elanor_pam (elanor_pam) wrote in no_true_pair, @ 2009-01-06 18:03:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! 2009 eight characters challenge, author: elanor_pam, fandom: violinist of hameln, pairing: cornet/hamel |
Rashomon - or The Yule Back 10 Years Ago (Violinist of Hameln - Hamel and Cornet)
Title: Rashomon - or The Yule Back 10 Years Ago
Author/Artist: elanor_pam
Fandom: The Violinist of Hameln
Pairing/characters: Hamel and Cornet
Rating: PG
Warnings: Spoilers to the epilogue, but none to the sequel.
Prompt/challenge you're answering: Cornet and Hamel: it was a dark and stormy night
Note: Edited to fix the screwy html. It's what you get for pasting straight from MS Word... (also, I'm sorry for taking this long; I'm currently internetless and sharing a usb wireless filter with my sister - it goes back and forth between our comps - and I had no idea it was this messed up until I checked the posted thing.)
Dal Segno had been a country of children, the bulk of survivors from the all-out attack of the Northern Army. Now, though, the children had grown; their Prince had become a King, and their proud swordsmanship style would once more be passed onto their children to come.
It was still a struggling country, but the support of their long-time ally, the Dukedom of Sforzando, remained steadfast – and was strengthened by the marriage between their young king Trom Bone and Lady Cornet, younger sister of the famed and heroic ex-High Priest Clarinet, now Regent of Sforzando in the absence of the Holy Queen. She was beautiful, intelligent and highly skilled in magic, just like her older brother (or, so the rumors said, more so than him); she was welcomed and highly prized in the new court.
And, on a chilly winter night, Queen Cornet Bone of Dal Segno quickly glanced at the calendar and just as quickly glanced away; a sigh escaped her lips, and then she shook her head as if to disperse a thought. Her husband rolled his eyes – that little ritual had been repeated throughout the whole day.
Eventually, the young queen took refuge in the safety of her study, summoning a small light with a careless flick of her hand as she strode to her writing desk. There, hidden under the fake bottom of a drawer and guarded by a thousand spells of her own design, ready to deliver punishment to any trespasser, lay her most prized possession: her writing journal, lovingly decorated as only a pure maiden’s soul could appreciate.
Opening the magic seal that kept it shut, she carefully flipped the pages until she came across a blank one; and, after carefully cleaning the excess of ink off her quill, she started pouring out her troublesome thoughts.
Oh, my beloved journal, my friend in the darkest hours! It is true that I have very little to bemoan in my life, and yet I have come to seek solace in your companionship once again. And what other reason would have me crying my sorrows upon your figurative shoulders, if not him, my Hero, my Golden God?
Oh, the shame and guilt in me! I am no more a maiden who may fantasize at will about the object of her affections – I am married! I have my duties! And my husband, my dear Trom, is a delightful and handsome young man of high birth, responsible, beloved by his people, a true hero and one of the Five Great Hopes as prophesized by our sorely missed Queen Horn, may she stand among Saints. He is my friend, my brother in battle – why does my heart insist on demanding more?
Why does my heart insist on demanding Lord Hamel?
Though I try to stand strong whenever standing in front of him, my heart trembles, and I know he sees it. I dare not approach him – I know he fought hard and suffered immensely for the sake of the peace he now enjoys by Queen Flute’s side, hidden away from the hungry eyes of the Sforzandean court that would no doubt demand he meet their expectations of what the Queen’s spouse should be. Our late Queen Horn accepted him, but would they? Would I?
My heart of hearts screams: ‘No! No! You may not have him, only I may have him!’ but who am I to say such things? Queen Flute is cheerful, humble, bright as the sun; raised by peasants as she was, she regards the courtly life with as much trepidation as my beloved Hamel, who, though possessing even older and more powerful blood than she does, could only consider life among peasantry an improvement over his actual experience, or the experience he would have undergone had he been raised in his rightful place – the cold and dreary throne of the eternally dark Northern Capital.
Not only that, but, though I am now as much a queen as she is, I am still a citizen of Sforzando, and that makes her my Queen; I cannot deny my birthplace.
And, though it pains me to admit it, I can see he is happy – they both are. They seldom visit – though I can tell he and my husband often contact each other by means of crystal ball – but in each visit their cheerfulness and health shine through… though I can tell sometimes that he feels ill at ease in my presence. That is only normal, I imagine. He made his choice, and someone was bound to suffer; he tasted the fruit and it was not to his taste…
But oh!, how could I ever forget that kiss? The kiss we exchanged on this very same night, ten years ago?
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