for sylvains

[arnaults]

[ faerghus feels like a whole world away when she's back in enbarr. the parties, the nobles, the people - everything was whisked away as soon as she got home and settled into her normal routine. she's starring in two shows the company is putting on, one that's running and one that's still in rehearsals, so most of her day is spent in the theater.

she throws herself back into her work with renewed enthusiasm for focusing on something other than herself. she tells herself it's because the couple days off rejuvenated her, but she knows that's not the case. part of her is glad she has something to put all of her energy towards so that she doesn't keep thinking about what exactly she did at that party in fhirdiad.

not that it was a bad thing. it was good. it was fine. it had no moral significance. it was just a nice time spent with an old friend.

anyway. the point is that she's here, throwing herself into being a senior diva again, ignoring mail and keeping fit and wearing herself out so that she sleeps as soon as she crawls into her quarters by the theater every night. so everything is back to normal, really, and she can almost forget that she ever made a promise to go back to faerghus, because who has the time? not her, certainly not this season.

so it surprises her, one night she steps out for her first aria. she performs to the whole audience, of course, and that means making eye contact with the high-rollers in the boxes. they want to feel like the opera is just for them, and singing a line or two in their direction usually keeps them coming back. halfway through her piece, she turns to the box on the lower stage right, and even past the blinding stagelights, she thinks she recognizes who's there.

she doesn't react at all, because she's a performer before anything else and nothing, not even sylvain gautier showing up at the mittelfrank, will keep her from singing her heart out. but after the performance is done, she'll hang around backstage, throwing a robe on after she removes her costume instead of retiring to the dressing room to pack up and leave.

who knows if he'll come? but judging by the way the other girls are giggling (and come to think of it, they'd been making faces at each other before the show had even started, dorothea should have known something was up), she's not making a fool of herself in expecting him to arrive. ]

You didn't tell me you were coming. [ she'll say when she sees him, in lieu of a greeting. her tone is even, but it isn't angry. just... bemused. ]

Comments

[sylvains]

[ over the next while, things seem to calm down into a comfortable rhythm up north in faerghus. everyone seems at least somewhat used to their new positions - a new king and subjects in almost every major territory was, well, something to teethe through - and the end of long, sleepless nights full of mind-numbing busywork and endless meetings had finally come. not that sylvain had found a great deal of time to think about anything other than slowly rebuilding his home and assisting dimitri where he could spare the resources, but, well. it had been hard to shake that encounter with dorothea out of his head for some weeks after the fact, making it very difficult to focus and be the productive, responsible margrave that everyone expected him to be.

so, he'd sought to remedy that. especially since a period of calm had settled in, sylvain both knew he needed a holiday away from anyone talking about law, and he had a promise to keep. despite being a , he'd always been a man of his word. and that's why he did as dorothea suggested; ridden south, bought out a box at the mittelfrank opera, and attended her show.

right - he may have done some reconnaissance beforehand like a diligent knight. he may have managed to sneak his way into the common area of the opera when dorothea happened not to have been around, may have asked them a few questions about what she liked, and may have actioned that advice. why he's going to so much effort when all he really wants to do is sleep for the next month or so is anyone's question, but as he saunters backstage after the opera is done to see her standing there - hair done beautifully, wearing a robe and looking both effortlessly gorgeous and like she could melt him into a pile of ash where he stood - sylvain knows why he's really here. ]

Should I have? I mean, you invited me.

[ dressed formally for once (even he knows the proper opera protocol), he grins at her bemused expression as he comes to a stop before her. one hand had been hidden behind his back, and when he reaches her he reveals it to her - holding a ridiculously resplendent bouquet of a specific arrangement of flowers sylvain definitely wouldn't have known she loved. but, somehow? he does. ]

A gift for the leading lady and her stellar performance.