The Avatars -- Chapter 5: Rings and Roses
Rhoswen let out a yelp as she landed on packed dirt, bemoaning the fact that she had never been able to achieve perfect teleport. When she teleported alone, the transfer was never as smooth as the teleports of the others', but she usually managed to land fairly close to her mark. Today her luck seemed to have run out.
She had been aiming for Ayla's home village; the petite, dark-haired girl was somewhat secretive about her whereabouts, and she was generally left to her own devices. Mehalia had told them firmly to leave Ayla alone, but Rhoswen couldn't help worrying. Ayla had never been away for so long, and it wouldn't hurt to get a tiny glimpse of her, just to make sure she was all right.
She stood up slowly, brushing futilely at the dirt stains on her white robes, until her hand halted in mid-action: she realized that she was surrounded on all sides for miles and miles by an endless stretch of roses. Fortunately, she had landed in between two rows of rosebushes instead of on top of them.
When she began taking a closer look at the rosebushes, Rhoswen nearly swooned with delight at the sensory feast her eyes and nose were taking in. To her left clustered a profusion of pure-white roses; a startling contrast were their neighbors, ruby-red roses of a passionate, sensual hue. In the distance, she could see spots of champagne, pink, yellow, and dark maroon. The smell was indescribable.
Rhoswen closed her eyes and inhaled deeply. The heady perfume of a single rose was already potent; fields and fields of different hybrids made for a magnificent bouquet of scents that almost overwhelmed her nose. Engrossed in the beautiful flowers around her, she soon discovered a fantastical maze to the right hand side and a series of gold roses that were planted in a spiral to her left. Even the roses on Olympus, she thought happily, were not as lovingly tended as these.
~~~~~*~~~~~
The worry-lines smoothed from Aeolus's forehead. Dealing with Notus and then with Zephyrus's reaction to his probable engagement had not been pleasant, but he always felt much calmer around his roses. They were imbued with his magic, which kept them safe from harsh winds and natural disasters like earthquakes and floods. As long as he willed it, they would bloom eternally, filling the palace with their fragrance.
His spirits lifted as he watched the ethereal figure before him; the clouds of white material billowed around her, giving the impression of wings, and twin streamers of silvery hair floated out behind. Aeolus was relieved to see the all-too-human expression of baffled delight on her face. Stepping forward with an easy smile, he said, "Excuse me; may I help you?"
Rhoswen spun around when he addressed her, her hand going to her heart. "I'm lost," she told him.
He had to suppress a smile at the childlike tone. "You are on the island of Aeolia," Aeolus supplied gravely.
"Where did all these roses come from?"
"The king planted them," he answered, sapphire-blue eyes twinkling merrily at the joke. He was somewhat miffed that she did not know who he was, but it was nothing that couldn't be rectified with a few more social visits. The Winds were already known for keeping to themselves and the private parties he held in his palace.
Rhoswen looked around again at the roses, her eyes wide and admiring. "All of them?"
"Every single one of them," he confirmed.
She looked up at him inquiringly. "Are you his gardener?"
Aeolus smirked for a moment, debating whether or not to reveal his identity. "Yes, I am," he said, having decided to remain in the role of the humble servant, "my name is Endymion."
"I'm...Serenity," she replied, remembering her friends' stern warnings about never revealing her name to strangers. When he bowed and kissed her fingers, she pulled away, laughing. "You're very gallant for a gardener," she said without condescension.
He bowed again. "Why, thank you, my lady. In truth, you should be praising my liege. I'm merely an excellent imitator."
She smiled brightly. "Suppose you tell me about this king of yours?" Rhoswen had a strong inclination towards romance, and the handsome, ebony-haired gardener and his mysterious king were to her liking.
"Well...what would you like to know?" he asked, falling into step beside her as they strolled towards the castle.
"Is he handsome?"
"Very handsome."
"And kind?"
"That too."
"...is he married?"
He choked. ‘Not if I can help it.' "No...he's rather young, you see. He's in no hurry to get married."
Rhoswen sighed softly. No matter how old she was, she would never be married.
Aeolus, who guessed that the beautiful young maiden entertained romantic visions of marriage, laughed inwardly. He wondered what Zephyrus's reaction would have been to finding her in the garden...
His mood sobered abruptly. Unlike Notus, he would keep his own strange run-in with a beautiful woman to himself. It wasn't that he didn't trust his friends; it was just that Zephyr could be overzealous, Eurus a little too sarcastic, Notus overly curious, and Boreas...well...he always told Boreas everything, but it irked him that Boreas always listened with the utmost courtesy, even to the most trivial matters, and never offered anything about his own troubles.
Determinedly brushing his moody thoughts aside, he looked over at his companion and noticed her eyeing the neighboring apple orchard ravenously. "Are you hungry?" he asked.
Rhoswen flushed a light pink. "I...just a little bit," she admitted.
Aeolus laughed. "Wait one moment. I'll be right back with something for us to eat."
When he returned, they settled on the lush green grass under the shade of a towering oak tree. Her mouth half full of buttered bread, Rhoswen asked, "I forgot to ask you–will your king mind that I've been trespassing?"
"Not at all. He's glad of company."
"You haven't mentioned his name once. What is it?"
"Aeolus," he said somewhat shortly, unwilling to be drawn back into his true self. He wanted to remain simple, charming Endymion for an afternoon without the cares of kingship on his shoulders.
Rhoswen's eyes widened as she remembered yesterday's conversation. "The King of the Winds?"
"The very same," he sighed, understanding the inquisitive gleam in her eyes. He was in for a long afternoon...but Aeolus admitted to himself that he didn't really mind, so long as he could sit beside her and drown himself in those lovely blue eyes.
~~~~~*~~~~~
Boreas had stormed out of Aeolia in annoyance, unwilling to endure the jests of his friends. When Boreas got angry (which, fortunately for the other winds, did not happen often), he was frightening, and everyone got out of his way. As far as he knew, Aeolus had broken the news to Zephyrus about his upcoming marriage and then fled to his refuge among the roses to do some gardening and chuckle over the antics of his friends.
Meanwhile, Notus was probably still telling anyone who would listen within a hundred-mile radius about the beautiful, naked woman who had risen out of a waterfall. According to his account, the naked woman pelted him with rocks from the riverbed, they had exchanged a few insults while she stood in the river unclothed, and then–had he mentioned that she had been naked?–the minute he had turned his back, she had fled.
Boreas stifled an impatient sigh. Notus was gallant among the women of his class and a compassionate, loyal friend who generally gave good advice, but he was also arrogant. It had been made abundantly clear to everyone that while Notus lusted after what he deemed to be a common woodcutter's daughter (common and woodcutter being the words in disfavor), he felt she was eons beneath him. Eurus had commented in his usual dry tone that she was probably eons younger than him as well.
He figured that Zephyrus was sulking somewhere within the palace and trying to find a way to get out of his marriage–either that or in some blonde, brainless woman's bed. And no one ever knew where Eurus was, but they were long-used to his secretive ways.
Pausing a moment as he brushed against a vaporous cloud, Boreas glanced down at the purple-blue peak of the mountain before him. A little ways down, the snow disappeared and gave way to verdant greenery. He drifted lower, wondering if he should seek solitude in the forests, when the sound of joyful music attracted his notice to a sizeable but quaint mountain village. His spirits lifted abruptly, and he descended to join the celebration.
~~~~~*~~~~~
Mehalia looked at her reflection in the gilded mirror. A gaily-dressed village girl laughed back at her, silken ribbons as bright as her smile trailing from her hair. With another laughing, backwards glance, she snapped her fingers and disappeared.
She reappeared at the edge of her home village, where the midsummer festivities were just beginning, and joined the throng of merrymakers heading for the village square. Cries of surprise and pleasure at seeing her rang through the air, and for a few moments, she was surrounded by old friends who clamored at her hair and clothes and then to know the news on Olympus. Mehalia, or Mina, as she was known here, wore the typical blouse and skirt that the other girls of the village were wearing for the occasion – with a few improvements.
As she made her way through the crowd, slipping easily back into the laughter and gossip of the friends she had not seen for months, she turned a number of heads. However, many of the eager smiles soon cooled when her identity was revealed, and all but the most persistent boys turned their attentions to safer, more familiar women.
Mehalia noticed the hard, jealous stares of women, the somewhat envious curiosity of her friends, and the lustful stares of young men and tucked it all behind her smile. It was a day for fun, she reminded herself, for pleasure, for a day away from the constraints of Mount Olympus and Aphrodite's tiresome orders.
She laughed lightly, the sound of musical chimes in the air, and her eyes sparkled as the sunlight over a lake surface shines. Her smile was luminous, and the light within her dazzled everyone who looked at her – even those who had scorned her and coveted her position. As she worked her magic, the simple magic of an open smile and friendly words, Mehalia felt the cares shift from her shoulders to vanish with some unseen wind. She felt better than she had in days.
They drifted among the stalls, exclaiming in pleasure or amusement at the vendors' wares. Mehalia's village, although incomparable to the greater cities, was the largest in its vicinity and hosted the annual midsummer fete. Merchants from all over Greece were present, showing everything silks and perfumes to children's toys and lamb-filled grape leaves.
Mehalia declined the offers of the vendors (the lowest price, they assured her, she could find no one else with prices as good as theirs) with a wide smile and empty hands, showing them that she had no money. Although disappointed, they turned away smiling with the memory of the beautiful girl with the shimmering golden hair and cornflower blue eyes.
Just when the most restless of her friends began complaining that her feet were tired, the sound of strings and a light, steady beat filled the air and got every foot tapping. There was always music at these gatherings, but this particular song was the beginning of the circle dances that were the delight of every village.
Mehalia and her friends rushed towards the center of the village, where a space had been cleared and a ring of dancers had begun to take their places. Complaints of fatigue were abruptly silenced, and every foot in the vicinity was tapping to the lively beat. As the sprightly girls and somewhat awkward young men joined hands, the light reflected off the exquisite gold stars at Mehalia's ears, and she was caught up in the whirlwind of young life: full of zest, and vigor, and dreams that had not yet been told how high they could fly.
~~~~~*~~~~~
It was during one of the long steps of the dance that Boreas happened to glance over at the ring of dancers on the village green. His sharp gray eyes widened as the long, sunshine-gilded hair flashed out in a gleaming sheet, taking in the girl's uncannily flawless features. Aphrodite, who had been constantly on his mind, fled; the altar in his mind could only hold one goddess, and this girl would be her.
Mehalia, unconscious of his gaze, raised her arms in perfect time for the long steps without missing a beat as she flirted lightheartedly with the village boys. None of them would mistake her intentions, for they were all flirting goodnaturedly with the understanding that everyone's spirits were light in springtime. The dance called for a shift between long and short steps; the former sequence went first, with the arms forming a "v" between each dancer and his partner, and then the long steps called upon the dancers to raise their clasped hands to form an inverted "v."
As required by the sound of the piping flute entering a higher range, Mehalia executed her steps with a lightness and a grace that were unparalleled by the other dancers; she seemed to float through the air, an entrancing vision of perfection.
Dazedly, Boreas suddenly realized that he knew what Notus had been feeling – lust at first sight. He was ensnared, enraptured, enchanted by the simple garlands of blue, pink, and white flowers draped at her wrist and ribbons flying from the glorious mass of golden hair.
A crotchety old man, supported by a knobbly wooden cane, hobbled over to him. "A young man like you should be dancing," he remarked, jerking his head towards the colorful ring. "Are you familiar with these dances?"
Boreas tore his gaze away from Mehalia reluctantly, inclining his head in respect to the older man. "No, I'm not. I just happened to be passing through the village," he answered. "The midsummer rites here are exceptional."
"They are," the village elder agreed proudly. "But stranger or not, you can give thanks to the Lady Demeter for the promise of a bountiful harvest with us, can't you?"
He smiled ironically. The man had no idea how well he knew Demeter, who regarded all the Winds as somewhat wayward nephews. "I suppose so," Boreas replied.
With a firm nod, the old man stated briskly, "Well, we'll still have to do something about that dancing." He caught Mehalia's eye somehow and motioned her over; she abandoned her companions immediately to join them with a curious look at Boreas. "This is... I didn't quite catch your name," he frowned.
"I am...Kunzite," he supplied helpfully.
"Ah. Kunzite. Teach him the steps, Mina, darling."
Mehalia turned towards Boreas with a raised eyebrow. His face was agelessly youthful, despite the moonlight-white hair. She had seen handsome men before and approved of them whole-heartedly. She also recognized the look of lust smoldering in his eyes. "Which ones doesn't he know, Grandfather?"
Boreas looked at her intently, and to Mehalia, he seemed to look directly into her heart, and she became flustered. "All of them."
The village elder, whom she had addressed as "grandfather" out of custom and respect, drifted away to converse with the other graybeards, and the two were left to their own devices. Regaining her previous poise, Mehalia said, "I don't believe we were introduced properly, Kunzite. My name is Mina."
"A pleasure." He nodded to her.
Mehalia didn't believe for a moment that he was the average farmhand traveling through their village for work. Although he looked as awkward as a gawky adolescent youth now that he was confronted with the problematic dancing, his bearing had been distinguished and his expression grave with respect as he conversed with the old man. She could imagine him a general at a dramatic battle taking orders from his prince and giving ones he saw fit to, standing at command with his cloak flapping out behind him.
"About the dancing...I'm sorry to have troubled you. It really isn't necessary," Boreas apologized.
She sent him a glittering smile. "It's no trouble. Come," she ordered, holding out her white palms in invitation. He took them in his callused ones, almost afraid to touch her, thinking he would break the slender, delicate finger-bones. "I'm afraid the last dance just ended, but we'll join in for the next one."
It was a partnered dance, and as the fiddle sang out the opening strains, Mehalia curtseyed and Boreas bowed at the waist as the other young men were doing. They were at the head of two lines of about thirty men and women total; there were fifteen men to Boreas's right. Their partners stood shoulder-to-shoulder to Mehalia's left.
As the dipping, swaying, and changing of partners began, Boreas and Mehalia never lost track of each other through the fray. She began by calling out the steps to him, but he caught hold of the rhythm easily. He held himself stiffly, but she resembled everything that was light, airy, and graceful as she drifted through the air. As he reclaimed her from her last partner-change, they matched opposite palms with him facing one way and she the opposite. Their eyes met over their touching hands.
It was an intimate position, with their faces close and the two of them looking straight at each other. With another partner, Mehalia might have tried for a seductive, coy glance (and succeeded admirably), but with the mysterious Boreas, she merely smiled at him, trying to understand the attraction she felt for him.
Boreas, on the other hand, was solemn as he took in the bright innocence of her smile.
"The dance is ending," she remarked, suddenly breathless.
"Thank you."
She lit up again with that luminous inner light. "It was my pleasure," she said simply.
"Will I see you again, Mina?" Her name on his lips...
"Some time, I suppose," Mehalia laughed back. An old friend and flirting partner of her youth came up to claim her for the next dance, and over her shoulder, she called to Boreas, "If you're staying awhile and have the time...there's a meadow not far from this village, due north."
"When will you be there?" he called back, his eyes straining for the last glimpse of her white skirt and fair hair.
Mehalia shrugged, already turning into a spin with her new partner. "Day after next."
"I will come; wait for me." Then he lost her to the whirlwind of dancers as graceful and colorful as butterflies.
~~~~~*~~~~~
AN: The first village dance is modeled after a Spanish one known as Sardanas...the second is just a figment of imagination...somewhat based on a few square-dancing steps. I doubt that they had fiddles and flutes back then, but we'll call it poetic license ^.~
This is undoubtedly the longest Minako/Kunzite scene in the history of my writing...and frankly, it boggles my mind ^.~ Next chapter, we will finally get to the much-neglected Rei/Jadeite scene and some more Ami/Zoi for the wonderful fans out there ^^. Thank you for reading, and Happy Holidays!
~Ice
The Avatars
