an_evening_star | (no subject)

(no subject)

It begins, really, as any good and responsible royal journey should - in what is assuredly the complete, opposite direction of responsibility.

For example:

"Which way - hypothetically, of course - would we want to be going if we were on the way to Stormhold?"

"Well, if we turn right here, I'm pretty sure that -"

"Very good, left it is then!"

It really is terribly convenient, every once and a while, to have a boyf- a lov- a Tristran that simply knows which way will suit for their purposes at any given time. Especially when one considers that it's awfully difficult to stop and ask for directions when one is in the middle of nowhere.

And tree sprites?

Are terrible liars.

So it begins in the ~~right~~ wrong direction and it continues for sometime - until Yvaine is hot and her legs are sore and the tip of her nose is growing oddly pink from the sun and the soft tinkling of the stream off to the side begins to curl her lips upward in a decidedly troublesome manner under the shade of her hair.

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"I just - I -" the displeased edge to her voice flickers far more quickly than she is entirely pleased with and her shoulders slump - rather like a doll let off its strings - fingers knotting into the material. "I have no bloody idea, I just - I'm being a terrible bitch, aren't I?"

This was very distinctly not how things were supposed to pan out.

A mumble, "I hate it when you're right."

All right, so Tristran cannot help but soften - just a bit - at that.

Shaking his head, he lets out a sigh. "Here, at least wear my coat over yourself so no one - trees included - will see you wearing my shirt."

Luckily it has dried a bit since and is not as disgustingly wet as the rest of him.

"I was only going to ring the whole mess out before I put it back on," her lips tug up wryly, allowing the coat to be pulled over her shoulders. "I really was just being contrary - I don't precisely deal well with being told what to do."

Obviously.

(Even if it is just an implication.)

A tentative grin, up through her hair, "We need some sort of sign for 'Yvaine, you are being horribly unreasonable - I will refuse to speak to you if this behavior continues.'"

Oh, yes. So very Obviously.

He lets his hands rest for a moment upon Yvaine's shoulders and allows himself to smile a bit.

"That isn't such a bad idea," he says eventually, humour inadvertently slipping into his tone of voice. His hands drop and he shrugs. "Of course, you could simply stop being so 'horribly unreasonable', too."

It's the smile, really, that does it. Which is altogether pathetic of her, to be completely honest. She wouldn't precisely be amiable to admitting just how relieved it makes her, but it does so all the same.

She lets out a quiet breath of laughter - shoulders relaxing, untensing under his fingers.

"But then however would you recognize me, Prince Charming?"

"I could recognize you in a number of different ways," he replies. "Ways that are much more pleasant - and there are ways - than this."

"We need preemptive signs then," she laughs. "For when I seem as though I may be tempted to be unreasonable."

Which may be more often than not, given her track record.

"Shall I apologize then, dear?"

"Well, I would not object to one," he starts.

"Well, I wouldn't know what else to do if you did."

The smile widens a bit, upward on one side, before she blinks up at him - a fair bit more seriously than she usually bothers with. (But then, it's only very rarely that he gets upset with her - so she can try.)

"But I am sorry."

He nods, hands finding hers to touch for a moment.

"Apology accepted," he says. His smile widens likewise to match hers.

"Shall I also promise not to push you into things?"

It's there again, some very vague shimmer along the edges of her - fingers turning quickly after his, capturing his hands.

"Because I'm not entirely certain that I can keep that one."

"You could at least try not to push me into things when I haven't got anything dry to change into afterwards," he says exasperatedly, squeezing her hands.

"Would that work?"

She tries for solemnity, really she does, but the sheer effort and exasperation on his face just make her laugh, ducking her chin and pulling her hands up to muffle the sound - which only really serves to drag his up along with them.

"Oh," she manages, somewhere between laughs and the tangle of fingers. "My mother would adore you."

Very rarely did anyone even continue to bother trying to make Yvaine compromise after a few millennia of hardheadedness.

"Yes. I think that I could manage that."

"Very well," he says, pulling her a little closer towards him - despite the effects of the heat around them.

"You know, I think I've met your mum once." He pauses, drawing back a bit. "Or at least I feel like I might have."

"Still checking up on me then?"

She tilts her chin up, grinning wryly, "Not that I've been very good about giving her reasons not to."

A pause, looping her arms around his waist.

"Though she could be checking up on you," the star murmurs, sweeping her own gaze over him thoughtfully. "You're nice to look at."

He opens his mouth and pauses. Then, "Yvaine."

All right. So that last statement has got him a little flustered.

"It was - well, it was in a dream, I think. And it happened a while ago."

"Ah, yes. Reasonable and well behaved," she murmurs with surprising obedience, though her fingers do stay rather snug where they are.

She'll just appreciate the flush of color while it lasts.

"What sort of dream then?"

"I can't quite recall all of the details, but it had to do with helping you, I think."

He pauses as he searches his memory appropriately.

"Yes. Your mother was worried for you, and I would not blame her what with that crazy witch after you."

Her mother would worry about that.

Not to imply, of course, that crazy old women with very large knives aren't the sort of thing that one should be worrying about. Because they are.

Cheerfully, "I'm sure your internal organs are delicious too, dear."

"For a regular cannibal, perhaps," he concedes, "but these witches were specifically after star internal organs. Mine would not have sufficed, even if I wanted to give them mine to save you."

He might or might not be speaking in jest.

"Please refrain from metaphorically sacrificing yourself on my behalf," she replies, perhaps a bit more seriously than she had originally intended as well. "Your insides are inside, right where I like them."

A stern pinch to his side.

"And we take care of each other."

He leans forward to quickly press a kiss to her hair.

"You're right," he says. "We do take care of each other."

"I'm always right," she grins, then crinkles her nose. "Except - you know, when I'm not. And -" she leans herself forward as he moves back, snatching a quick kiss of her own. "And, even then, I'm still right. On principle."

"On principle," he repeats, deciding that since she has more or less initiated it, he can return the kiss with one of his own. "Of course, on principle."

He can still win things, though. Secretly.

Especially with that kind of incentive, he can.

For all the haughty words and unnecessary amounts of attitude she's rather easily distracted by gentle fingers and a soft voice, all things considered.

Secretly, of course. Very secretly.

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