Submitted for your approval.
Title: Here Among The Flowers
Fandom: Anne of Green Gables
Rating: PG
Pairing: Anne/Diana
Disclaimer: Neither the redhead or the brunette are my creation; both belong to LM Montgomery.
Anne was enjoying the excitement of the various preparations, but under it all she carried a little heartache. She was, in a sense, losing her dear old chum; Diana's new home would be two miles from Green Gables, and the old constant companionship could never be theirs again. Anne looked up at Diana's light and thought how it had beaconed to her for many years; but soon it would shine through the summer twilights no more. Two big, painful tears welled up in her gray eyes.
"Oh," she thought, "how horrible it is that people have to grow up -- and marry -- and change!"
-- from Anne of the Island
"Oh, Anne, you really don’t want me to marry him, do you," Diana said, unhappily. It was less of a question than an acquiescence, something that had been on her mind all afternoon.
They walked arm and arm together along Violet Vale. Summer had brought untold millions of the purple flowers to the hedges. It was as if Nature Herself had, in a burst of excitement over the coming season, breathed more violets than She had first intended.
"No--o," said Anne, slowly. "Really, that’s not it, Diana. I like Fred. He’s a good man. He’s -- sensible."
Diana, who knew from years of experience that Anne’s choice of an adjective was not the whole-hearted affirmation it might otherwise have seemed, was skeptical. "But you’re not happy about this. About my marriage."
Rather abruptly, Anne elected that they change the subject, perhaps to the good weather or to Marilla’s new milk cow.
"It has been lovely these past few days," Diana agreed, but could not stop herself from adding, "I hope it will continue through Saturday. Mother’s been praying for a rainless wedding since Fred and I were first engaged. I’d hate to break her heart."
"You won’t. The almanac predicts a fine day." Anne’s tone was level.
That was enough for Diana, who stopped walking and turned to face Anne. "You’ve been sour all morning, Anne Shirley. Either you tell me what’s bothering you, or I’ll go help my mother prepare tea for the Ladies’ Aid."
Anne sighed. "I just wish that everything was what it used to be. Today you’re Diana Barry, but by Saturday afternoon you’ll be Mrs. Fred Wright, a married woman with obligations and responsibilities. I don’t like things to change."
"Well, change they must," said practical Diana. "Anyways, you’re not the same as you once were. You’ve matured some."
No, Anne insisted, she hadn’t changed one bit, not really. Not inside, where it counted. She still clung to her girlhood, considered it as much a part of her as the petals were part of the violets.
"Di, darling," she said abruptly.
"You’ve that look in your eyes, Anne. What are you thinking?"
Anne had an idea; her face was more animated than Diana had seen it all afternoon. They might, she suggested, act out one of her stories one last time, a final game to cement the true ending of their childhoods. "One more story, Diana. After you’re married we’ll never playact again. You’ll be far too grown-up."
Diana tossed her head. "I already am -- and so should you be. We’re nearly twenty years old, far too old to be pretending."
But Anne persisted, reminding her friend that they hadn’t truly pretended for a few years, and that this would simply be one last act of nostalgia, a moment to evoke the years they’d spent creating new worlds.
"All right, all right," agreed Diana, after several minutes of earnest persuasion. "What will we act out?"
Anne bit down on her tongue, thinking. "You’ll be Melisande, the slender, purple-eyed beauty with raven hair and porcelain skin."
"Well, I’ve got the hair," said Diana, looking down at her figure, which, admittedly, was more plump than it had been in days past. "What about you?"
"Her lover Edward, of course," the redhead exclaimed. "The most dashing of men, an outcast duke from England who has traveled all the way to Canada to find his sweet Melisande."
"I shouldn’t think anyone would travel all those miles just for a woman. Better he should set his sights on someone closer to home. All that time wasted when there must be dozens of girls at his door!" Diana was incredulous.
Here Anne explained that their game was not real, and that, at any rate, true love depended upon the hero following the heroine anywhere she went, no matter whether it were three miles or three thousand.
Wouldn’t Fred follow you? she nearly added, but at the last moment showed remarkable restraint. Anne did not really want to know the answer.
"Lie down, in the grass," she said, and explained the story. "You’ve been placed under a sleeping spell by a wicked woman, and Edward has come to wake you. Only the touch of your dearest love can bring you back."
Diana stared at the ground. "But I’m wearing white. It’ll stain."
Exasperated, Anne suggested that since the grass was no longer damp (the sun having been out for quite a few hours), Diana would not stain her dress as long as she did not move about.
"All right," said Diana, grudgingly, and lowered herself to a sparse patch that looked unlikely to offend her dress’s sensibilities. She splayed her limbs outwards, as if she had fainted.
Anne approved. Dramatics suited her.
"I have searched the furthermost corners of the earth for you, my dearest!" she began, clasping her hands. "And now that I have found you, nothing can compare to my earnest and most fervent joy."
"Do I get to talk?" Diana asked, from her vantage point on the ground.
"Hush -- no, not yet."
Diana sighed, and shifted slightly. Goodness knows what Mother will say if I stain this dress, she thought. She’ll probably call me out for acting like a child, and she’ll be right, too. I’ll just have to scrub out any marks before she sees them.
She watched Anne throw up her arms in a state of passion. Edward had apparently discovered that Melisande was not responding.
"That I have found you too late, too late!" cried Anne, in a voice decidedly deeper than the one she usually employed. "You are dead and gone from me, my sweetest one." A whispered aside: "Close your eyes, Diana."
She obeyed. Anne knelt beside her, wracked with emotion.
"If I could wish for one thing, it would be that I would see your violet gaze again. Oh, dearest Melisande! I cannot help but -- but kiss you."
And Diana felt Anne’s mouth touch her own, quickly.
Diana’s eyes opened.
"Anne -- " she said.
"Don’t talk, don’t. Wait for my line about how beautiful you look among the flowers." Anne would not look directly at Diana. "Close your eyes again."
Diana did, and felt Anne’s hands hold her own to the ground. The pungent smell of grass was everywhere.
"Remember," Anne’s voice said, "your name is Melisande, and mine is Edward, and you are not marrying anyone called Fred Wright tomorrow nor are you promised to anyone except myself."
"My name is Melisande," Diana repeated faithfully, "and you are Edward."
That last word was punctuated by yet another kiss, this one more determined than the first. Through her slitted eyes Diana was aware of Anne’s form bending over her, of Anne’s hair unraveling and red and Anne’s cheeks, just that same color.
"Oh, Edward," breathed Diana, when Anne broke the kiss.
"Diana," Anne whispered, and she touched her friend’s pale cheek. "Oh, my Diana. You look so beautiful, here among the flowers."
Diana knew this was her signal to speak, but she found she could not say a word.
Fandom: Anne of Green Gables
Rating: PG
Pairing: Anne/Diana
Disclaimer: Neither the redhead or the brunette are my creation; both belong to LM Montgomery.
Anne was enjoying the excitement of the various preparations, but under it all she carried a little heartache. She was, in a sense, losing her dear old chum; Diana's new home would be two miles from Green Gables, and the old constant companionship could never be theirs again. Anne looked up at Diana's light and thought how it had beaconed to her for many years; but soon it would shine through the summer twilights no more. Two big, painful tears welled up in her gray eyes.
"Oh," she thought, "how horrible it is that people have to grow up -- and marry -- and change!"
-- from Anne of the Island
"Oh, Anne, you really don’t want me to marry him, do you," Diana said, unhappily. It was less of a question than an acquiescence, something that had been on her mind all afternoon.
They walked arm and arm together along Violet Vale. Summer had brought untold millions of the purple flowers to the hedges. It was as if Nature Herself had, in a burst of excitement over the coming season, breathed more violets than She had first intended.
"No--o," said Anne, slowly. "Really, that’s not it, Diana. I like Fred. He’s a good man. He’s -- sensible."
Diana, who knew from years of experience that Anne’s choice of an adjective was not the whole-hearted affirmation it might otherwise have seemed, was skeptical. "But you’re not happy about this. About my marriage."
Rather abruptly, Anne elected that they change the subject, perhaps to the good weather or to Marilla’s new milk cow.
"It has been lovely these past few days," Diana agreed, but could not stop herself from adding, "I hope it will continue through Saturday. Mother’s been praying for a rainless wedding since Fred and I were first engaged. I’d hate to break her heart."
"You won’t. The almanac predicts a fine day." Anne’s tone was level.
That was enough for Diana, who stopped walking and turned to face Anne. "You’ve been sour all morning, Anne Shirley. Either you tell me what’s bothering you, or I’ll go help my mother prepare tea for the Ladies’ Aid."
Anne sighed. "I just wish that everything was what it used to be. Today you’re Diana Barry, but by Saturday afternoon you’ll be Mrs. Fred Wright, a married woman with obligations and responsibilities. I don’t like things to change."
"Well, change they must," said practical Diana. "Anyways, you’re not the same as you once were. You’ve matured some."
No, Anne insisted, she hadn’t changed one bit, not really. Not inside, where it counted. She still clung to her girlhood, considered it as much a part of her as the petals were part of the violets.
"Di, darling," she said abruptly.
"You’ve that look in your eyes, Anne. What are you thinking?"
Anne had an idea; her face was more animated than Diana had seen it all afternoon. They might, she suggested, act out one of her stories one last time, a final game to cement the true ending of their childhoods. "One more story, Diana. After you’re married we’ll never playact again. You’ll be far too grown-up."
Diana tossed her head. "I already am -- and so should you be. We’re nearly twenty years old, far too old to be pretending."
But Anne persisted, reminding her friend that they hadn’t truly pretended for a few years, and that this would simply be one last act of nostalgia, a moment to evoke the years they’d spent creating new worlds.
"All right, all right," agreed Diana, after several minutes of earnest persuasion. "What will we act out?"
Anne bit down on her tongue, thinking. "You’ll be Melisande, the slender, purple-eyed beauty with raven hair and porcelain skin."
"Well, I’ve got the hair," said Diana, looking down at her figure, which, admittedly, was more plump than it had been in days past. "What about you?"
"Her lover Edward, of course," the redhead exclaimed. "The most dashing of men, an outcast duke from England who has traveled all the way to Canada to find his sweet Melisande."
"I shouldn’t think anyone would travel all those miles just for a woman. Better he should set his sights on someone closer to home. All that time wasted when there must be dozens of girls at his door!" Diana was incredulous.
Here Anne explained that their game was not real, and that, at any rate, true love depended upon the hero following the heroine anywhere she went, no matter whether it were three miles or three thousand.
Wouldn’t Fred follow you? she nearly added, but at the last moment showed remarkable restraint. Anne did not really want to know the answer.
"Lie down, in the grass," she said, and explained the story. "You’ve been placed under a sleeping spell by a wicked woman, and Edward has come to wake you. Only the touch of your dearest love can bring you back."
Diana stared at the ground. "But I’m wearing white. It’ll stain."
Exasperated, Anne suggested that since the grass was no longer damp (the sun having been out for quite a few hours), Diana would not stain her dress as long as she did not move about.
"All right," said Diana, grudgingly, and lowered herself to a sparse patch that looked unlikely to offend her dress’s sensibilities. She splayed her limbs outwards, as if she had fainted.
Anne approved. Dramatics suited her.
"I have searched the furthermost corners of the earth for you, my dearest!" she began, clasping her hands. "And now that I have found you, nothing can compare to my earnest and most fervent joy."
"Do I get to talk?" Diana asked, from her vantage point on the ground.
"Hush -- no, not yet."
Diana sighed, and shifted slightly. Goodness knows what Mother will say if I stain this dress, she thought. She’ll probably call me out for acting like a child, and she’ll be right, too. I’ll just have to scrub out any marks before she sees them.
She watched Anne throw up her arms in a state of passion. Edward had apparently discovered that Melisande was not responding.
"That I have found you too late, too late!" cried Anne, in a voice decidedly deeper than the one she usually employed. "You are dead and gone from me, my sweetest one." A whispered aside: "Close your eyes, Diana."
She obeyed. Anne knelt beside her, wracked with emotion.
"If I could wish for one thing, it would be that I would see your violet gaze again. Oh, dearest Melisande! I cannot help but -- but kiss you."
And Diana felt Anne’s mouth touch her own, quickly.
Diana’s eyes opened.
"Anne -- " she said.
"Don’t talk, don’t. Wait for my line about how beautiful you look among the flowers." Anne would not look directly at Diana. "Close your eyes again."
Diana did, and felt Anne’s hands hold her own to the ground. The pungent smell of grass was everywhere.
"Remember," Anne’s voice said, "your name is Melisande, and mine is Edward, and you are not marrying anyone called Fred Wright tomorrow nor are you promised to anyone except myself."
"My name is Melisande," Diana repeated faithfully, "and you are Edward."
That last word was punctuated by yet another kiss, this one more determined than the first. Through her slitted eyes Diana was aware of Anne’s form bending over her, of Anne’s hair unraveling and red and Anne’s cheeks, just that same color.
"Oh, Edward," breathed Diana, when Anne broke the kiss.
"Diana," Anne whispered, and she touched her friend’s pale cheek. "Oh, my Diana. You look so beautiful, here among the flowers."
Diana knew this was her signal to speak, but she found she could not say a word.