Chapter 8: Dragons
Three weeks later
Many eyes were on her as he climbed the outside stairs to the skating rink. With her hair unbound and heavy make-up, Frances truly looked … otherwordly. There were no other words for it, and for once, Tristan didn't shy away from admiring her figure. In her training clothes, her toned legs were displayed rather boldly. Fortunately, she wore a long vest over the rest, hiding a silhouette many young women would have killed for. And she was waiting for him, so he gestured in the crowd.
— "Hey !"
Her head turned at once, so radiant a smile blooming on her face that it took his breath away. Why did his stomach do flip flops whenever she showed her appreciation ? Perhaps he ought to take a little distance; she was a student, not his friend. Yet, he enjoyed his conversations with her. She was witty, and funny, and viewed the world so very differently. Shaking those thoughts away, Tristan climbed the steps in haste, his hand foundling the little token in his pocket. Perhaps he should keep that to himself…
Frances waved at him shyly, then fished a ticket out of her breast pocket.
— "There, here's your seat."
Tristan's fingers brushed hers as he picked the red and gold card.
— "Thank you."
— "No, thank you for coming. You'll probably find my roommates somewhere inside if you want company"
Of course, for support ! How he would have enjoyed such a tight group in his days as a student. He surmised he'd better get there and find them, but his hand was still fondling the little piece of cloth in his pocket, refusing to let him go.
— "Good, great. Erm. You look good"
The young woman blushed profusely, dipping her head.
— "Ah, uh, the heavy make-up is supposed to put emphasis on our expression since we're so far away from the public"
— "Like ballet dancers, yes."
He wasn't about to say that it made her eyes seem huge, especially now that she was gazing at him so openly. Nor that it emphasised the golden flecks that radiated from the centre of her irises. That would probably seem a little personal, right ?
— "So, are you ready ?"
The young woman took a deep breath, then nodded, her features determined.
— "As ready as I could ever be"
There was such finality in her words that he knew he needed to let her go; all artists needed some time down before performing, and he was keeping her in the freezing cold with too light a vest. So Tristan gave her a final smile and resisted the urge to hug her – ever since that fateful day, his body wanted her back in his embrace. She fit so well in his arms !
Instead, his right hand reached into his pocket and offered the little piece of nonsense he'd picked for her. A good luck charm, in the form of a four leaves clover; just a piece of ready to iron badge he had found while buying some thread at the local cloth store.
— "There, a good luck charm for the lady"
Frances' eyes widened so comically that he couldn't help but grin at her awed expression. He doubted she would look happier the day her lover would drop to one knee and present a diamond ring. Damn… bad thoughts. He wasn't ready to plunge into such a fantasy, and took off immediately, leaving a dumbfounded Frances with a four-leaves clover in her palm.
The hall was very crowded and he pushed his way into the stalls, wondering if he had made a mistake. The chill of the ice rink greeted him, and Tristan searched the rows for familiar figures. It was them who found him instead, three sets of arms swinging in his direction as the yelled his name.
— "Hey ! Mr Kristiansen, over here !"
The teacher smiled, seeing they had kept a seat for him. As he approached, he realised there were many more students he had thought in the first place. Alexandre and Rozenn, of course, but also a set of Bertrand, one of the Oliviers and Madeleyne. The young lady scooted aside to give him space, remarking as his ass wasn't so large after all and making him laugh. Damn girl, she really was bold when she wanted to. He was sad to see her go.
— "So you've come to cheer Frances as well ?", she asked, her long hair falling past her waist.
Thinking of it, he had never realised how similar to Frances Madeleyne's hair was; long, wavy and bordering on russet. Yet, it didn't stir him the same way. Setting those thoughts aside, he smiled at the girl.
— "Of course, and I enjoy ice skating."
— "So you'll come and cheer me at the next archery competition ?", came Emeline's voice from the left.
Tristan's eyebrows rose into his hairline.
— "You practise archery ?"
The little brunette nodded, earning respect from her geography teacher.
— "You amaze me, all of you. You've got so little time on your hands but you still manage to make the most of it"
— "It keeps us sane… well, nearly sane"
Madeleyne's voice broke his heart. After the incident for her birthday, the young woman had decided to quit and go home. He couldn't blame her, only give her reassurance that she had done nothing wrong, and that her brilliant mind would find an occupation elsewhere. He was glad, overall, to spend this last moment beside her before she packed her bags. After all, he would also be gone a month from now, but he couldn't remember a bunch of students that had marked him so strongly.
Olivier, from the seat below him, tried to get his attention in the noisy crowd by tapping upon his tibia.
— "If you like out of the ordinary things, there's a bunch of guys that practise juggling, and monocycle in the gymnasium once in a while. That's a sight"
Circus, ice skaters and bow wielder. How many more surprises would he find there ? Truly, he had taken this assignment to flee the conflict with his wife and break the routine. There was no disappointment there and he found himself in awe of the students, burdened beyond measure under assignments yet striving to keep their core intact. Such determination and drive; those young students would stop at nothing to make their way in life, and he respected them for it.
— "Artists. You are art-scientists. And a great class to teach", he said fondly.
— "Well, you're a great teacher", retorted Alexandre. "Too bad you are not staying after Christmas"
Tristan was saved from responding for the music started, and little ladies made their way across the ice to start the Christmas Gala. Clad in butterfly wings, they blessed the ice with a multitude of sparkling particles that turned the surface into a sea of stars. Such little cuties… Would a daughter of his look so lovely someday ? Would they have those blondish curls and innocent air, the little upturned nose and big blue eyes ? If they took after his wife, they surely would.
The age range increased little by little, dollies turning into girls from five to ten years old. The level followed the same trend as teenagers came into play, their technique much more advanced than he expected. One of them even performed double jumps, causing him to clap loudly. To see such a young one mastering two turns in the air seemed rather incredible. His neighbours, girls and boys alike, cheered and clapped with enthousiasm, but not as strongly as when Frances appeared on the ice.
Her long auburn hair ran free behind her, her arms clad in ethereal cloth that looked like a pair of wings. The bodice, of sparkling white and deep purple, stuck to her form like a second skin. Fortunately, the uneven stripes than ran from shoulder to hip tended to confuse the eye and prevent her curves from standing out. The bottom of the bodice flared in an uneven skirt, as if it had been torn to shred or burnt, baring her long legs. The contrast with the trail of fire cascading down her back in ringlets was striking. So beautiful !
A loud whistle took him out of his contemplation, and his hand naturally hit the back of Olivier's head as he crudely remarked upon his classmate's figure. The young man only smiled; it was well deserved ! A loud round of applause greeted Frances as she positioned herself in the center of the ice rink – such a wide expanse of ice, for one lonely little woman. She must be terrified. But her face did not show it; she was concentrated, lost in her bubble. A hush fell over the assistance right before the music started, then…
Then she was flying over the ice… Fast. Faster than the precedent girls, with more purpose. The music was lyric, strong and inspiring. But not as much as her steps as she lifted her arms wide and let the fabric of her wings fly behind her.
— "Oh ! it's 'How to train your dragon'. She's a dragon !", Emeline cried out.
A dragon, how fitting. A beautiful, ethereal, real fire breathing dragon; for he knew what lingered below the gentleness. A rock-hard determination. The strength to stand up to her main teacher, no matter the consequences. By now, she had turned backwards and was following a circle, legs crossing, picking up speed. And despite the lesser technique – the teenagers had been more advanced - he found her so incredibly graceful. She has such presence when her arms opened that he could only go wherever she wanted to lead. His eyes trapped… his heart following.
Frances lifted a leg up in an arabesque, holding it for a moment, then she bent further away and opened it to a near split. The graceful pose caused a few applauses to rise. The music was so beautiful, her dancing so enthralling, wide, long moves with a few turns, as if she was embracing the world. Honestly, she could have merely circled the rink that he would have found it fantastic. But she wasn't keeping to such comfort.
Something broke in the music, the sound turning dissonant, mimicking a fall. Harrowing. Frances started a series of complicated steps, even attempting a pirouette where her body wasn't aligned with her legs, giving the impression that she wasn't holding the equilibrium. She turned and turned without keeping the directions, arms bent awkwardly, then started a series of single jumps that took her to the other side of the skating rink. One turn, half a turn, then a leg out, her head falling backwards as her back bent ever so slowly, her long hair falling past her knees.
The trumpets rung, louder and louder until… Until everything felt right again, and Frances unfolded like a chrysalide, opening her arms wide again and taking speed. Then… she jumped. One turn and half, and a graceful landing, and she smiled while her colleagues whistled and cheered. She'd made it ! She had passed her axel, and was positively radiant on the ice. And while the music cheered up, she started spinning in a pirouette with a leg out, occupying the space as if the ice belonged to her. Long, elegant limbs reaching out to him.
Another set of merry steps followed, then another attitude where she lifted her right leg up so high that it formed a Y with her body. She didn't falter, smile wide, her other arm greeting the public as she sailed like the wind on the ice. Happy. Carefree. Totally unbridled and flying with her wings, her hair waving around her like a halo of fire. It was such a beautiful sigh, and when the music stopped, Tristan knew he wanted to see her dance on the ice again. Or dance in his arms. His enthusiastic claps didn't begin to express how wonderful he felt, for Frances' freedom seemed now ingrained in his heart. As if she had unleashed his inner self by sharing her art.
Yes, he very much wanted to dance again. Tango, salsa, waltz or rock'n'roll he didn't care much, as long as he could share it with her. Tonight, she had sowed the seed of inspiration in his chest.
And that inspiration only grew, day by day, taking root into his mind until his thoughts revolved around her. Until he cornered her, on this fated day, in his classroom in a clumsy attempt to say goodbye...
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