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the hesitation waltz
1.
“So there’s a festival in Katolis.”
It’s an offhand statement - or at least, that’s what it sounds like Callum’s trying to pass it off as. They’re in Del Bar for a treaty signing, but it’s an off day. Frankly, Rayla feels she sorely needed it. When she’d agreed to do this job with Callum a year ago, he’d made it sound like it might be fun. “It’ll be just like when we first started travelling,” he’d told her. “Just - you know - we won’t be co-parenting a baby dragon this time.”
That had made her laugh, but the argument was sound. If they could co-parent a baby dragon in the midst of a war, how hard could being ambassadors be? It meant Callum could keep learning magic, and it meant Rayla could still travel, but most of all, it meant the adventure wouldn’t be over, and they could keep going and see the ends of the world together.
(Not that Rayla would admit to that last fact out loud, but in any case, no one else needed to know).
It was a good plan. It’s still a good plan. The only real problem with it is that it’s not like that at all.
Not even a little.
It’s all treaties and meetings and negotiations, and when they’re not doing that, it’s drafting policies and writing letters to set up more treaties, meetings, and negotiations. Finding common ground between stubborn humans and equally stubborn elves is more annoying than it is rewarding, and often, it feels like they’re taking a couple steps forward, only to take five more back.
It shouldn’t be this hard, Rayla thinks. Humans and elves are different, sure, but not so different that fostering friendships between Xadia and the Pentarchy should be this difficult. Sometimes, she wishes they could just go back to co-parenting Zym. At least, in those days, he was a handful because he was a baby dragon, and not because he was a ruler that didn’t want address old wounds between both parties that should be addressed.
It’s frustrating work, and there are days, like today, when she finds herself in desperate need of time to recuperate. That’s why she’s here, hiding away in the embrasures of Del Bar Castle’s north tower, feet dangling off the parapet, away from the eyes of both wary humans and judgemental elves. How Callum had found her to begin with is a mystery to her, but his presence is welcome wherever she is, and she doesn’t mind nearly as much as she pretends.
“A festival, you say?”
Callum nods, leaning casually against the merlon to her left. He holds a pastry out to her, and Rayla hums appreciatively and swivels around in the embrasure to take it from him.
“It’s supposed to mark the anniversary of the end of the war,” he tells her. “Ez’s idea. I think he just wants an excuse to have a party.”
“Or an excuse to stuff his face full of jelly tarts,” chuckles Rayla. “Are we going then?”
“If that’s okay with you.”
Rayla snorts into her pastry. “When would it ever not be okay with me?”
“I just didn’t want to assume.” Callum’s grin is infectious - it’s been a while since he’s seen his brother, and she can’t blame him for being excited. She’s missed Ezran too.
2.
The last time they were in Katolis was six months ago. They’ve been travelling since, bouncing between Xadia and the Pentarchy as representatives for both elves and humans, as an example of the friendship they’re both trying to foster.
They get strange looks on both sides.
Elves watch Callum warily, unsure what to make of a human mage with a connection to all six primal sources.
Humans watch Rayla distrustfully, unsure what to make of an armed elf so comfortable in the presence of other humans.
In some ways, she understands. There’s a lot of history there, and it’s a big ask to expect everyone to just forget it - even though she wishes a lot that they would. Just once, she thinks, it’d be nice to walk into a room and not be stared at, or to walk down a road without feeling like she’s being watched. What would it be like, she wonders, to enter a human city with Callum without being greeted by guards first, or to walk into a Xadian city and not be laughed at when Callum introduces himself as archmage?
It’s wishful thinking.
3.
Ezran meets them at the gates.
He greets them with a smile, his arms open to embrace them both. He’s grown a bit since they last saw him - Rayla thinks that, in a couple of months, he’ll be as tall as Callum was when they first met. Being king suits him. He has his father’s values without his discriminations (granted, those discriminations were the result of a generations long war, and Harrow didn’t exactly have a friend like her to show him the error of his ways), and his mother’s conscience without her hesitance.
She hugs him tightly after Callum does, grinning against the mess of hair as it tickles her cheek. “It’s been a long time, Ez,” she says, when she pulls back.
Behind him, a guard frowns, forehead furrowing underneath his helmet. He’d been frowning at her before, his hand resting on the pommel of his sword like a warning, but this time, there’s a surety on his face; like Rayla’s done something offensive and he’s been waiting for an excuse to point it out. “Decorum in this city requires you to bow and address King Ezran as Your Highness,” he says stiffly. “It may not matter in Xadia, but here we show respect to our leaders.”
Beside her, Callum scowls, but Ezran rounds on the guard before he can even open his mouth.
“Excuse you ,” he snaps. The guard falters at once, but Ezran’s stare is hard. “We talked about this. If you can’t be polite to my friends, you can’t be on the Kingsguard.”
“But - sir -”
“Rayla is my friend ,” says Ezran sharply. “She doesn’t have to bow, and she can call me what she wants. You will show her respect by treating her the way you would treat my brother. Is that clear?”
“I -”
“ Is that clear ?”
The guard snaps his mouth shut and ducks his head. “My apologies, You Highness,” he mutters, red-faced and bowing. “And to you as well… My Lady.”
Rayla’s lips twitch. “You don’t have to go that far,” she says drily, but she takes the apology anyway knowing it’s probably the best she’s going to get. He isn’t the first to be hostile, and he certainly won’t be the last. At this point, Rayla’s grown used to it, and she shrugs it off like water off her back. “Look at you though,” she adds to Ezran, mussing his hair a little. “You’ve gotten bossy.”
“I have to be,” says Ezran with feigned dignity, “I’m a king.” But then he laughs and grabs Callum’s wrist in one hand and hers in the other to drag them into the city. “C’mon!” he says. “A lot’s changed since you were here last.”
4.
A lot has changed.
A war hadn’t left a lot of time for festivals, and even in its immediate aftermath, the people of Katolis were too busy learning that it really, truly was over to relax in the presence of elven emmissarries, or to throw parties in the streets.
Katolis feels happy today. People stare at her as they walk past still, but the streamers hanging from buildings and the garlands on the lamp posts seem to dampen their hostility. Flags of the uneven towers hang across alleys, vendors with food and memorabilia have lined the town square, and over the chatter, Rayla hears the sound of a band tuning their instruments in preparation for tonight. The atmosphere is lively, frenzied with the excitement of throwing the first festival in probably decades - maybe even centuries - but Ezran leads them past all of it in favour of going to the castle first.
Beside her, Callum grins, hand resting on the spine of his sketchbook. “Wow Ez,” he says, impressed. “Looks like you were right in wanting to throw this party. I haven’t seen the city this happy since - well, since ever.”
“It’ll raise morale,” says Ezran. “I had invitations sent to the other cities of the Pentarchy, and across the Breach as well. We won’t achieve unity over night, but I think it’s probably better forged in celebration than it is in signing treaties. Even if no elves come by to visit, I think it’s important for them to know that the invitation was there.”
“You’ve grown wise, Your Highness,” teases Rayla. “You’ll be arranging marriages next.”
Ezran gives them both a look over his shoulder, before he smirks and says, “With any luck, I won’t have to.”
5.
Their relationship isn’t something they’ve shied away from.
They’ve never hidden from it, and they’ve never pretended their feelings for each other don’t exist, but it’s rare that they act on it. She’d kissed him once, in the rain, outside an inn in Xadia, and he’d kissed her once, in an empty corridor in Duren Castle. In their downtime, he’ll lay his head in her lap while he reads, or she’ll lay hers on his shoulder while he draws; they’ll lace fingers together under tables, his thumb drawing circles into hers; sleep in the same bed, her arms around him, her face buried against his back -
But it doesn’t go farther than that.
In some ways, it feels impossible - Rayla’s an elf, and Callum’s a human, and maybe one day, a union like that might exist, but she doubts that their relationship will ever be anything more than a secret. The world isn’t ready for it.
Not yet.
6.
“I’ve never been to a festival,” Rayla admits quietly, as they settle in the room Callum used to share with Ezran.
“Not even an elven one?”
Rayla shakes her head. “They’re not really the type for street parties.”
Callum chuckles at her and tugs on her fingers.
She obliges him, sitting gingerly on the bed to his right. Sharing a bed in a dingy inn is one thing; sitting on his, in the privacy of his old room, is another. She fidgets, suddenly a little nervous, suddenly a lot shy. There are things between them that they understand but have never discussed, and it fills the room like an oppressive silence that drowns out even the babble of the crowd below.
She loves him, and he knows it; he loves her, and she knows it - but they’ve never told each other in as many words. In secret, it’s something special; something intimate that they can share without the prying eyes of their respective people. Out loud, it becomes a real, tangible thing, under constant scrutiny from elves and humans alike. In any case, while they both act as ambassadors, Callum’s still a prince and one day, she imagines, he’ll have an obligation to marry someone high born and noble for the sake of an alliance.
She is neither, and they both know that.
They don’t like to think about it.
“Is everything okay?”
Rayla shrugs. There’s a lot going through her mind right now, but they’re things he already knows. “I’m just... thinking,” she says after a moment. “It’s nothing, really.”
It’s not really nothing, and Callum can see it on her face plain as day, but he doesn’t pry. Instead, he tugs her up and holds both her hands in his. “You’ll need to learn to dance.”
“Pardon me?”
“You’ve never been to a festival, right?” He grins, rests her left hand on his shoulder, and puts his own on her waist. “Dancing is a kind of a thing.”
“Uh.” She makes a face. “I - ehm -”
“You don’t have to be good at it,” he says earnestly. “You just have to know the steps. It’s easy. I promise.”
She hesitates, but his smile is catching and it eases her mind. “Sure,” she murmurs. “Why not?”
7.
“It’s four beats, so one and two and three and turn -”
Rayla trips on the rug on the turn. She stumbles into him, but Callum’s in mid-turn too, and he doesn’t quite have the stability to keep her upright. She brings her down with him, and they collapse onto his bed with a yelp, in a giggling, breathless heap.
“How are you so clumsy?” he laughs. “You were an assassin!”
“Maybe it’s just you,” she says without really thinking. “Maybe I’m just falling for you.”
She means it as a joke, but her breath hitches in her throat when she realizes how close their faces are. Callum’s eyes are honest, irises wide like he’s trying to take all of her in. They already know everything there is to know, but there’s a nervousness in them as he brushes her hair behind her ears. “Are you?” he murmurs.
Rayla flushes. “You already know the answer to that,” she whispers.
His lips are so close. She remembers the way the feel against hers, but it’s been months since that day in Duren; longer still since that day in the rain, in Xadia. She wonders if they’ll feel the same now.
There’s a knock on the bedroom door, and Rayla scrambles off him, ducking her head to hide the redness on her face.
“Prince Callum,” says a guard, as the door swings open. “Er - Lady Rayla.” His tone lilts upward at the title, like he’s unsure it’s correct. He bows to both of them. “It’s time to go.”
8.
It’s a constant battle, thinks Rayla, wrestling her feelings for him with what she knows is feasible. People already stare. It’d be worse if they knew.
9.
When darkness falls, Katolis is bathed in the soft orange glow of street lamps and lanterns. The smell of street food hits her like a brick wall as she and Callum and Ezran leave the castle and there’s electricity in the air, like pent up excitement straining to get loose. She can hear the band and the cheering three blocks away from the town square and, despite the stares and the dirty looks, anticipation builds in her bones.
There’s a box surrounded by guards for Ezran and his guests at the edge of the square. It’s for their protection, she's been told - a lot can happen at a festival, after all - but Ezran wrinkles his nose at it, obviously preferring to be part of the crowd rather than a king on a pedestal watching the common folk and their festivities. He avoids it entirely and makes a beeline for the stall selling jelly tarts by the fountain.
“What d’you think?” asks Callum beside her.
Rayla pauses, watching the people dancing in circles in the square; watching children weave in between bodies with caramel apples and paper bags of popped corn; watching men and women laughing together with flagons of ale on the benches pressed against the walls. There are vendors selling fried potatoes, and jelly tarts, and rings of bread covered in sugar and cinnamon; vendors selling flags and scarves and trinkets with the emblem of the uneven towers; vendors selling ale and punch and sweet tea. The atmosphere makes her feel giddy, and she grins at Callum as she takes in the scene. “It’s wonderful,” she says, and she means it.
It’s not so stuffy like a nobleman’s ball; or an ambassador’s dinner; or an elven celebration. It’s a street party thrown by the common folk for the common folk, and Rayla half wishes all parties were like this because it feels altogether more inclusive.
“Well,” says Callum. “If you really wanna make an experience out of it, we have to dance.”
“Dance? You and me? Out here?”
Out here where people are already watching at her, even with the distraction of food and wine and music? Out here, in plain view of the entire city of Katolis? It was fine in his room, she thinks, where no one could see and they could just be. Out here, she’s nervous, and the many watching eyes she can feel against her neck do nothing to abate it.
“Yeah,” says Callum, taking her hand, a kind of determination set in his smile. “Especially out here.”
Understanding dawns on her. She's never thought about it before - not really - but he's sick of this too. Sick of being secretive when he'd rather it just be okay to walk around town with her hand in his for the whole world to see. He’s just as tired of humans staring at her and elves staring at him; tired of people watching their relationship and wondering about it when it’s none of their business; tired of people not understanding how easy it is to just be friends.
Something like a shy smile tugs at her lips. “Sure,” she says. “Let’s dance.”
10.
He tugs her into the throng of dancers, puts her left hand on his shoulder and her right hand in his left.
She glances around them, nervous, but Callum squeezes her hand. “Don’t look at them,” he says softly. “Look at me. Ready? One, two, three, four -”
Then they’re dancing. It’s as easy as anything else with him, and every now and then, she catches someone looking confused, or someone staring at her horns, but she doesn’t care. Callum smiles at her, twirls her under his arm, holds her close, and, for a little while, the music feels like it’s just for them. She laughs in his arms, enjoys the way he holds her and the rhythm in their feet, and when the music stops, he doesn’t let go.
His eyes are bright, his smile, full, and there are people watching and they know it, but he pays them no mind. He bumps his nose against hers and waits; gives her ample opportunity to pull back, to keep this secret still, if she’s not ready. She doesn’t.
“Are - are you sure about this?” she murmurs.
“More sure than I’ve ever been about anything else,” he tells her. “But only if you are too.”
She answers him with a kiss.
11.
The staring doesn’t go away. People still wonder.
She finds it easy not to care nowadays. Callum is worth it.
x
Hesitation waltz: a variation of the Boston waltz (a two step count fwd and back waltz) around 1880,named for the "Pause or Hesitation" in the music