, melamin," she agreed, hugging her arm about his back. It was just as well there was no evening performance on Wednesdays; she doubted either one of them would have been able to perform after their stimulating rehearsal. Reaching up, she kissed his cheek softly, trailing her fingers against his jaw before slipping from his grasp to collect her bag. "I will change."

It wasn't just the fact that Christian wanted to share the news with his closest friend - the person who was responsible for bringing him to Rhy'Din, and ultimately, responsible for both his return to the ballet and his meeting Merethyl - he wanted to thank him and ask him and Anya to be part of their wedding celebration, however they chose to make that happen. He smiled as she touched his jaw, slipping away with that unique grace of a woman born to be a dancer. "Only your clothes, mon amour," he teased.

Anya's jaw very nearly dropped as Merethyl actually blushed at that teasing comment from Christian, the soft rose shade contrasting rather charmingly with her pale countenance. Biting her lip to keep from smiling, Anya let the elven woman slip by her without comment, raising her eyes to Christian with a slightly teasing look of her own. "I will see you in the foyer, then," she told him, ignoring the fact that Sofia was wriggling her chubby fingers in his direction. "It will be a pleasure to see Tony's face when you tell him your wonderful news."

"I am looking forward to it," Christian replied with a very uncharacteristic grin, or perhaps, this was just the true Christian emerging at last - the man he'd been before his injury. His picked up his bag and made his way toward Anya to peck her cheek briefly before doing the same to her chubby baby girl. "Merci, mon ami," he told her, though it was hardly her doing that this had happened. Who was to blame or to thank, he wasn't sure. He would think on that later. For now, he was too happy to think about anything but life with his little ballerina.

"It is good to see you smile, Christian," Anya grinned, ushering him out ahead of her. She paused, looking back into the rehearsal room as her hand reached toward the light switch, glancing down at her daughter as Sofia seemed to wave and giggle at someone unseen. Anya had been in Rhy'Din long enough not to dismiss this out of hand, though she waited until Christian was out of earshot before speaking softly. "Thank you," she said to the apparently empty room. "They would never have found that by themselves." Smiling, she flicked off the light and slipped from the room.

And in the darkness, the unseen watcher laughed to herself, delighted with the outcome of her little nudge. One small vision of what could be, and there was open love to share on a stage. How was that for a little inspiration"

((I promise, we were not expecting that! Promise!))