An entry for the 'Amore Tank Your Heart' writing contest - short story category.
The story of Garion's first love and marriage. OOC knowledge.
At a social ball for the children of Holders on Hibi III
The song starts, and the boy finally decides to approach the girl he has been watching all evening.
He smiles at her nervously. “Do you want to dance?”
She looks at him, uncertain for a moment. The she grins, letting out a happy laugh. “With you? I’d love to!”
They take arms and start to dance, a little awkwardly, both eager but afraid. There is silence, while they try to think of what they are supposed to say.
“Hi,” she eventually says.
“Hi,” he repeats. “Um,” he says, a little flustered, “I’m Garion.”
“I’m Sahar,” she says, smiling. “I’m glad you asked me to dance.”
“Well,” he says with a slight stammer, “you looked like a good person to ask! Um.” His grin falls as his face turns red. “I, that is, er. . . .”
She laughs. “Relax, it’s fine.” She leans closer and says teasingly, “besides, I like to think I’m a good person to ask, too.”
His smile returns. “Well, you were a good person to ask, because this is the best time I’ve had all evening. I’ve never danced with anyone as nice as you before.” A little bit of his former uncertainty returns. “I, uh, hope you don’t mind me saying that.”
She blushes, just a little. “It’s flattering. And . . .” she smiles at him mischievously, “you dance very well. I’d love to dance with you all night.”
He smiles, finally at ease. “I just hope I have the stamina to keep up with you, then,” he says playfully.
A slight pause. She bites her lip and looks over her shoulder before turning back with a gleam in her eyes. “I hear there are some nice gardens here . . . want to explore them with me?”
At their wedding
The time comes for the first dance of the bride and groom, and they take their places on the floor as a tune with many fond memories for the pair of them plays.
“I don’t think I could be any happier than I am right now,” he says, as he regards her lovingly. “You look so pretty.”
She smiles back at him. “All brides are the prettiest person there is on their wedding day.”
He grins. “Well . . . that may have something to do with it,” he admits. “And everyone has to watch us and be in awe, just for today.”
But they both know that the reason people were staring at them had more to do with disapproval than of approval for the marriage that had just taken place.
Not wanting to talk about that on what is supposed to be a happy day, they fall silent, and the dance goes on. They gaze into each other’s eyes, hope and love mixing with fear and sadness on their faces, both desperate to draw strength from the other, both trying not to let their feelings show.
Finally unable to avoid it, he speaks. “It won’t be easy, you know. They’re all against it.”
“We’ll make it work,” she says, desperately wanting to believe her own words.
He hesitates just a second. “Yeah. We’ll make it work. We’ll face it, whatever comes, and we’ll make a life of it, just the two of us.”
She touches her belly. “The three of us.”
He smiles. “The three of us.” He gives a happy laugh. “We’ll make a life of it, even if they don’t believe in us. We’ll have a house of our own, just the right size for three, and a garden in back where he can play and we can sit together.”
She blinks back tears of joy as she breaks into a smile. “That,” she says, “sounds like perfection.”
At a ball for junior officers in the legal corps of the Amarr army
Neither of them are dancing. An uncomfortable silence fills the air as they try not to look at each other. Into the silence, however, comes a familiar tune.
“It’s our song,” he says, looking up as the memories stir.
She gives a short, bitter laugh. “It is.” She looks at him apprehensively, and says, tentatively, “maybe . . . we could dance?”
He looks surprised for a minute, then looks at her. “I . . . .” He hesitates, then he smiles, though it’s bittersweet. “I think I’d like that.”
Silence again. They dance, though they are both afraid to touch the other, even as they long for it.
She breaks the silence. “He misses you, you know.”
He looks away, briefly, not wanting to meet her eyes. “I know. I miss him, too.” He meets her eyes, a desperate wish in his own eyes. “I miss you.”
She glances away, wanting to look at anything but those eyes. “Let’s not start that again,” she says, the pain evident in her voice.
He nods, silently. The dance goes on.
After a while, the silence is too much to bear. “How are you getting on?” he asks, hoping to fill the void while avoiding any painful topics.
“Well enough,” she says politely. She searches for more to say, but there is no more to say, not without making things awkward again. “How are things at your new posting?”
“Fine,” he says in the same neutral tone. A slight pause. “I miss the garden, though.”
The pain returns. “It’s . . . all weeds now,” she says, a slight catch in her voice.
They both pretend not to see the tears in each other’s eyes, and silence returns as the dance ends.