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The first time Telaine and Melora dance together, it feels more natural than anything in the world. They stand atop the dragon that has consented to allow Telaine to ride him, and who is so vast that he can barely feel their footsteps, and they look up into the stars, and Telaine says, “I’m going to look like this sky someday,” and Melora says, “You already do,” and they are not goddesses, yet, but they are flying and above them are the heavens and below them is the earth and they find themselves holding each other, swaying. There is no music besides the beat of the dragon’s flight, but their dance has no rhythm, either, is a wordless, desperate, comforting thing, and they turn and they breathe together.
The last time Melora and The Glittering Lady dance together, they know that everything is over. They know that, in the morning, they will fight, and Melora will win, and The Glittering Lady will be locked away with her dragons. The both know this. But as much as The Glittering Lady loves her dragons, she will not be able to dance with them, and so she and Melora waltz, at arms-length. They can look into each other’s eyes, but they do not speak, because they don’t want to lie to each other. Despite everything, they do not lie to each other, and neither of them is willing to lose that. The waltz is, in a way, a funeral.
∞
The first time Cobb and Marabelle dance together, it’s on a dare from Jolene. It’s a Jamboreen, the bonfire’s high, the crawdads are cookin’, the fiddles are playin’, and the screamin’ of the youngins mixes with the laughter of the people already dancing. Cobb and Marabelle are sittin’ maybe a little closer than anyone’d expect of two folks who’re just friends, and Jolene notices it, same way she notices everything, says, “Are y’all not gonna join in?”
Cobb laughs, says, “Naw,” – they’re a trio, the three of them, there’s no need to be getting into romantics, even though the way that Marabelle presses up against him makes it hard to breathe.
“Dare you,” Jolene responds, and Marabelle pulls Cobb to his feet.
“What are you, scared?” she asks, and Cobb is, a little bit, because this is Marabelle Cybin, but he laughs again, and they join in. It’s a square dance, chaotic from the outside but with a kind of frantic rhythm from within, and he’s just focusin’ on not makin’ a fool of himself when he finds himself pressed up against her. He’s just barely able to process the smell of her – dirt, mostly, and somethin’ else, too – before she kisses him and is pulled away once again.
The last time Cobb and Marabelle dance together, it’s a gunfight. Neither of them gets a chance to say goodbye, but she knows his rhythms and dodges his bullets and she catches his eyes, thinking she’s going to say something, but then Jolene’s attacking her, too, and she steps away and the moment is lost. In the distance, she thinks she can hear a lone flute, rising above the trees.
Cobb fires again, and the explosion masks the music.
∞
The first time Thiala and Alanis dance together is the night after Alanis dies for the first time, the night after Thiala cast Raise Dead and it almost didn’t work, the night after they’d killed Shadowfang and nearly the whole of the right side of Alanis’s body had been corroded away by acid. It’s giddy, a little bit, around their campfire by the glow of Moonstone Bay, and Ulfgar’s laughing, cheering them on.
Alanis is weak – returning from the dead is exhausting, and so is healing from being melted – and Thiala is supporting her, holding her up and nearly propelling her across the grass. Alanis has her arms wrapped around the back of Thiala’s neck for support, and it does hurt, kind of a lot, actually, but also she’s pretty sure that the main reason she can’t breathe is from laughter, so it’s fine, probably. And to be this close to Thiala, to feel their skin together, the quiet pulse of divinity around her neck – well, Alanis is more than a little bit happy to delay resting.
“Get a room!” Ulfgar calls, and then guffaws when Alanis throws a Firebolt at him without looking. He dodges it easily, of course, but he’s distracted when Alanis presses her face into the crook of Thiala’s neck, whispers “Thank you,” considers kissing her and then thinks better of it.
“Of course,” Thiala replies, into Alanis’s hair, still a mess from the battle before. “Always.”
The last time Thiala and Alanis dance together is at a celebration banquet in Galaderon. The dance is a quadrille, which Thiala knows and Alanis is faking admirably, and it means they can’t talk, really, can’t be close, as they pass each other from one partner to another, step back, pause, breathe, start over. They’ve won, and Thiala’s proud of what they’ve done, but the celebration feels – wrong. They haven’t told anyone about Ilsed. They may never tell anyone about Ilsed, and that’s a choice they’ve made, but it feels wrong to be celebrated for it when they should have done more.
Thiala and Alanis step together, turn, separate. Again. Are allowed to remain partnered just long enough for Alanis to ask, “Thiala, where’s your amulet?”, but not long enough for Thiala to have to think of an answer.
Together, apart. Again.
∞
The first time Hardwon and Gemma dance together, it’s at a party, a school party, and Hardwon’s not supposed to be here because he’s supposed to be mining and Gemma isn’t supposed to be here because she’s the princess or whatever, but Nerman had been like Dude, my parents aren’t home, you should come over, and Hardwon had shown up and there was a whole party, with music and everything and, shit, he isn’t gonna ask how Gemma had gotten away, because she tends to get annoyed about that, but she’s right there. So, he walks over to her, where she’s hanging out with some people he doesn’t really know, and she grins up at him. She says something, and he can’t hear what it is over the music, so she yells it again, yells, “Wanna dance?” and he does know the reason they usually keep things secret is because of her dad, not because she’s ashamed of him, but it still feels really fucking good to hear.
She puts her drink down with her friends, and the two of them head to, well, it’s not a dancefloor, really, more like an empty spot of floor in an area where a bunch of other dwarves are dancing and they’re not dancing, really, more like grinding against each other and kind of awkwardly jumping up and down. Gemma is pressed so close to him, and the music is so loud, and he finds himself grinning as they’re pushed even closer together and the smell of sweat and cheap alcohol wafts over them. It’s been a rough week – shit, when is it not a rough week – but Hardwon Surefoot, bastard of the mountain (not that he’d ever say that out loud), is dancing with Gemma Bronzebeard.
She says something, and he can’t hear it, so leans down as they grind, bump, jump, says “What?” and she shakes her head, mouths “Not important.” But the thing is, he’s pretty sure her lips had said I love you. As the music crescendos, he says it back, quietly, trying not to move his lips. Gemma doesn’t notice, he doesn’t think, but that’s okay. This is the happiest he’s been in weeks.
The last time Gemma and Hardwon dance together, Gemma tells Hardwon to sneak in and he does, of course, without hesitation. She’d known he would. “I need you to practice this dance with me,” she whispers, the light in her room dim, and Hardwon’s been around long enough to know that he has to be quiet, too.
“What for?” he asks, but he’s already moving to take her hands. It is – he is so much taller than her, which should feel strange, for dancing, but she’s so accustomed to their bodies together that she fits herself against him without thought.
“Some event my father’s throwing,” Gemma says, and she can’t stop herself from feeling just a little bit bitter. “Jaina got out of it, so I have to figure it out.”
“Can I come?” Hardwon is joking. They both know Hardwon is joking. But Gemma can’t stand to see the hurt in his eyes if she answers (Hardwon is easy to read, no matter how much he pretends not to be), so she doesn’t, instead directing him to where he needs to be.
They move slowly at first, because neither of them is a particularly good dancer, but even more because they’re twenty-one and dating and haven’t seen each other in a few days, but eventually their progress picks up, and they move, awkwardly, through the basic steps of a military two-step. They separate, and Gemma curtseys exaggeratedly, and then applauds, and Hardwon’s laughing at her and –
There’s a knock at the door. Gemma’s stomach fills with ice, and she can’t meet Hardwon’s eyes, because she knows he’s panicking, and if she sees him panicking, she will, too. “Yes?” she asks, proud of how calm her voice is. Maybe she’s learning something from court after all.
The door opens. She’s not allowed to keep it locked. Her father stands there. Of course. Of course he does. And Hardwon is too big to have hidden even if they’d had time to and. Fuck. “Is that your dwarphan?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know Hardwon’s name, as if there’s more than one giant man with a dwarven beard who’s likely to visit her. She doesn’t respond. “Well?”
“Yes.”
Her father looks at Hardwon and his hand is on the handle of his axe and she doesn’t think he’s going to draw it, but she doesn’t think he’s not going to draw it, either. When he speaks again, his voice is calm, measured. “If I see you again,” he says, “I will kill you. If I hear about you again, I will kill you. If I am given any reason to suspect that my daughter has heard from or seen you, I will kill you and let her bury the body. Is that understood?”
Hardwon doesn’t respond. Gemma knows he wants to, knows that all he wants to do is start a fight, but he has heard enough from her to know it’s not worth it, that it will lead to – to something much worse than threats.
“Get out.”
Hardwon Surefoot runs.
∞
The first time Erlin and Beverly dance together, it is at the Green Teen Jamboreen, newly uncanceled, organized by someone who isn’t a Pebblepot, the sun beautiful and bright and the water from the bay lapping gently against the shore. Erlin doesn’t know if the dance they try to do has a name, and if it does, what they’re doing is probably unrecognizable, but he smooths one of Bev’s curls behind his ear and puts his hand on his waist, and they dance together as the day grows old.