Propose A Dance

  2 years pre-recollection

  When it comes to marriage and reproduction in Etnfrandia, there are a few essential concepts to explain. Foremost is the difference between an Etnfriandian marriage and a unique contract called the matronage. The first is a permanent union of inseparable friends, typically lovers. It is usually entered late in life (as in during or after the fifth century) and is unrelated to childbearing.

  By contrast, the matronage is an agreement between a relatively young she-elf and her partner to attempt to bear a predetermined number of children within a set timeframe. The partners are only released from the contract when one of those two conditions are met. This form of binding is initiated by the matron, confirmed by the patron, and subject to the acquiescence of the two families it joins. The children take the name of the partner with higher social standing.

  The courtship process for a matronage involves a series of nuanced social declarations initiated by the she-elf. These involve such activities as: dancing at festivals, co-hosting parties, public courtship, etcetera. As for pomp, there are, of course, nuptial celebrations. Anyone from Hethbarn would notice the lack of both a clergyman and the color white. The preferred color in Etnfrandia is a dandelion yellow, as virginity is not a concern so much as chastity and fertility.

  Fennorin Willowbirth

  From “An Etnfrandian’s Explanation of the Everglow Nation”

  Explorer’s Magazine

  Gale knew Fenn was odd, but what he’d done was even odder.

  Two years after his return to Etnfrandia, Fenn was finally–officially–an adult; or in his case more like a recognized citizen. He had been for about a year now. His coming-of-age ceremony hadn't been much to speak of. An ordinary one-hundred-year-old could have performed that oration, but then there was nothing to complain of, either, so an adult he was.

  The first thing he'd done was formally acquire his sister's old cabin. Then… nothing. No job. No artistic pursuits. Not even an advance toward matronage. Just nothing.

  Gale adjusted the flower petals on a crown and watched him from across another festival. Like all the ones before, she was pulled at constantly for a dance, drink, or talk with the same dozen bachelors over and over, none of whom had anything more interesting to say than to brag about their own accomplishments, or recite hers.

  Blegh.

  Fenn, however, held his usual position with his back to the dancers and his face a few paces away from the Deepsuns. Just loitering. Pretending to be a part of things. Never participating.

  This time, she wasn't going to let him just pretend. She tied her train of rose petals around her like a sash and outright ignored Nalum on her way to Fenn. She'd waited decades–nearly a century now–for someone to want to know the real her the way Fenn knew her. Well, Fenn was back, and the waiting was over. No one cared like Fenn because no one else was Fenn.

  She stepped behind his chair, dropped a crown of Blue Felicias she'd chosen for him on his head—blue because he always wore blue–and announced, “come on, we're dancing.”

  Everyone else at his mother’s table grinned. Fenn's skin blanched like grain beaten and sifted, and he stood and turned with a formal bow. “Lovely spring, Fyr-Ceann, but I'm afraid we will not be dancing.”

  She crossed her arms. “And why not?”

  “Because technically you didn't ask, and moreover it would be a mistake that would embarrass us both.”

  “Quite the argument, but I'm willing to risk it. Will you please dance with me?”

  He frowned. His grey eyes flickered over her from behind his glass as he considered the idea. She stood tall in her bright magenta gown sewn with faux petals and extended her neck. She’d carefully arranged her long, thick hair half in a braided updo, and half down her back. She’d done it for him.

  Fenn’s gaze dropped, his voice softening. “Sorry, Gale, but I’m not.” He turned away from her, attempting to end the conversation. He even had the audacity to pretend he was interested in his “brother” Dysren's hundredth retelling of how he once had pranked his Captain, a story that even she'd nearly memorized.

  “Then walk with me,” she pleaded.

  His angular shoulders tightened, but he didn't turn.

  “Fenn, at least spend a little time with her. It's a festival!” His mattan put a hand on his arm.

  Fenn gently prodded her hand away. “Mattan, we talked about this.”

  Gale would've paid a handsome sum to know what they'd said in that talk.

  “And you didn't listen.” She squeezed his arm, but Fenn still wasn't listening. Gale had no choice.

  She curtsied, held it, and extended a hand. “Fennorin Willowbirth, Myc-Ceann, will you please dance with me,” she said loudly, turning heads.

  Fenn's head was one of them. First he turned stark white, then purple. “GALE!”

  She smirked, even as her face turned as pink as her dress. “Now I'll be embarrassed no matter what you do.” If he said no, it would be quite the public insult, and everyone would be gossiping about it long after the festival. If he agreed, they'd have an absolutely terrible dance that she would love.

  He rose. “What is it with you and getting your way?” he grumbled, but he took her hand and let her drag him to where the dance was lining up. It was a partner dance, too.

  Fenn's head swivelled around as he watched the other dancers. She grasped one of his elbows, but the other—was he reaching for her back? He caught himself and placed it on her forearm. The band counted six beats, and they were off.

  Well, more like she was on and he was stumbling around trying to figure out where his oversized feet were supposed to go. It was even worse than Gale had imagined, but she found herself grinning at his clenched teeth and terrified yelps.

  “Relax, Fenn. Just feel the rhythm.”

  “I assure you that if I had that option, I would take it,” he wheezed.

  She laughed and stopped them both mid-song. “If you can't do a six-step, then we'll just do three at half time.” She began to lead that instead, and, after a stanza, he seemed to almost catch on.

  His face was still purple from nose to eartips, and his brows were bent with concentration.

  “See, it's not so bad.”

  “It's worse. This isn't even the right dance.” He stepped out with the wrong foot and stumbled to get back in step.

  “But it's fun!”

  “I believe I disagree with your definition of the term.”

  She dragged him around by one arm and pulled him into a spin that almost dislodged his spectacles, and then caught up with a twirl of her own. “See? Fun!”

  “Nope,” he choked, again trying to grab her back and correcting himself. It was a truly strange reflex. Unless… unless he just wanted to be holding her.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  She gazed up at his prominent, furrowed brow and turned pink at the thought. Could it be?

  It took him a few beats to catch her stare. He cocked his head, glanced away, then decidedly turned his attention over her shoulder.

  She listened to the song, memorizing which it was so that one day, she could teach him to dance to it properly.

  Suddenly, he gasped and pulled her sideways, his right hand jumping from her arm to her shoulderblade to direct her. It stayed there after, a firm, yet gentle pressure as they swayed. It… was this more natural to him? She put her hand on top of his mirrored shoulder and left the other on his elbow. The position was only half-closed. Fenn didn't seem to notice.

  “Little wonder you haven't paired off with him.” Fenn noted. “He just tried to crash into us.”

  She glanced behind her to see Nalum spin away together with a bewildered she-elf. “He's a complete phony.”

  “I see that.” Fenn tried to step out with the wrong foot again. “Sorry!”

  Gale didn’t mind one bit. “What about you? Anyone interesting on your list of suitors?”

  “My…?” He frowned. He must have realized his hand was in the wrong place, because he moved it back to her elbow. “I have no such list.”

  “Surely there is someone you'd at least consider.”

  “If you keep making me talk, I'm going to end up—”

  Gale yelped in pain as his boot clipped her slippered toes when he stepped wrong again.

  He winced. “Doing that. Sorry.” He didn't look her in the eye.

  “What about me?” She dared to test the waters.

  His brow wrinkled in confusion. “Interesting suitors of yours?”

  “I’m not on your list?” If she didn’t know better, she’d think he was being obtuse on purpose.

  “I have no list,” he insisted.

  Now it was her turn to frown. Everyone had a list.

  The ending of the song was coming. They were supposed to pick an ending sequence to do in tandem with the other dancers. An excellent, evil, malicious, no-good, perfect thought came to her, and she ran with it.

  “Grab my shoulder like before,” she told him.

  “Why?”

  “For the ending sequence.”

  He obeyed.

  She grabbed the tops of both of his shoulders. “Now spin around me.”

  “What?”

  She started sidestepping around him and dragged him along. “In eight counts you'll kneel.”

  “Eight counts from when?”

  “Four, three, two–grab my hand”

  She backed up while he reached out and knelt on one knee instead of both and reached out for her wrong hand. Confusion overshadowed his handsome features.

  She grabbed him with the correct hand and balance-stepped and came back in toward him. For the final pose, she set his hands on her sides and bent to put—yes, this was brilliant—her lips to his forehead.

  Lovers ending. Everyone at the festival would know her intentions now. Everyone… except perhaps Fenn.

  He leapt back five counts too soon and ruined the finale. Gale grinned. Maybe he knows.

  He whipped his head around and saw a few others in the same pose. Even if Fenn didn’t know, he should notice the pattern. Only those courting, matronned, or married ended in lovers.

  He stood unmoving, blinking too hard, puzzling over her actions. Her heart sank. He doesn’t know.

  “Come on, we've got to clear off the floor for the next group.” She snatched up his hand before he could protest and pulled him aside.

  “What just happened?" Fenn tugged her to a standstill just outside the ring of wallflowers surrounding the dancers

  This wasn’t good; it was great. He hadn’t considered anyone, so she had no competition. It fixed everything for both of them. She bit down her grin. “I’m sure you know we ended the dance in a synchronized pattern, one of three complimentary forms." Neighbors, friends, lovers.

  Lovers. What she felt now may only have been a crush, but with time–

  “Obviously, but what was that.” He snatched his hand away to point at the floor.

  “I kissed your forehead.” She’d explain, of course, but his vexation was adorable. It was the only time he ever drew up to his full height–one of the few he would look directly in her eyes near enough for her to see the rainbow of color hidden in the grey.

  “I realize,” he returned, “though what I don't understand is why. Why is everyone we pass smiling at us like something has changed.”

  Were they? She hadn't noticed. A stranger sent a winking sideways glance. “Because I've just made a suit to court you, and you accepted.”

  “I did what?

  “You accepted?”

  “That seems like something I would remember. And I don't recall doing any such thing. Actually, I think I told you I'm not interested in—”

  “The ending sequence I chose is called lovers. You followed. You accepted. No backsies.” She smirked. He isn't happy. Why isn't he happy?

  “The ending? I followed?”

  She nodded.

  He leaned down to her face, and her heart fluttered. His brow darkened. “ Gale, I didn't know what we were doing. I didn't even want to dance!” He whispered harshly.

  “Why are you upset? I just solved two–no, three problems for us.”

  “No, you created a—”

  “First, you will no longer be alone for the rest of your life.”

  “I stand to the side intentionally!”

  “Second, I get to matron somebody who actually cares about me. And third–”

  “Gale, do you know how ludicrous this is?”

  “Third is that these self-important dandies will finally leave me alone.”

  “Good for you! You could have turned them away and left me out of it!”

  “I did this for you, too!”

  “You coerced and tricked me!” He hissed.

  “I did you a favor!” People were starting to stare as their voices grew more edged.

  “I told you I'm not interested in any matronage. That I don't have a list.”

  “So I wrote you one and put my name on it!”

  “Gale, I don't want this.”

  “What! What is so wrong with the idea of us matroning, hm? Am I not good enough for you?” That couldn’t be true. Connection, family, children; these were things every elf wanted. No, his resistance was starting to hurt, because it meant… it meant…

  She couldn’t bear to imagine it.

  “No. I'm never going to be good enough for you. Your family. Your status. Your public image. You might not think you care, but those things help you. You like them, Gale. I'll…” he swallowed, and when he next spoke, it was soft, almost gentle. “I’ll drag you down. Pick someone else.” He made a motion like he was going to put his hands in his belt, but overshot as though aiming for something else. He threw his arms up in frustration as he stepped past her to leave.

  She reached for his sleeve. “Come on, Fenn. You're making a scene. Let's talk about this somewhere else,” she pleaded. His denial wasn't about her at all. It was his self-doubt. He didn't think he deserved to be with anyone. She could fix that.

  “If you minded making a scene, you shouldn't have asked me to dance,” he threw over his shoulder before he pulled away.

  She gaped after him.

  “Lover's quarrel already?” Nalum didn't bother hiding his sneer.

  “Shut up, birdsplat, you never had a chance.”

  Fenn would see, with more time, that she was right.