poly_chromatic | Entry 615; Day 1586

[It's always a bit lonely, the Monday after a Visitor's Weekend, and particularly so on this occasion--what with her whole family coming to call for the first time in perhaps her entire stay in the City. It's not that she regrets seeing them all (the furthest thing from, in fact), but it does make their absence a bit more prominent, having spent so much time surrounded by the people she loves only to have to bid them adieu as midnight of the last day finally approached.

So it's with some relief that she's received this bit of correspondence this afternoon; what better way to ward off a touch of homesickness than with the company of the one person who's been her stalwart companion in it for so long.

(He's always been better at goodbyes than she has; perhaps it's because he's said far more of them than her, or perhaps it's just because he's more careful to remember that one might always be coming. But that's not so bad, either, to have one of them be good at it. It helps in the moments like these, when he can bring the wisdom of experience to accompany her in her optimism.)

So, having made the decision to leave the Blue Light in the hands of her trusted staff for the rest of the afternoon, her reply comes shortly thereafter, typed out in the doorway of the club in the few seconds before she steps into the brisk City air.]

I'd be delighted. Shall I meet you somewhere?

At the gates to the park, if that suits you. I only suggest it because I happen to be here already.

[And it is in this moment, in responding to her so casually, that he feels surprisingly and woefully unprepared...]

[Well, he'll have a few minutes to collect himself, at least, what with transit time and all.

Or to fidget himself into a frenzy, either way.]

That sounds fine! I'll just be a few minutes.

[And without further ado, off she sets for the familiar old gates, just as she has so many times before.]

[He's waiting, wearing his usual top coat and top hat. He has not fidgeted himself into a frenzy. That would be unseemly and completely out of character for him.

He smiles when he sees her on her way.]

[Quite a bit of smiling he's doing, lately--but it's not as though Rosella can truly say she minds. His smiles are always something precious, both in and of themselves and because of how rare they can sometimes be.

She waves as she comes up, smiling herself, and brushes her hair back behind her ears from where it'd blown carelessly in her face.]

[He almost but not quite no not quite though almost and even his fingers twitch a little at the thought reaches to brush her hair away from her face for her. But, no. Not here. Or perhaps not yet.

He is resolved.]

Have you been well?

[He offers his arm for her to take or not, as she pleases.]

The weather's been appalling in the City of late, don't you think? Xanadu's a peculiar place, though. I rather wonder if it might seem more like spring in places there than it does in the City at large.

[He knows this for a fact, though.]

[Such self-restraint. Befitting of an Englishman, surely.]

It's been all right, really. Things are always a bit melancholy after a visiting day comes to an end, of course, but it was wonderfully nice to see everyone again. And all at once, besides! It's...odd, you know, we've never really had the chance to all be together like that before, what with Alexander away so long and then Daddy falling ill, and...

[And then her landing in the City so soon after, five and a half years ago now.

She links arms with him with barely a second thought, and takes care not to lean too close, though she certainly does stay closer than is probably entirely proper by some places' manners.]

Well. It's nice to have company, and if Xanadu might be a bit like spring out today, then so much the better.

I was quite pleased to be able to well and truly meet everyone--your mother and father and brother, I mean--all at once. I think I'd spoken to all of them on their own, but not all together. And it had been some time, anyway.

I am sorry I haven't a castle in the City. I suppose it would be small comfort to your mother to know I had one in my own world. But that does little good here, doesn't it?

[Down a familiar path, winding among winter trees. But it is a little warmer in the park gates, even if the place does still seem a winter garden.

The pond and the roses are ahead a little ways...]

I wonder if it almost isn't nicer that way, really. If you did have a castle here, I might always be comparing it to my own, to see how it measured up. The Opera suits you just as well, I think, and in its own way, it's all yours. There's something to that, after all.

[She's brightening visibly as they go, looking all around (as she's often wont to do, when strolling through the outdoors) at the sights and sounds of the gardens.

She knows this path, of course. They've walked it so many times before, together and separately. And yet it never gets old, somehow, either.]

I've no doubt my castle would pale in comparison to yours. And I suspect you'd always find mine too dark and full of cobwebs for your taste. Which would suit me quite well. There are enough cobwebs in the Opera Abandoned to please me, after all.

[He lets them walk in silence a little while... Then:]

I came here for a walk myself a day or two ago and I saw the most remarkable thing. I don't know if you've seen it yet, but I hope you haven't.

Silly. What in the world would you want with a castle all full of cobwebs, anyway? Besides better maids to keep the place clean, I suppose.

[A jab that earns him a playful nudge in accompaniment--but then she's quiet herself as they carry on, too.]

Did you? No, I haven't been down this way in awhile. What is it?

It's rather remarkable. I told you that Xanadu seems to have a few peculiar whims, didn't I?

[He says no more, but they turn along another path and crest a small rise.

Some of the roses are before and below them, sloping down towards the water, shaded by trees. And they are, all of them, in bloom. Bright red, tosy pink, yellow, white so pure it seems tinged with blue, streaked pink and golden or red and white, soft lavender, glowing yellow rising to rosy pink like a sunrise itself, red so dark it seems near on to black. It may be February outside the park's gates, but summer seems to reign in this small corner of the gardens--and only in this small corner, for the trees on the farther side of the pond and even just a little further beyond the roses are still dark and leafless and glittering with ice and snow.

Peculiar whims, indeed.

He leads her down the path amongst the roses themselves. He's quiet at first, hoping she's as surprised as he was when he came over that same rise.

After a little while:]

You know, I couldn't abide roses for the longest time. My father was fond of them. So I hated them--their scent, especially. But I... [A small pause.] I find I'm rather a bit more fond of them now than I was a few years ago.

[It's always been one of their longstanding differences of opinion, their viewpoint on roses. It'd bothered her once, that he hadn't professed to like them much at all--to hate them, even--when she'd loved them so much, and had so many fond childhood memories of her own little rose garden along the castle wall. Some might've called it trite, perhaps, for her to love her namesake flowers so. Perhaps she wouldn't have loved them as much as she does, were it not for that name.

But it's hers, and she does, and that's why it takes her breath away when he brings her up to the top of that rise and lets her catch her first glimpse of all the roses in bloom. She's no stranger to the Rose Path, of course; she's visited it a few times before, in previous years, and sometimes even in long winters when she'd ached for a reminder of spring. But this is the first she's been present to take in this sight of them, and the first that he's been at her side for it, besides.

Her free hand is against her mouth before she quite realizes it, her blue eyes wide as she takes in the array of blossoms, the clusters of colors and hues. She wouldn't know where to start admiring them even if she dared to try, much less find the one bloom she liked best to pluck and carry away with her.

But what makes all the difference, really, is that before he even reminds her of it aloud, she knows how much he'd once hated roses, and yet here he is, at her side, to present her with the rare gift of the sight before her eyes.

And then, as they're walking along the path, when he does finally speak, she listens--the smile on her lips going soft with the hint of a tremor at the corners--and tries to find the right words when it's hard to do anything but duck her head and smile.]

I'm glad you've come around to them.

[She brushes her hair back again, absently, from where it'd fallen loose from behind her ear.]

It's...not as though I couldn't have learned to like others, you know, just the same.

[There's a hint of a laugh lurking there as she says it, sheepish and fond--it's really only something to say to fill the silence, and she knows it, but it does its job well enough as she waits to see if he'll go on.]

But it wouldn't be the same.

[He turns to her, takes both her hands in his, and pulls her in the midst of the riot of roses.]

Oh--!

[WELL THEN. As though she'd resist, hardly. ~~KISS HER, YOU BLOCKHEAD~~]

[He loses his footing--the grass is wet, there's a gnarled root, something--and he tumbles into the grass between the rosebushes, taking her with him.

It's not a far fall, nor a hard one. He sits there on the grass.

Now he'll dare to reach and tuck her hair behind her ear. And his hand stays on her face.]

If I were to lose you, if you were to turn into one rose in a field of a thousand roses, I would find you. You'd be the most beautiful one there, adorned with pearls of morning dew.

[And he does kiss her.]

[She's not expecting the tumble, of course, and the rather undignified noise that escapes her as she follows him down is an inadvertent one, but it's a soft landing nevertheless and it's hard to even call her pride wounded when there's something so poetic to the thought of them taking a fall together, anyway.

(There's a word she wants to fill in there, one that fits and she knows it, but it's also one that's always been a touchy subject for the both of them and she knows that, too.)

But whether she says it, or thinks it, or even just lets it hang in implication in the rose-scented air around them, in the end it doesn't matter much because suddenly he's kissing her and that is what matters, moreso than anything else.

And yet, in its way, it's not even the kiss itself that seems to make all the difference, but the fact that he reached for her to do it, and if there's still fear and tragedy lurking somewhere in the circumstances that usually surround them, it seems they're shielded from it all now, for this moment, here amidst the roses.]

[He takes her hands in his again--he won't bother to stand. It's not even on his mind to stand. He simply takes her hands.]

Rosella, you must know how very much I care for you and... [He cuts himself off, sighs in a huff and rolls his eyes at himself.] No, I won't do this the way I 'ought'.

[He presses her hands and starts again.]

Every time I look in your eyes, they're so familiar.

Rosella, I've tried so hard to stay near to you even while keeping you sheltered from the curse that hangs over me and the wickedness that follows me. And yet, I don't think I need to shelter you. I've worried for you, endlessly, but you've so rarely been in true danger on my account. There's something in you that protects you from the darkness of my curse. It might be the love of your family or it might be your own soul. I don't know what it is, but I know that, though I've feared it would happen, you've never been stained by the curse I carry. I've wronged you and those you know and those you care about--I'll admit it. And still you've spoken to me. You're even here with me now. I don't know what deep well you draw your hope from, but it drew me to you and it held me up so many times. You've held me up--when Merry left, when Riff left, when my father threatened me more and more, when my father threatened you. You still stayed near to me. I don't know how you've endured it--or me. If you're afraid of my curse or my father or of me, you still seem to have hope. And I've felt that bearing me up more than a few times.

Much as I hate this city sometimes, if I'd not found myself here, I would never have met you. I've known you for a few years now, but I feel as though I could go on learning more about you for years more.

And I could never weary of looking in your eyes.

[And now he'll say it:]

Rosella, I love you. Will you marry me?

[At first, she doesn't quite realize what's happening.

She didn't the last time, either--when she was standing on that beach in Tamir as the sun was coming up, and it was that boy named Edgar (it's so long ago now, she barely remembers his face) asking something just like this--but then, the last time she'd been up for no less than thirtysome hours straight, and having faced certain death several times over besides, so it was rather a bit forgivable that she might not have caught on as quickly as she ought, standing there blinking in the morning sunlight with a damp and disgruntled hen in her arms.

This time, there's no excuse--none other than the fact that he's watching her so intently and his words are so soft that she can't help but lose herself in it. There's no excuse save that she's still a bit breathless from his kisses and it's not getting any easier to catch that breath, not as he goes on and on and the memories of all the years they've spent together come rushing back as his words call them to mind.

So really, she can probably be forgiven a bit that at first, the two most crucial sentences don't quite sink in, not for a few seconds of delay that will leave Cain ample time to watch every minute detail of how her expression changes as the realization dawns.

(She can feel her mouth trembling, and her eyes beginning to sting, and her chest and throat have both gone tight and she doesn't know why, except she does.)

Once upon a time, she'd said no to a question like this because she'd had to, because her family was waiting and home was where she'd needed to be. But that day is five and a half years gone, now, and while it's true that Daventry will always be home, the place where her family is waiting to see her return someday...it's also true that home is sometimes people as much as it is places, and all too often it's where the heart is, and she'd already given hers away to the insufferable boy clasping her hands years ago.]

Yes.

[It's out of her mouth before she's even really realized it, but she can't simply leave it at that, oh, no, not when her smile is trembling into bloom and her eyes are all the bluer for the tears brimming in them.]

Yes, yes, you awful, horrible--yes, of course, yes, as though you even have to ask, but I'm so very glad you did, I--yes. Yes.

[And then she pulls her hands free, but only so that she can catch him by the lapels and kiss him again, just as she once did for their first kiss in this same spot all those years ago.]

[He does watch her face, and all the small changes (a sudden blink, a movement of her mouth, the blueness of her eyes--always the blueness of her eyes) that pass over her face like the shadows of clouds (who really just know how to be) as first she hears what he has said and then understands it.

And then it's his turn to be surprised now--surprised that she said yes, surprised that he was surprised at that, surprised that he'd doubted her answer even for a moment, surprised that he would find it in himself to ask her at last...

But mostly surprised by her kiss.]

[She'll kiss him and kiss him until she tires of it (though at this point, she thinks she'll never tire of it), but even when she finally does draw back to catch her breath, she doesn't go far, and she keeps her fingers curled in the fabric of his coat like she's afraid something (the moment, the happiness, Cain himself) will slip away if she doesn't.]

I...you know, I--I spent the better part of a year, once, long ago, telling myself I wouldn't fall in love with you.

[She presses her lips together, her smile still pulling at the corners, and ducks her head a bit as the first tear falls.]

But there's no helping it. How could I? All that time I'd worried about what might happen, what it might mean between here and home and...and now it hardly seems to matter, when the only place I want to be is with you...

[He touches her shoulders, her hair.]

I must have spent just as long telling myself that I wouldn't fall in love with you.

[He brushes that tear away.]

I know there's no helping it for me. But I know that feeling--what if I was sent out of the City? If I left her behind, what then? I've lost and left behind so many people. But it doesn't seem as though either of us will ever leave. But...

If I do leave, I want to leave with you. If you go back to Daventry, so help me, I'll follow you. I'll fight my way there, if I have to.

But your London--!

[She can't keep the surprise off her face, any more than she can keep from leaning into his hand on her face, in her hair.]

When you've waited so long, and you miss it so...

[And when she could follow him back to it, just as well--and maybe she'd hate it or maybe she wouldn't, but she couldn't regret an instant of it so long as they were together.]

I know.

[His turn to duck his head a little. No tears, though--he hasn't cried in years and isn't about to start now, even in these circumstances.]

I have so many promises and vows to keep there. But I think I'd miss you more.

Then take me with you.

[She doesn't hesitate, bless her. And her voice doesn't tremble, either.]

You've told me so much about it already...why shouldn't it be lovely to see it for myself?

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