by Glenn » Tue Jun 26, 2018 12:34 am
The laughter slowly faded but his pace did not. She said her piece and then walked it back even as she tried to walk herself forward to keep up with him. "No raven," he'd mutter. "I'd hate to explain this to him." This being what exactly? "Any of this," not at all helpful, "but this especially."
On the one hand, she'd be more apt to anticipate his sudden movement, having seen it once before. On the other, it was so unlikely to happen twice, especially after he had refused her invitation, that maybe (hopefully) it had come as a surprise. It being a surprise was half the point. He had been keeping her momentum going and that meant that it was fairly easy to turn and pull her back into a twirl once again. This time, he better knew what to anticipate. Assuming that her body relaxed against his once more, he'd take a far slower tempo. She'd let him lead before, but it was leading about Her Ascendancy. The challenge was in containing her without constraining her, to force demurral while still maximizing delight. In this, even though he was skillfully planting his feet, it was hardly a formal thing, much more of a swaying into the night.
This time he was ready, however, and even as he started to force their sway, he partook in his own unique and inexorable blasphemy: Burnie spoke. "Once, long ago, there was a prince." His voice was distant, airy, soft and somehow conspiratorial. "Princes have too much time on their hands and find mischief that those toiling in the field might never encounter. They dream and think fantastical thoughts. They seek ideals. This prince sought Beauty, true Beauty. He had read about it in dusty tomes and heard of it in a hundred poems and songs, but he wondered if it was simply fabrication, something we men invented for the sake of our pride, something to bring warmth during the cold of winter or light in the dark of night. It was on one of those dark nights that he wished upon the bright star of the north to experience beauty for himself.
"The next night was a grand ball, one put on in his honor so that he might find a wife. All of the women of the kingdom were invited, as well as noble ladies from the surrounding lands. The prince danced with each, hoping to find that spark of real Beauty within. Each sought to impress him. None danced for the moment. None danced for the dance. None danced for herself. None even danced for him, not truly. Finally, he pulled aside a servant girl, one dressed far more poorly than the guests, with hair mottled from her work and fingers calloused and dirtied, and asked her to dance. It was frustration, desperation, but kindness as well. It was selfless, an attempt to provide one so overlooked a moment of enjoyment in lifetime of labor.
"He could not have known that she was a fairy queen of legend and lore, one in the midst of some mischief or purpose of her own. As he danced with her, true Beauty was revealed to him, not in the form she chose to reveal, as impressive as it was, but in her movement, in her freedom and in her passion. The veil of what had been so courtly and forced and rigid lifted to reveal to him the wonder that he had been searching for. They danced for an hour without pause, and then she was gone. He could not remember her face, not her eyes or her nose or her chin, but the memory of their motion stayed with him with the rise of the sun.
"He left that very morning in search of her, travelling from kingdom to kingdom, from formal ball to barn dance, in raucous pubs and grand halls, wherever there may be music and revelry. And he danced. He danced with queens and paupers. He danced with great-grandmothers and young girls taking their first steps. He became a master, renown far and wide for practiced steps and spontaneous bursts. As he continued to search for Her, to try to recapture that moment of Beauty, he traveled the world day. It was an honor to have him at a gala, a whispered privilege to have him grace your wedding, your village, your tavern.
"This was his life, always seeking, always dancing, always blessing those around him with his presence and his passionate abandon. Eventually age caught up with him as it does with all men, even princes, and he began his journey home. The rigors of a lifetime on the road had taken their toll and he walked with a cane and danced far more slowly. He was welcomed once more at every port, in every castle, in every town, often by the children of those he had met years before, ones who had heard the tale of his prior visit and the happiness he had brought.
"When he was but a few miles from his childhood home, the prince's legs finally gave out on him. As he laid upon the ground, he looked up to the bright star of the north once more. He was alone with it and his warm memories rekindled throughout his journey home. Though he had never found Her again, his last thoughts were not sad ones. Her Beauty had driven him to spread joy and happiness throughout the world, to create his own Beauty that he could share with all.
"Our stories are all like that," somewhere in the midst of swaying and story, his eyes had shut. Now he opened them, though his gaze was far-off, somewhere over her shoulder. "So much of us, so little you." If there was a point more than that, he did not speak it. He only shook his head and lingered in the dance a while more.