BDL #61 - Ladyhawke
Jul. 11th, 2006 07:57 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
kittydesadeTitle: Ever After
Fandom: Ladyhawke
Characters: Isabeau
Word Count: 415
Rating: PG
There are stories and books that tell her how this is supposed to turn out, but it's hard to remember that when you're the princess. Even harder when your fingers can no longer turn the pages and your eyes see in strange shades and at different perspectives and, oh yes, talons punch through even the toughest of paper.
He won't carry a book around. It's valuable pack space that he could use for food, waterskins, clothing for when each of them wakes up naked with the taste of blood in their mouth. Rat blood, squirrel. Rabbit. It's not so hard, most mornings. Even the dirt and rocks in places you really don't want dirt and rocks.
It's the waking up alone that hurts. Even after the first year, the thought that there will be an eternity of this. It hurts.
She thinks he may have gone a little bit mad with it, and that's why he's tugging them on this journey all the way around the country and back to the cathedral again. He leads, she has to follow, because it's dangerous for a woman alone at night even with a wolf companion and she looks like a witch, walking with such a beast. Also because he's always had such a forceful personally, she's carried along by it, managing him in such small ways as she could before they could no longer speak.
There's hope, there must be. She'll endure, because it's what she's always done and because it's what she knows best. And because there is love there, running deep and strong. Tugging her along. Even if they're not on the same schedule at all they can be together in the small ways. Even if she hasn't spoken to him in long enough that the doubts creep in, that she wonders, that it hurts in a new way all on its own. They're still there, in that small church with the poor, sodden monk, with the light shining on them both. As they always should have been.
It should have been happily ever after. There should be a happy ending somewhere, but when she finally gets hold of a book and quickly thumbs through to the back she's racing the sun. She can't remember the happily ever after, and she needs to know that there is one. The sun rises, talons punch through paper and leather. The bird doesn't know what she was doing with a book, or even what a happy ending is.
Fandom: Ladyhawke
Characters: Isabeau
Word Count: 415
Rating: PG
There are stories and books that tell her how this is supposed to turn out, but it's hard to remember that when you're the princess. Even harder when your fingers can no longer turn the pages and your eyes see in strange shades and at different perspectives and, oh yes, talons punch through even the toughest of paper.
He won't carry a book around. It's valuable pack space that he could use for food, waterskins, clothing for when each of them wakes up naked with the taste of blood in their mouth. Rat blood, squirrel. Rabbit. It's not so hard, most mornings. Even the dirt and rocks in places you really don't want dirt and rocks.
It's the waking up alone that hurts. Even after the first year, the thought that there will be an eternity of this. It hurts.
She thinks he may have gone a little bit mad with it, and that's why he's tugging them on this journey all the way around the country and back to the cathedral again. He leads, she has to follow, because it's dangerous for a woman alone at night even with a wolf companion and she looks like a witch, walking with such a beast. Also because he's always had such a forceful personally, she's carried along by it, managing him in such small ways as she could before they could no longer speak.
There's hope, there must be. She'll endure, because it's what she's always done and because it's what she knows best. And because there is love there, running deep and strong. Tugging her along. Even if they're not on the same schedule at all they can be together in the small ways. Even if she hasn't spoken to him in long enough that the doubts creep in, that she wonders, that it hurts in a new way all on its own. They're still there, in that small church with the poor, sodden monk, with the light shining on them both. As they always should have been.
It should have been happily ever after. There should be a happy ending somewhere, but when she finally gets hold of a book and quickly thumbs through to the back she's racing the sun. She can't remember the happily ever after, and she needs to know that there is one. The sun rises, talons punch through paper and leather. The bird doesn't know what she was doing with a book, or even what a happy ending is.