Snarled 3a/?mitsuruakiDecember 13 2010, 08:00:41 UTC
YOU HAVE NOT BEEN FORGOTTEN!! I was actually supposed to be working on my other fill, but uh...no. Brain decided otherwise. And then I typed this up and about five minutes into editing, my laptop, Zack, died. FUCKING WHITE SCREEN OF DEATH. To say I hyperventilated and freaked out would be the vastest understatement in the history of ETERNITY. GODDAMIT, ZACK! But he seems to be okay now (he tends to overheat, I'm positive he strives for it), and I am determined to get this up. Thank god I finally learned the importance of hitting ctrl S every few minutes ages ago...Ahem. So please enjoy. I know it's a bit sad now, but I swear it gets better!
~*~
The gentle strains of a violin drifted quietly through the still night air, the notes soft and mournful in the dark as a lone woman stood in the center of an empty room and coaxed music from the strings. Tall, slender, and dark-haired, she held herself in the manner of one with years of experience and unshakeable confidence in her skills. There was no light in the room, save the faint moonlight that pushed through every revealing crack in the curtains it could find, but even that was unnecessary-with her eyes closed she could see the music in her mind, shifting and morphing in a way that told her arm and wrist and fingers exactly what to do.
“Violette?”
Her playing never paused for an instant as the Queen’s eyes opened and she turned, gaze alighting on the man in the doorway. She finished the last few bars of her piece, letting the last note hang suspended in the air before fading away to silence. A small sad smile passed her lips as she lowered her violin.
“William?”
The King’s expression was strained and weary, the lines of his face appearing more pronounced particularly around this time of year. The thick black hair was interspersed with gray, showing more predominantly in his beard and mustache than anywhere else. His green eyes watched her for a long wordless moment, taking in her, her instrument, and the unlived state of the room.
His room.
“What are you doing?” her husband asked, as though unwilling to disrupt the newly established quiet.
“It’s his birthday tomorrow,” she replied simply, holding his gaze, because that explained everything. Cradling her beloved violin, she carried it to the ornamental stand across the room and set it lovingly into place, letting her fingertips caress the polished wood. Her only son will age another year, and once again, she won’t be present to witness it.
“Nearly eighteen years now,” William acknowledged, his entire visage flinching at the reminder of a loss almost two decades old, and for a second, the only thing Violette saw in his face was pain.
She was drawn to him like iron to a magnet, his loss and his hurt as keenly felt as her own, but the only thing to be done was to cross the room and pull him to her, and try to hold them both together. She felt his breath stutter painfully in and out of his chest as she rested her head on his shoulder, her hands stroking soothing paths along his spine while a large hand pressed against the curls cascading down her back.
“Do you remember,” she began, but the rest of the words get stuck on their way out, so she cleared her throat to try again. “Do you remember the lullaby I used to play for him? The week before he…he…”
William said nothing, but pulled her closer in response. Violette glanced over her shoulder at where her son’s crib used to sit, replaced by an empty, brand-new bed, and remembered.
Re: Snarled 3b/?mitsuruakiDecember 13 2010, 08:06:36 UTC
She draws the bow over the strings again, because he likes this song, the same lullaby her father played for her when she was a little girl. A tiny, pudgy hand reaches up at her, little fingers grasping for the source of a sound that’s far too distant for him to reach. She smiles; her face lights up at her son’s insistent wriggling, and she thinks she has never felt as much love for another human being as she does for this one-one who can’t even talk, and drools, and chews on his own fingers.
Those are her pale blue eyes in his face, and Heaven knows where all that red hair came from, but that might-it’s a bit soon to tell-be William’s nose. He is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.
He mouths wetly at her, proving his salivary glands are functioning just fine, and then the gurgling starts. William, on the other side of the crib, lowers a finger for him to grab. Immediately, he latches on but his fingers are not coordinated enough or big enough to do anything other than flail at it.
Her heart swells with pride and love, and if he was capable of speech, if he could ask for anything, anything at all, she would give it to him without a second thought. Is this what every new mother feels?
As she reaches the final notes of the lullaby, his head tilts in her direction, yet she knows she is out of his limited range of sight. His eyes are still developing, fragile and sensitive, so she transfers her bow to her other hand, angling it across the strings, and moves in closer.
“Hello, Sherlock,” she says, meeting William’s eyes over their son’s head, and she sees that he feels the exact same way she does.
Sherlock can see her violin now and reaches out again, showing off more of his new gurgling skills.
She laughs. “Not now, Sherlock,” she tells him, delighted, “it’s too big for you now. You can learn when you’re a little bigger, if you’re still interested, alright? I promise. Mummy will teach you.”
His eyes remain steadfastly focused on the shiny metal of the violin’s fine tuners, and she knows he doesn’t recognize her words, only the sound of her voice, but that’s fine. She’ll be here for his first words, and his first steps, and if he wants, his first music lesson.
Only he wasn’t. She was, and he wasn’t, and her heart ached with the knowledge that she had missed all those important aspects of her son’s life, all those little once-in-a-lifetime moments she would never get back. But she wouldn’t cry now, because she’d spent the first two months of his disappearance crying at the slightest provocation: the squall of another infant, red hair, any name starting with the letter ‘s’. She’d had eighteen years to overcome the instinct to break down, and she certainly wasn’t going to succumb to it now.
William’s arms tightened around her, and she had never been more thankful her husband had always been able to read her so well.
“There’s always…” his sentence faded into silence and Violette knew that tone, that melancholy darkness in his voice that said he was thinking the worst.
She pulled back so she could see his face, raising an eyebrow at him so he would continue.
The King didn’t look at her, gazing off somewhere over his wife’s left shoulder. Probably at the bed their son had never slept in. “There’s always a chance he’s not-”
She pressed a finger to his lips and halted the rest of his words, warned him with her eyes not to finish that thought. Violette lifted her chin, and in that moment, she couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than a queen.
Snarled 3c/?mitsuruakiDecember 13 2010, 08:08:43 UTC
“William,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “No one steals an infant to murder it.”
William blanched.
Her heart quailed at the heartrending expression on his face, but he needed to hear this, if only for the simple reason that she couldn’t afford to have him lose hope. All they had now was each other.
“That’s an unnecessary amount of work for a simple task,” she continued as she fought to keep the quaver out of her voice, taking a moment to summon a little extra strength and grasp both his hands in hers. “He is out there, somewhere. And you’d do very well to remember that.”
Her husband turned to look at the wide French doors on the far side of the room, the furniture that had never been used, all the toys and books and possessions that accumulated every birthday, for a boy who wasn’t there.
“I think I will retire for the night,” Violette murmured, following his gaze, and feeling nothing but a heavy, gaping hole in her heart. A part of her was out there, living, breathing somewhere, and without it she wouldn’t be complete. Couldn’t be complete.
“Allow me to escort you,” the King said gently, offering her his arm.
His eyes caught hers and the two shared a few grief-filled seconds for a wound that would never fully heal. Then they briefly composed themselves the way royalty were expected to be, and exited their son’s chambers. The door smoothly closed and locked behind them.
Re: Snarled 3c/?delicateflower8December 13 2010, 17:04:00 UTC
OMG, I squeeled when I saw you'd updated! lol Oh, this part was so very sad. I like what you did with the violin. That was beautiful. ^_^ The emotion was very much present in this part. Great job! Can't wait for the next chapter!
I had a dream recently about this fic, where they were singing I Have a Dream in the bar, and the only part I really remember was that instead of "Vladimir collects ceramic un-i-corns!" it was "Anderson collects ceramic din-o-saurs!" lol This fandom has officially eaten my brain.
I'm sorry Zack died on you! (Ah! The blue white screen of death! My mortal enemy!) I'm glad you saved this too! I'm sending cooling thoughts to Zack, in the hopes that he won't overheat again! Good luck with him!
I'M WORKING ON IT, I SWEARmitsuruakiDecember 18 2010, 09:44:57 UTC
Thank you! I swear the rest of this piece won't be as depressing as the beginning seems to be so far. lol. I'm trying to finish another fill (one I started before this one) so I can continue this without having to divide my time between the two. But I've already got a good outline going, and I will try to get back to this asap.
Re: Snarled 3c/?mitsuruakiDecember 19 2010, 06:30:09 UTC
Chiming in to say I love this prompt, I love this fill, and I love you. Haven't seen Tangled, but if it's half as fun as this fill, I'm tempted to go do just that!
Re: Snarled 3c/?mitsuruakiDecember 19 2010, 08:12:21 UTC
Thank you so much! :D Glad to hear you like it! And Tangled is now my favorite Disney movie (which is actually saying something), so I encourage you to ABSOLUTELY go see it.
I'm taking a brief break from this to finish my other fill so I'll be able to just focus on this story. I'm having so much fun writing a sort-of fairy tale, I have to say. I ought to do this more often...
Re: Snarled 3c/?mitsuruakiDecember 22 2010, 01:50:30 UTC
Oh this is ridiculously fun to read. I adore the hell outta Tangled and Sherlock, so seeing the two crossed over is amazing. Also! I'm in love with your John's voice, it's perfect. I can't wait to see what you have in store for us!
Re: Snarled 3c/?mitsuruakiDecember 31 2010, 09:29:55 UTC
Thank you! I'm having fun writing this, to be honest, and I'm trying REALLY hard not to make this more complicated than it needs to be. XD I've already messed with the timeline, and I don't want this to become 50 chapters. *dies* We'll see!
Re: Snarled 3c/?nox_candidaDecember 31 2010, 09:10:49 UTC
So, I saw Tangled tonight and then came home to read this story. I'm loving how you've adapted it so far and I've already had some sniffles and a few tears. I love Sherlock's parents and I think it's interesting the role that Mycroft is playing in this story. I'm very curious to see what's going to happen with that--it's pretty brilliant to have him play that role, TBH. Also, looking forward to seeing if other characters--Lestrade? Mrs Hudson?--turn up. Anyway, I'm definitely enjoying the story and looking forward to reading more--particularly John's meeting with Sherlock. :)
Re: Snarled 3c/?mitsuruakiDecember 31 2010, 09:46:44 UTC
Honestly...Rapunzel's father was one of my favorite characters, and he doesn't even have any lines. Lol. I'm glad you like it so far!
Mycroft just seemed like a natural for the part of Mother Gothel (although his intentions are really quite different), and it seems we will be deviating a bit from Tangled's storyline--Sherlock has more well-developed characters than Tangled, and I would like to include most of them--and I've already altered the timeline. I've decided Sherlock's birthday isn't going to be as important here as it is in Tangled. The lanterns are raised on the day of his disappearance instead of his birthday, and the two did not occur on the same day.
As for John, he will be appearing soon, but their meeting won't be for a while. *struggles with outline* I inadverdently caused myself a few problems by sealing Sherlock's window shut. Lol! Oops. But I've got that fixed now.
YOU HAVE NOT BEEN FORGOTTEN!! I was actually supposed to be working on my other fill, but uh...no. Brain decided otherwise. And then I typed this up and about five minutes into editing, my laptop, Zack, died. FUCKING WHITE SCREEN OF DEATH. To say I hyperventilated and freaked out would be the vastest understatement in the history of ETERNITY. GODDAMIT, ZACK! But he seems to be okay now (he tends to overheat, I'm positive he strives for it), and I am determined to get this up. Thank god I finally learned the importance of hitting ctrl S every few minutes ages ago...Ahem. So please enjoy. I know it's a bit sad now, but I swear it gets better!
~*~
The gentle strains of a violin drifted quietly through the still night air, the notes soft and mournful in the dark as a lone woman stood in the center of an empty room and coaxed music from the strings. Tall, slender, and dark-haired, she held herself in the manner of one with years of experience and unshakeable confidence in her skills. There was no light in the room, save the faint moonlight that pushed through every revealing crack in the curtains it could find, but even that was unnecessary-with her eyes closed she could see the music in her mind, shifting and morphing in a way that told her arm and wrist and fingers exactly what to do.
“Violette?”
Her playing never paused for an instant as the Queen’s eyes opened and she turned, gaze alighting on the man in the doorway. She finished the last few bars of her piece, letting the last note hang suspended in the air before fading away to silence. A small sad smile passed her lips as she lowered her violin.
“William?”
The King’s expression was strained and weary, the lines of his face appearing more pronounced particularly around this time of year. The thick black hair was interspersed with gray, showing more predominantly in his beard and mustache than anywhere else. His green eyes watched her for a long wordless moment, taking in her, her instrument, and the unlived state of the room.
His room.
“What are you doing?” her husband asked, as though unwilling to disrupt the newly established quiet.
“It’s his birthday tomorrow,” she replied simply, holding his gaze, because that explained everything. Cradling her beloved violin, she carried it to the ornamental stand across the room and set it lovingly into place, letting her fingertips caress the polished wood. Her only son will age another year, and once again, she won’t be present to witness it.
“Nearly eighteen years now,” William acknowledged, his entire visage flinching at the reminder of a loss almost two decades old, and for a second, the only thing Violette saw in his face was pain.
She was drawn to him like iron to a magnet, his loss and his hurt as keenly felt as her own, but the only thing to be done was to cross the room and pull him to her, and try to hold them both together. She felt his breath stutter painfully in and out of his chest as she rested her head on his shoulder, her hands stroking soothing paths along his spine while a large hand pressed against the curls cascading down her back.
“Do you remember,” she began, but the rest of the words get stuck on their way out, so she cleared her throat to try again. “Do you remember the lullaby I used to play for him? The week before he…he…”
William said nothing, but pulled her closer in response. Violette glanced over her shoulder at where her son’s crib used to sit, replaced by an empty, brand-new bed, and remembered.
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Those are her pale blue eyes in his face, and Heaven knows where all that red hair came from, but that might-it’s a bit soon to tell-be William’s nose. He is the most beautiful thing she has ever seen.
He mouths wetly at her, proving his salivary glands are functioning just fine, and then the gurgling starts. William, on the other side of the crib, lowers a finger for him to grab. Immediately, he latches on but his fingers are not coordinated enough or big enough to do anything other than flail at it.
Her heart swells with pride and love, and if he was capable of speech, if he could ask for anything, anything at all, she would give it to him without a second thought. Is this what every new mother feels?
As she reaches the final notes of the lullaby, his head tilts in her direction, yet she knows she is out of his limited range of sight. His eyes are still developing, fragile and sensitive, so she transfers her bow to her other hand, angling it across the strings, and moves in closer.
“Hello, Sherlock,” she says, meeting William’s eyes over their son’s head, and she sees that he feels the exact same way she does.
Sherlock can see her violin now and reaches out again, showing off more of his new gurgling skills.
She laughs. “Not now, Sherlock,” she tells him, delighted, “it’s too big for you now. You can learn when you’re a little bigger, if you’re still interested, alright? I promise. Mummy will teach you.”
His eyes remain steadfastly focused on the shiny metal of the violin’s fine tuners, and she knows he doesn’t recognize her words, only the sound of her voice, but that’s fine. She’ll be here for his first words, and his first steps, and if he wants, his first music lesson.
Only he wasn’t. She was, and he wasn’t, and her heart ached with the knowledge that she had missed all those important aspects of her son’s life, all those little once-in-a-lifetime moments she would never get back. But she wouldn’t cry now, because she’d spent the first two months of his disappearance crying at the slightest provocation: the squall of another infant, red hair, any name starting with the letter ‘s’. She’d had eighteen years to overcome the instinct to break down, and she certainly wasn’t going to succumb to it now.
William’s arms tightened around her, and she had never been more thankful her husband had always been able to read her so well.
“There’s always…” his sentence faded into silence and Violette knew that tone, that melancholy darkness in his voice that said he was thinking the worst.
She pulled back so she could see his face, raising an eyebrow at him so he would continue.
The King didn’t look at her, gazing off somewhere over his wife’s left shoulder. Probably at the bed their son had never slept in. “There’s always a chance he’s not-”
She pressed a finger to his lips and halted the rest of his words, warned him with her eyes not to finish that thought. Violette lifted her chin, and in that moment, she couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than a queen.
Reply
William blanched.
Her heart quailed at the heartrending expression on his face, but he needed to hear this, if only for the simple reason that she couldn’t afford to have him lose hope. All they had now was each other.
“That’s an unnecessary amount of work for a simple task,” she continued as she fought to keep the quaver out of her voice, taking a moment to summon a little extra strength and grasp both his hands in hers. “He is out there, somewhere. And you’d do very well to remember that.”
Her husband turned to look at the wide French doors on the far side of the room, the furniture that had never been used, all the toys and books and possessions that accumulated every birthday, for a boy who wasn’t there.
“I think I will retire for the night,” Violette murmured, following his gaze, and feeling nothing but a heavy, gaping hole in her heart. A part of her was out there, living, breathing somewhere, and without it she wouldn’t be complete. Couldn’t be complete.
“Allow me to escort you,” the King said gently, offering her his arm.
His eyes caught hers and the two shared a few grief-filled seconds for a wound that would never fully heal. Then they briefly composed themselves the way royalty were expected to be, and exited their son’s chambers. The door smoothly closed and locked behind them.
Reply
I had a dream recently about this fic, where they were singing I Have a Dream in the bar, and the only part I really remember was that instead of "Vladimir collects ceramic un-i-corns!" it was "Anderson collects ceramic din-o-saurs!" lol This fandom has officially eaten my brain.
I'm sorry Zack died on you! (Ah! The blue white screen of death! My mortal enemy!) I'm glad you saved this too! I'm sending cooling thoughts to Zack, in the hopes that he won't overheat again! Good luck with him!
Reply
I'm sorry for the fail delay! D;
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I'm taking a brief break from this to finish my other fill so I'll be able to just focus on this story. I'm having so much fun writing a sort-of fairy tale, I have to say. I ought to do this more often...
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Mycroft just seemed like a natural for the part of Mother Gothel (although his intentions are really quite different), and it seems we will be deviating a bit from Tangled's storyline--Sherlock has more well-developed characters than Tangled, and I would like to include most of them--and I've already altered the timeline. I've decided Sherlock's birthday isn't going to be as important here as it is in Tangled. The lanterns are raised on the day of his disappearance instead of his birthday, and the two did not occur on the same day.
As for John, he will be appearing soon, but their meeting won't be for a while. *struggles with outline* I inadverdently caused myself a few problems by sealing Sherlock's window shut. Lol! Oops. But I've got that fixed now.
I should have more up soon!
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