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| To Dance With You Again - The Sequel; lol shade fic | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Mar 18 2007, 02:37 PM (234 Views) | |
| Shade | Mar 18 2007, 02:37 PM Post #1 |
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Unregistered
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First of all, if you haven't read it yet, read, To Dance With You Again. Otherwise, this fic won't make any damn sense. Now, I finally got my brain together and wrote the first chapter of this fic. The first chapter was definitely the hardest, but I can clearly see the rest of them in my head, so it shouldn't take me too long to update this. I don't know EXACTLY where I'm going; hell, I may make it a (not dirty) lemon. You never know. Oh, and there's no official title yet, so feel free to suggest one. Once I have it, I'll upload the chapter to FF.net. In the mean time, your guys' critique would be awesome, since I remember there being a good number of fans here. Disclaimer: I do not own FE. Still. More. Again. Constantly. [size=7]Chapter I: Broken Hearts Rarely Mend[/size] It was their second dance and the way he held her close that she remembered most about him. It was not because he was a good dancer; on the contrary, until he finally settled into a swaying rhythm, he was quite clumsy, and always seemed to step on her right foot. No, it was the way he clung to her, almost desperately, as if he knew he would never see her again. In a way, it had almost frightened her, because she knew that they might not see each other again. So after she had returned to Etruria, she had done the only thing she could do: Hope. Hope, and dream; and while she was with her parents, pretend that nothing with Heath had ever happened, for while her parents were very kind, she knew that they would think that he was only interested in both her body, and her money. As Heath had said, he was a deserter, and she was a princess, and their worlds were so completely different that it was almost impossible to make them work together. It did not matter to her; she could've lived as the wife of a mercenary, always traveling from one point to the next without a permanent destination, if only he would've allowed her to come. Heath was too proud, though, proud to a fault. He had wanted a better life for her than that, one where she never had to face the possibility of someone someday bringing to her the mangled body of her husband. He wanted her to have a life of ease and comfort, not of toil and constant worry. She had still planned to follow him anyway, but by the time she had awoke that morning, he was already gone. Gone during the night, with no one knowing where he went, not even Legault. She had no choice but to return home. When a girl's heart is broken, they cannot hide their feelings for very long. So it was with Priscilla. She cried many, many times after she returned to Etruria, completely baffling and worrying her parents. It had taken her more than two years to finally be able to think of Heath without falling to pieces, but even then, her love for him had not vanished. On the contrary, her determination to find him was only stronger now, and she made a promise to herself that once she did find him, she would never return home again; at least, not without him by her side. And then, there was the suitor. She barely knew the man outside of social functions. From what she could tell of him, he was kind, charming, not overly interesting, and very wealthy. Exactly the type of man her parents would like her to marry. The problem was, besides being disinterested in the man, she had Heath, and she would not give up her chance with him. She couldn't...and yet, she had to marry him, anyway. There was no reason not to, as her parents said, and unless she could think of a good reason (besides the part about her not loving him), she had to become his wife. So, they were married, and had been up to the present date for about a month. This is now where we find Priscilla, sitting inside a dark carriage, with a multitude of furs wrapped around her to keep her warm. Snow falling outside; the harsh cold of Ilia was slowly seeping in through the crevices and cracks in the door and windows. She had told her husband that she needed a vacation from the hustle and bustle of the Etrurian court. It was easy to convince him to let her go alone; being a weak-willed man with other business to attend to, he saw no harm in letting his wife leave for about a month, even if her destination was strange. If only he knew the real reason for this trip, he would not have been so easy-going. It had been nearly two weeks since Priscilla had come to Ilia, and there was no sign of Heath anywhere. She had traveled from village to village, finding only vague information, and receiving nothing but inquiries and directions to the next town where Heath might be staying. She had no hope for the town she was currently passing through; she had seen no wyvern thus far, and had no idea how a place this small could accommodate one in the first place. I suppose I was never meant to find him again, She thought sadly, looking out the window at the snow. How could I let the romantic side of my mind take control over my common sense? Finding a certain mercenary here, no matter how unique, is like searching for an Elfire in a room of Fire tomes, not to mention how silly I am for thinking he still loves me. And yet...I want to believe I can still find him. Oh, Elimine, I need to find him. I don't want to be left with nothing but a memory of a man I cherished; I want that man to be in my arms, for as long as we both live. Elimine, please let me find him. Please--- She was jolted out of her thoughts by the carriage coming to an abrupt halt. She looked outside, and, upon seeing no soldiers or bandits, she opened the door and gracefully stepped out in the snow, pulling her furs tighter around her to help block out the cold. "What is wrong?" She called to the driver, who had left his seat and was on the ground. "There's a man lying in the snow, my lady," He answered. "He seems to be half-dead and frost bitten. I don't know how long he's been lying here." "Let me see." She quickly shuffled over to them, chiding herself mentally for not having a healing staff in her possession. As she knelt, she noticed that the man was not wearing anything that would keep out the cold, only some worn armor that looked like it had seen much better days. She brushed the snow off the man's face, and as she did so, her eyes widened with recognition and horror. "Saint Elimine, it can't be..." She breathed. "Quick, get him inside before it's too late!" (OOC: I know it starts off slow, but'll pick up as I start writing more. And I'll write faster if people review it. *winkwink*) |
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| Merk | Mar 18 2007, 05:16 PM Post #2 |
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ザワザワ
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I'm interested in seeing where this is headed. |
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~AKA SkyFireZero. a r p s | |
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| Dragon_Sniper | Mar 18 2007, 08:46 PM Post #3 |
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chicks chicks chicks
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Interesting. I'd love to read more. =3 |
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| Hollie | Mar 19 2007, 03:07 PM Post #4 |
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Resident Brit
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Ooh, I'd love to read more. <3 I really love how you portray Priscilla, too. This is good work. |
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| Shade | Mar 19 2007, 08:56 PM Post #5 |
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Unregistered
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Mmm, at the moment, I seem to ahve some sort of flu-type bug, so updates will either be by next week, or in the next few days, depending on where my mind leads me. Thanks for your comments! |
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| Shade | Apr 7 2007, 02:53 PM Post #6 |
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Unregistered
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FINALLY GOT PAST THAT FUCKING WRITER'S BLOCK AND WROTE THE NEXT CHAPTER. [size=7]Chapter II: I Promise.[/size] There was only cold. Cold, wrapping his bones like a shroud of death, subtly choking the life from him, whispering sweet words of a long, peaceful sleep, with eternal dreams in which he would forever be with the one he loved so much. The snow echoed these same soft words and empty promises, for they were minions of the cold that sought to claim another victim, and followed its whim to the very end. People passed; he was vaguely aware of them, but none of them deigned to lend a helping hand to save a freezing sell-sword. And yet, through all this, he did not care. The cold felt comforting; the snow was as soft as a feather bed. It beckoned him to dreams of her, and he was following its calls. After all, if he could not have his lover while he was alive, having images and dreams of her in eternal sleep would be the next best thing. He drifted down into a still darkness, everything inside of him slowly coming to a halt. He felt something underneath him, lifting him skywards. Was this death coming to take him? He could not tell; he still felt very numb, but it could have been. It did carry him, and suddenly, he felt warmth. Was the afterlife warm? At this point, he passed into true unconsciousness, and was aware of no more. Dreams crept through his mind, dreams of red hair and white silk; of feathers and the scent of roses; and of large green eyes that beckoned to him to fall into their depths, and be lost within them forever. He reached out towards the eyes, their light burning his eyes as they grew brighter and brighter, washing him in their warm light until he was blinded. The light became muted, peachy-colored. He was warm, though it felt different than before. It was a tangible feeling that covered his body, like.... Blankets..? He stirred, feeling the rough fabric of some sort of coverings on him. He opened his eyes, blinking uncertainly. There was a woman, dressed in Eliminian clerical robes, sleeping in her chair beside the bed he was lying in. He reached out, nudging her slightly with his hand. "Is this Heaven?" He rasped, still convinced that he was dead. The cleric awoke with a jolt, looked around for a moment, then looked down at him, her eyes wide. "What did you say, son?" "Is this Heaven?" He repeated. She laughed. "No son, of course this isn't Heaven." "Great," He muttered. "Mommy always said that if I did one bad thing, no matter how much good I did otherwise, I would go to Hell. This proves it..." "No, no, son," The cleric said, putting a warm hand against his cheek. "You aren't dead. You were half-frozen and delirious when you were brought in three days ago, besides being stricken with feaver. I'm amazed that the feaver has broken so quickly for you." "Please excuse me for one moment, son, I must inform them that you are awake," She added, scuttling out of the room. He sighed, staring at the ceiling with empty eyes. He had wanted to die; her memory was far too strong for him to escape via drinking, and her face had tormented his dreams. Even fire and brimstone after death didn't scare him; it couldn't have been any worse than this hell he was existing in now. But he couldn't even have that. Brought back from the brink of death by a holy woman's skilled hands, and now in debt with, more than likely, a random mercenary leader who would probably work him out in the brutal cold until he froze to death anyway. Please...I just want some peace... He closed his eyes, too tired to even cry. The latch on the door clicked, and he could hear its hinges let out a creaking protest at being opened. He didn't even bother to open his eyes; maybe whoever it was would think he had fallen asleep again. "Heath?" Heath opened his eyes, the voice sending a familiar shiver down his spine. He sat up as fast as his sick body would allow, and gazed upon the person in the doorway. Red hair that had grown down to her shoulders. White silk that lined her fur cape. No feathers, and her rose perfume was faint. But as she came closer, he could see that her eyes, while looking a bit more matured, were the same, emerald green that you could become lost inside of forever. He could not take his eyes off her as she sat on the edge of the bed next to him, her own gaze looking worried and loving at the same time. "Priscilla?" Heath croaked. He stroked her cheek with a thin hand, and she leaned into his touch. She was warm...alive. Not a dream image: She was real. He lifted his head to kiss her lips, the weight of his sadness leaving him all at once; but as the weight left, the relief overwhelmed him. He bowed his head, his hand falling from Priscilla's cheek, and as she swept him into a tight embrace, he cried; tears of sadness, of loneliness, of despair, and of joy coming out in one tidal wave of emotion that reduced him to a shaking, sobbing heap in his love's arms. "It's going to be alright, Heath," He heard Priscilla murmur as she held him. "I'm here. It's all going to be okay. I promise, my love. I promise..." |
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| Hollie | Apr 7 2007, 03:13 PM Post #7 |
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Resident Brit
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WRITER'S BLOCK MUST DIE. You gave it to me, you bish. :[ Good chapter, though. I like it.
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| Shade | Apr 7 2007, 03:21 PM Post #8 |
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Unregistered
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Better you than me---*SHOT* Thanks.
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| 13tanith7 | Apr 28 2007, 07:59 PM Post #9 |
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...Whoa. That's a good story. And don't you go complaining about writer's block, you hear? You gave it to me a long long time ago, and it's been months since I've been able to write anything at all! ((Mind you, this includes school papers)) |
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| Rin | Apr 29 2007, 12:04 AM Post #10 |
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TOTALLY A MAN
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Guess everyone's suffering from writer's block... Finally took the time to read this and its prequel. WHAT THE HECK WAS I THINKING!? Wry didn't I read this before!? ![]() Sad story. Beautiful story. My tummy is squirming.
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![]() Av and Sig were definitely not made by Pendant or fez. | |
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2:34 PM Jul 11
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I like it.




2:34 PM Jul 11