Quarter Time

Four steps in the path of the relationship between Gareth of Naxen and Lady Cythera of Elden.

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Walking

The first time the young brunet knight approached her and asked her, head bent toward the ground shyly, if she would walk through the courtyard with him, Cythera of Elden blinked and stared, her attention fully away from the book clutched in her gloved hands. The knight blushed slightly, and turned away, muttering something about a mistake, but before he could take a step away, Cythera stood up hastily, forgetting her lessons in ladylike behavior, and dropped her book. "Wait," she said, her voice trembling slightly. She smiled. "I'd be glad to walk with you, sir."

The knight—Gareth the second of Naxen, she remembered belatedly—blinked twice, before a smile spread across his face. "It would be an honor, Lady Cythera."

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Waltz

Despite all of Raoul and Jon's words of encouragement, Gary cannot find the courage inside him to approach Cythera at the ball to ask for the next dance. Surprisingly, she stands alone by the window, looking into the dark, beautiful light. Her head is bent slightly, her long ash-blonde hair falling over to hide her face.

Gary would be happy to sit there and stare at her all night, and then toddle back to his rooms to write lovesick poetry to her toenail. The gods knew he had done that enough already—since Cythera had come to court, as a matter of fact. It was really too bad that his friends wouldn't take that for an answer.

Cythera wasn't too surprised when, after closing her eyes for a moment of quiet contemplation and listening to the violins' soft melodies, she heard a quick scuffle of movement, a few whispered curses, and then an abrupt silence. She opened her eyes to see Gareth standing in front of her, his dress tunic and hair a little askew. He cleared his throat and tried to place his hair into some semblance of order.

Cythera arched an eyebrow wordlessly, nodding toward the two knights trying (and failing) to hide behind a nearby pillar. "Friends of yours?"

"They mean well," Gary replied, shooting them a dark glare. "They just don't know how to express that without looking like fools."

Cythera pulled her fan open to hide her smile, but Gary saw the corners of her eyes crinkle with amusement. Something inside him crowed in gleeful triumph. Riding on his wave of confidence, Gary plunged ahead a little recklessly. "Would you give me the honor of this dance, my lady?"

Cythera was a little surprised to hear an inner self squeal with glee, but outwardly, she just nodded and smiled, before taking Gary's arm graciously.

By the end of the night, Gary drifted to his rooms, in a cloud of happiness. Even Raoul and Jon's constant teasing after he had danced three consecutive dances with Cythera failed to miff him.

Maybe he wasn't going to hide behind the curtains with Raoul at the next ball, after all.

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Wonder

Cythera was not holding a daisy in her hand.

It was a daffodil.

And it was for a fresh bouquet for her friend Delia's room, not for herself.

Her fingers were just playing over the delicate yellow petals, feeling the soft, velvety texture of them.

It wasn't as if she was thinking about plucking any of them off, or anything. That would be needlessly ruining something beautiful.

He loves me, he loves me not…

Cythera stopped, horrified at her own thoughts. She was not thinking that. Not not not. No way…but…she had already started her stupid little process, and besides, she hated to leave things unfinished…

A little voice inside her muttered sarcastically that, as intelligent as she was, she could easily come up with a better excuse than that. Cythera ignored it.

Needless to say, Lady Cythera of Elden did not spend the rest of the day reasoning to herself that daffodil-plucking was not a valid way of discovering if a man loved you or not.

…Of course not.

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Whimsy

Gareth II of Naxen courted Cythera of Elden for a year before he admitted to himself that he might just possibly want to marry her.

It took another year before he gathered the courage to ask.

…It took three months to plan his proposal. Jon and Raoul called him an idiot who didn't know what he wanted approximately one thousand times in those three months.

When Cythera walked into the main palace courtyard in the middle of summer, only to find the entire place overrun with daffodils, she almost fainted. As it was, she sat down on the dusty path, her mouth open in an unsightly fashion, and her skirts already hopelessly ruined. Everything was yellow. As far as she could see. It was…insane.

There was only one person in the entire Court who could be responsible for this madness, and the very knight in question stepped out from behind a topiary sheepishly, holding a single red rose. He knelt down to Cythera's level, and offered her the rose. "Cyth, will you marry me?"

Cythera accepted the rose, still more than a little shocked. As the realization of his words dawned upon her, she brought her hands to her face, and let out a shocked little giggle. "Yes," she managed at last. "Yes, a million times over."

Their clothes were thoroughly dusty by now, the scent of daffodils was overpowering to the point of both Gary and Cythera feeling rather as if they were going to faint into each others' arms, the red rose was thorny and Cythera's hand was sore, and yet it was still the most romantic moment in both of their lives.

(Then Raoul fainted because the smell was too much for him, Jon and Alanna burst out laughing, and Thayet abandoned her position behind a daffodil-covered tree to rush over and embrace Cythera, and the moment was over. But if you ever asked Gary or Cythera about it in the years to come, they would still tell you it was the most romantic moment in both of their lives.)

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