The water apparently had a lot to say. Fiona returns, dripping wet and marching determinedly with an expression that says whatever else she might have to say, the reason why she's wet isn't something she intends to discuss. Her shoes squelch and squeak, her clothing drags and hangs, her hair is darkened and bits of rivergrass cling to her limbs and throat and a bit of eelgrass is draped in accidental artistry across her forehead, and in her cupped hands she holds a frog.
She makes her way with careful yet wetly noisy footsteps over to where she had left Davydd and sits down, still holding onto her amphibian companion. She leans over, and very carefully she lowers the frog to just in front of the snoring man's face.
"Before you ask," Fiona says dryly (the only thing dry about her right now), "no, I wasn't trying to do an Ophelia imitation."
While you tromped off to the river and the wilderness, he opened another beer and stared at the stars until the beer was finished and he was asleep. At first, it wasn't a sound sleep. Winds and storms ripped through his kingdom as he, in his rest here, faced off with a queen in that Elsewhere. But, as with all things Davydd and Women, she was reduced to tears and he to regret.
And then he started to snore...
Now all three of them are going at it, ap Owain, Rhydidd and Bwci alike, snoring softly but in that male way that seems to indicate that while they are masters of their own domain, beer and knishes are a one-way ticket to sleepyland.
You can tell that your argument really seemed to stick with him...
Apparently, he's not capable of losing sleep over anything...
He doesn't ask, because he's asleep, so you're spared the belly laugh. But when you plop down, the dogs roll over, thinking (quite naturally) that biscuits, and not frogs, were raining from the heavens. Davydd on the other hand isn't so easily stirred (for a former bandit, he sleeps like a stone).
It's not until the frog belches its croak of Who are you people, and what have you done with my river?! that the forest green eyes blink open...
And then pop open...
"I'm not French," he smirks. "And don't get me warty..."
Carefully, Fiona sets down the frog to one side of herself, then watches it as it starts hopping off. "That's toads. Frogs only turn into displaced royalty." She sighs, peeling off a long piece of eelgrass and leaning over to tickle at your nose.
"No, you're not French, though you can be a stinker at times. Anyway - the ring stays on, Llewellyn." Fiona drops the grass, wiggling her damp fingers until the stone is gleaming and visible. "So did you have a nice nap?"
She doesn't seem inclined to bring up the argument, though neither does she seem to be sweeping it under the carpet; there is a pugnacious gleam to her gaze as she glances to you, but her voice is calm enough, convinced of ... something. If anything, it seems to be Your move, dragon-boy.
"Alright then," he says, looking from the frog to you. "It stays on then." There's a touch of amusement for all the histrionics (mostly his own), and while he's not sweeping anything under his own rug (no one would be fooled anyway, by the elephant-sized debris under a rug, no matter how large or how fine the rug) he seems fine to let the argument hover in the foreseeable future and not in the moment.
"You might stand a better chance turning that frog into a prince," he continues, rolling over on the grass and putting his elbow to the sod, his head to his hand, "...then turning me into one. But," he exhales grandly, "...you were never one to run from a challenge or blink when faced with insurmountable odds. Who am I to doubt you." That's both a tease and a statement of a man who might have spent the last half hour or what-have-you in serious contemplation rather than in beer-soaked nappery.
"I had a few tumbles in my brief dreams, but I survived to drink and smoke another day," fiery eyebrows arch upward, the slow trajectory of thoughtful comets. Davydd stares at you a moment, peers at you in fact, as if to figure out just what you are, and then the look softens a bit. "Sorry if I was a bit harsh, but I think with you and me... eh, we're not soft creatures who need things put in a certain way. Everything and nothing has changed. It... will be good to have someone with me... who I can help to understand it. And she's a young girl," he says to you as if he were speaking to himself, "...but she's a brave girl..."
And so the dragon makes his move, to take your waterlily soaked hand.
Absently, Fiona begins to pull off more bits of grass from various portions of her anatomy. "Just glad there weren't any leeches in that river," she mutters, "or eels. Well, I suppose eels aren't so bad - they're not electric around here, anyway - but ... well, just ugh." She peels off one final bit of greenery, then turns to look at you, face tilted half sideways, half downwards towards yours.
"I didn't fall in love with you knowing that you were anything other than a random berk. Knowing you are doesn't change how I feel about you now - why should it? Appearances do influence how people react, Davydd; that's part of the point I tried to make in my inimitably fucked-up way by being all punk and in your face. You are who and what you are, and that is who I happen to be in love with. I won't," she adds, straightening and turning to run her hands back over her hair, wringing it out, "put up for getting less than what I feel I deserve. Not from you, nor from anybody. But I don't think that you're going to consciously try to do that - if you try, it'll be after you've rationalized it to yourself first, and I just need to keep you on your toes enough that you can't."
Fiona logic. She leans back in, one wet hand moving to under your chin. "Davydd, age is going to go away fast enough on its own. So I'm young. I learn fast. When have you ever seen anything really stop me? I love you, and I'm a hard worker. Stop being so damn lazy."
She grins despite herself, but meets your gaze with a challenging look of her own, sliding her hand down to lightly slap your chest. "Get over yourself, my darling man."
"I'm not lazy," Davydd contends. "You were right the first time, Fiona. I am afraid..."
I am afraid that I am dead...
I am afraid that I am going to live forever...
I'm afraid that I'm doomed to repeat my own failures...
I'm afraid that I'm in love with you...
I'm afraid that I'm still in love with her...
I'm afraid that I have lost my only brother...
I'm afraid that my dearest friend will always look at me in pity...
I'm afraid I brought this all upon myself...
I am afraid...
But without fear, where would the hero be?
"Here, give me your lap," he murmurs. "Soggy as it is, it makes a better pillow than the earth. Oi, listen to that sacrilege," he finishes in a whisper. "Come here and stop fighting me for a while..." Davydd looks up at you and grins a cock-eyed grin. "Is it so much to ask for a man to get a little love now and then?"
"Well, since you ask so nicely." Fiona's smile wobbles, then widens with warmth and generosity as she drags herself over, settling again and lifting your head, then lowering it against her thighs. "You shouldn't be afraid, though."
Continuing contemplatively, she draws her fingertips back along your forehead, along your scalp. "Not everything broken can be mended the way it was, but that is the nature of change. I'm changing. You're changing. But underneath it all, each of us is still exactly who we are and who we're going to be. I love you - and that in and of itself is enough of a miracle that I'm betting we can scrape a large number of miracles out of the leftovers."
She tweaks a lock of your hair, then bends forward over you until her shadow covers your face. "Oh, my love, my darling," she croons, then smiles again, lopsidedly. "This is a partnership - and it's about love as well as alliance and maybe children. Kingdoms? Our kingdoms are going to be what we build out of our own labour, Llewellyn... same as they always have been. Same as they always have been..."
Posted by rowan at July 10, 2004 11:25 AM
