The End of the Story, chapter 1
Oct. 11th, 2018 09:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
scripsiTitle: The End of the Story
Fandom: Versailles
Rating: Teens
Chapter: 1/?
Word Count: 701
Characters Sophie de Clermont, Fabien Marchal
Pairings: Fabien Marchal/Sophie de Clermont
Warnings: None yet, will probably not change
Summary: Sophie de Clermont returns to Paris with a warning to Fabien Marchal, only to find she might be too late.
AN: This fic will spoil all three seasons of Versailles.
The whole fic on AO3
Sophie de Clermont, left motherless and destitute, hates Fabien Marchal with everything her passionate heart can muster.
She hates him because he is the reason she is in this painful situation; she hates him for being the only one in the world she has to cling to. She hates him because, despite his handsome face, he does nothing to improve his looks. The way he moves, she hates that too. She hates his dour clothes, and it's not as if he couldn’t afford better ones. With her new skills, the ones he has taught her, Sophie makes it her business to find out what the King pays his head of security, and it is not money Fabien is lacking. And she hates him because when he finds out what she is doing, he doesn’t get angry over her prying. Instead, he seems oddly proud over her ingenuity, even if he tells her to stop. She also hates his voice which he never raises, even when she makes a mistake, and she hates it even more because it’s actually beautiful and she can’t help wondering if he can sing. And she hates his books, and how he always answers her questions, even if they are stupid.
Sophie hates everything about Fabien Marchal until the day she realises she loves him.
They meet in a deserted passage; she reports to him as she has so many time before. But before they are finished, they are suddenly surprised by courtiers, too drunk to realise they have strayed into the servant‘s territory, but not too drunk to know who Sophie is, and that she ought not to cavort with the King’s henchman. Fabien swings Sophie around, his back shielding her.
“Put your arms around me,” he whispers, and Sophie flings her arms around his neck. Fabien’s other hand cups the back of her head, he bows his head to make them look for all the world like lovers embracing; and, by accident for sure, their lips meet.
They freeze, but not until Sophie's mouth has parted a little and there they stand. Close, much closer than Sophie has ever been to Fabien, and something happens to her body. Cold shivers run down her back, but where he touches her, she is hot. His scent, while lacking the perfume the men at court lavish on themselves, goes to her head strangely. Clean linen and a trace of soap and something else which is only Fabien, and it’s better than the costliest perfume. The bare skin on her arms rests on fine wool, soft to the touch, and underneath broad shoulder, and strong arms which holding her so securely against the drunken brawl behind them.
Fabien’s lips are soft against hers, his embrace tightens a little and Sophie, a maid still but not wholly without experience can feel him tremble. She smiles, and then the caress brought by necessity almost deepens to a real kiss. But the drunks disappears and Fabien lets her go without a word and leaves.
Everything changes that night, and yet, nothing changes. Everything Sophie has told herself she hates, are now a source of joy. Their meetings, always before an intolerable intrusion in her life, are now eagerly anticipated, and always ending too soon. Her feelings have changed, so completely Sophie feels almost dizzy, and she can see Fabien feels it too. The way he looks at her is different, there are no more indifferent glances but looks which lingers on her form and face. How he sometimes stands so close she can feel the heat from his body. His hand next to hers, as if by accident, and yet he never touches her.
Sometimes Sophie thinks she hates him again. Perhaps she does both, love and hate fused in her mind. Fabien is in her blood and has been since the moment he declared she belonged to him. That night, at the King’s masquerade, Fabien Marchal marked her soul and since then she can never be free.
So she loves him until she thinks she only hates him, and then she loves him again. When Fabien sets her free, it’s in body only. Sophie flees France, leaving her heart in Versailles.
Fandom: Versailles
Rating: Teens
Chapter: 1/?
Word Count: 701
Characters Sophie de Clermont, Fabien Marchal
Pairings: Fabien Marchal/Sophie de Clermont
Warnings: None yet, will probably not change
Summary: Sophie de Clermont returns to Paris with a warning to Fabien Marchal, only to find she might be too late.
AN: This fic will spoil all three seasons of Versailles.
The whole fic on AO3
Sophie de Clermont, left motherless and destitute, hates Fabien Marchal with everything her passionate heart can muster.
She hates him because he is the reason she is in this painful situation; she hates him for being the only one in the world she has to cling to. She hates him because, despite his handsome face, he does nothing to improve his looks. The way he moves, she hates that too. She hates his dour clothes, and it's not as if he couldn’t afford better ones. With her new skills, the ones he has taught her, Sophie makes it her business to find out what the King pays his head of security, and it is not money Fabien is lacking. And she hates him because when he finds out what she is doing, he doesn’t get angry over her prying. Instead, he seems oddly proud over her ingenuity, even if he tells her to stop. She also hates his voice which he never raises, even when she makes a mistake, and she hates it even more because it’s actually beautiful and she can’t help wondering if he can sing. And she hates his books, and how he always answers her questions, even if they are stupid.
Sophie hates everything about Fabien Marchal until the day she realises she loves him.
They meet in a deserted passage; she reports to him as she has so many time before. But before they are finished, they are suddenly surprised by courtiers, too drunk to realise they have strayed into the servant‘s territory, but not too drunk to know who Sophie is, and that she ought not to cavort with the King’s henchman. Fabien swings Sophie around, his back shielding her.
“Put your arms around me,” he whispers, and Sophie flings her arms around his neck. Fabien’s other hand cups the back of her head, he bows his head to make them look for all the world like lovers embracing; and, by accident for sure, their lips meet.
They freeze, but not until Sophie's mouth has parted a little and there they stand. Close, much closer than Sophie has ever been to Fabien, and something happens to her body. Cold shivers run down her back, but where he touches her, she is hot. His scent, while lacking the perfume the men at court lavish on themselves, goes to her head strangely. Clean linen and a trace of soap and something else which is only Fabien, and it’s better than the costliest perfume. The bare skin on her arms rests on fine wool, soft to the touch, and underneath broad shoulder, and strong arms which holding her so securely against the drunken brawl behind them.
Fabien’s lips are soft against hers, his embrace tightens a little and Sophie, a maid still but not wholly without experience can feel him tremble. She smiles, and then the caress brought by necessity almost deepens to a real kiss. But the drunks disappears and Fabien lets her go without a word and leaves.
Everything changes that night, and yet, nothing changes. Everything Sophie has told herself she hates, are now a source of joy. Their meetings, always before an intolerable intrusion in her life, are now eagerly anticipated, and always ending too soon. Her feelings have changed, so completely Sophie feels almost dizzy, and she can see Fabien feels it too. The way he looks at her is different, there are no more indifferent glances but looks which lingers on her form and face. How he sometimes stands so close she can feel the heat from his body. His hand next to hers, as if by accident, and yet he never touches her.
Sometimes Sophie thinks she hates him again. Perhaps she does both, love and hate fused in her mind. Fabien is in her blood and has been since the moment he declared she belonged to him. That night, at the King’s masquerade, Fabien Marchal marked her soul and since then she can never be free.
So she loves him until she thinks she only hates him, and then she loves him again. When Fabien sets her free, it’s in body only. Sophie flees France, leaving her heart in Versailles.
