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White Rose	By : CeeCee Category: X-men Comics > FemSlash - Female/Female Views: 10605 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own the X-Men fandom. Marvel Entertainment owns these characters. I make no money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Emma realizes she has to act fast to rescue her brother and father, even if it means compromising Ororo to the curse.

The nightmare, when it hit her, followed a peaceful enough day.

Ororo and Emma spent most of the day in the library reading and playing chess and backgammon, taking their meals on the balcony to enjoy the fresh air, and, amusingly, in the large ballroom practicing a waltz. Ororo was aghast at Emma’s admission that she didn’t know how to dance. Her expression was dumbfounded, and, Emma decided, adorable formed from those feline features of hers.

“You’ve. Never. Danced.”

“Never.”

“So deprived,” Ororo growled under her breath. “Come. We must fix this, posthaste.”

“Fix what? Ororo, don’t be ridiculous, I’ll never need to know how to… wait! What? But?!?” Ororo dragged her stumbling into the ballroom, the hem of her voluminous robes flapping after her.

“This won’t do at all. A lovely young woman should always know how to do a proper waltz, at a minimum.”

“I grew up on a farm,” Emma reminded her blandly, but she gasped when Ororo threw open the doors to the ballroom, which took her breath away.

It was the one from her dreams. Enormous, airy, with gleaming marble floors and a dazzling crystal chandelier. A white piano and a large brass harp sat in the corner, surrounded by several seats and music stands. Emma saw three violin cases and a larger one that had to be a cello. A brief memory flashed across her mind, a lilting strain of music underscored by chatter from a full salon…

“This… this is amazing.”

“No one ever comes in here anymore,” Ororo replied, musing. She cleared her throat. “Now, that lesson.”

“It just seems silly… I’ll never need to know how to do a waltz. No one will ever ask me… it’s not like I’ll ever attend a ball-“

“I’m asking you. And you’re in a ballroom right now, aren’t you? Imagine that.” Emma smirked, then ducked her head. “Don’t be bashful.” Ororo led her to the center of the room, and Emma felt a blush building in her cheeks.

“This just seems silly,” Emma murmured.

“Your enjoyment isn’t silly to me at all,” Ororo told her. “And you will enjoy this, Emma.” She pulled her close, hands clasped around Emma’s waist, and Emma felt a little dip in her stomach at their close contact, something that was becoming more and more familiar, and welcome. Ororo reached for Emma’s left hand, clasping it in her right, and she positioned Emma’s other hand on her shoulder. “I will lead.”

“Indeed. You will. I have no idea where I’m going!” Emma giggled. Ororo snorted, rolling her eyes.

“You’re such a goose.”

“We have no music!”

“Oh, but we do.” Ororo’s eyes twinkled. “Close your eyes.”

“Close them? How will I see where I’m going?”

“Just close them. Linger here for a minute. Imagine the music. Hear it.” Emma looked at her dubiously, brows creating a little divot between them, but she closed her eyes. “Think of the most beautiful music you’ve ever heard.”

All Emma could hear was her own breathing and Ororo’s, as well as her own heartbeat, which was slightly uneven. “This still feels silly,” she told her.

“Hush. Imagine it. Hear it.” Emma could hear the smile in her voice, and her own lips twitched. Emma concentrated on her environment, relaxing and letting her guard down, and slowly, her mind reached out to Ororo, gently, reverently, seeking out her emotions. She didn’t have to go far. They were right there on the surface, glowing radiantly and warmly, so clear and unguarded. Amusement and affection were chief among them, and an undercurrent of worry that gave Emma pause. Why would Ororo be worried right now? She tightened her grip on Ororo’s hand, briefly, as if to hold her captive, until Ororo tutted.

“It will come to you,” Ororo told her softly, mistaking Emma’s reaction for frustration. “Listen to it.”

Emma latched on to a recent memory, recalling a pleasant dream that evaporated when she woke from it, but that was drifting back to her in waves. Elegantly dressed guests. An opulent ballroom. Idle gossip shared over canapes and champagne.

A beautiful hostess in a fine gown, snapping open a delicate fan. Large, exotic blue eyes that sparkled like sapphires. Now is as good a time as any to learn. Lilting, rich laughter at Emma’s expense. It came back to her in a rush, the hand at her waist, her hand gripped in a slender, smooth one with well-manicured nails as she was guided in the careful steps of a waltz…

Music. The melody was shaped by the reedy sound of a flute, taunting the fiddles that tried to keep up with its pace. She made a sound of surprise. Yes. Yes. There it was. So beautiful. So enticing.

“See? It’s not difficult.”

“Hmm?”

“You’re doing well. Splendidly, in fact.”

“What on earth are you talking abou-“ Emma’s eyes opened, and she was met by Ororo’s pleased, triumphant smile. They were moving. Dancing. Her feet were dancing in perfect time to Ororo’s as they swayed back and forth, in a slow, graceful reel around the ballroom floor. That’s when she realized that the music wasn’t just in her mind, anymore.

She was projecting it. Sharing the melody for the two of them to hear, while Ororo kept up a low, murmured count.

“One-two-three, one-two-three, one-two-three…”

“I’m not really doing this. I’m dreaming.”

“No. You’re doing this. You’re with me, and I’m wide awake,” Ororo argued easily. “I’m still leading. It’s your turn next.” The music soared and filled the room, and Emma was still trying to retrieve snatches of her dream, until she realized…

…everything she could want from it, everything she could possibly wish for, was right there in that ballroom. Smiling, pressed against her, staring down into her eyes with amusement.

“Then as we finish the song, we look at each other… stop… then, we bow. Curtsy,” Ororo corrected herself. “Lovely!” As though Ororo conjured the end of the music with those words, the song faded away, and Emma couldn’t stop staring at her.

Something was strange. Something was wrong. Ororo cocked her head slightly, looking confused.

“What’s the matter, Emma?”

“Nothing, it’s… I’m just winded, I supposed. Could we… go now?”

“You haven’t led, yet.”

“Perhaps next time. I would love a cup of tea, wouldn’t you?”

“Love one,” Ororo agreed softly, but she was still bewildered as Emma rushed off.

“I’ll tell Manuel,” Emma assured her as she exited the ballroom, cheeks hot and palms clammy. Her heart was pounding.

The image of a woman in lilac silk with skin the color of cinnamon teased her imagination, so familiar, but just out of reach. It felt like a betrayal.

*

Emma’s change in mood worried Ororo, but she didn’t press her for an explanation. They dined casually in the kitchen that night, not standing on ceremony for the simple fare, roasted chicken, potatoes and carrots seasoned with Ororo’s herbs. When they retired for the night, Emma accompanied her upstairs, but she paused in the corridor by Ororo’s suite. “Is it all right if I sleep in my own bed tonight?”

“Of course. It is yours, after all,” Ororo assured her. “I want you to be comfortable.”

“It’s… I don’t-“

“I don’t mind having room to stretch my wings when I sleep, dear. It won’t be the first night I’ve slept alone, I might add. Would you like Santo to bring up a bath?”

“No. That’s fine. I’m a bit exhausted.” She grasped Ororo’s shoulder and leaned up to kiss her chastely on the lips. “Thank you for today. It was lovely.”

“We can dance whenever you want, Emma.”

“Sleep well, Wind-Rider.” Emma reached up and stroked Ororo’s cheek, smoothing her hair back from it.

“Sweet dreams.”

*

If only Ororo had wished them for herself before she climbed into bed. She thrashed and flailed in her bed, wings and limbs growing tangled in the covers as the images in her mind twined around her, winding around her limbs, her throats, wrapping themselves over her eyes, smothering her mouth…

A low breeze stirred the branches, one she didn’t conjure. The day was warm and mild, and she strolled through her garden toward the roses. They were still in bloom, but there were a few withered, dessicated brown heads, their inner yellow seeds exposed and as they shed petals. Ororo made a small tsk-ing sound, stroking a fingertip over one of the intact blooms. “Poor dear,” she told the bush. “You’ve been neglected.”

“You’re been ignoring your own problem long enough, Princess.” Ororo whirled on the voice’s owner, and she froze.

“You.”

“Lovely afternoon we’re having, dear. Is that your doing? Oh, don’t answer that. It’s mine, I suppose.” Her visitor was known to her, as unwelcome now as she had been that fateful night.

“Why are you here? Have you come to taunt me?”

“No. Just checking in.” The fairy floated more than walked, dressed in a shimmering, pearlescent gown. Her skin and hair were fairer than Emma’s, and her eyes glowed a bluish white. “You’ve done a lovely job maintaining all of this. Without servants, too. I’m impressed!” Ororo watched the fairy bend down to smell one of the pristine blooms, smiling and closing her eyes as she inhaled. “These are still my favorite. The red ones are too showy, aren’t they?” She looked up to see Ororo’s reaction. “That’s why you refused it, wasn’t it? Why you refused me? You didn’t care for the red rose I offered you?”

“Is that important for you to know now?” Ororo said levelly. “If I had offered you shelter-“

“It would have made all the difference in the world, at least in regard to the curse. You could have housed me in the barn or in the cellar, which still wouldn’t have put you out of your way, but then you wouldn’t have learned anything. You would have cast me out the next day, and then gone about your merry way, debauching yourself without any regard to anything but your own pleasure and needs. And that simply wouldn’t do. The world doesn’t need another narcissist, dearie.”

“So you decided it needed another monster?” Ororo accused. “Are you proud of what you’ve done?”

“No. Not really. But it still needed to be done.” She reached for the roses, grasping a delicate stem. To Ororo’s horror, she snapped it off the cane, and lancing pain stabbed through her chest.

“NO! DON’T! Please!”

“Oh. Did that sting?” she purred, lips forming a small moue. “How awful of me, dear. I forgot that you feel that bothersome kinship with growing things. How tedious. Hold on, now, I’ll just be a moment-“ She reached for another rose, severing it from its stalk. Pain ripped like fire through Ororo again, squeezing, throbbing, pulsing behind her eyes. “I just can’t resist white roses. They’re so pure and beautiful, and they smell so heavenly.” Her hair was coiled in elegant buns, and she tucked a rose into each one as she contemplated Ororo, who was doubled over in pain, retreating from her.

“Please… stop,” she pleaded.

“Oh, you’re no fun at all,” she teased, but she sobered. “All right, then. I’ll let you get back to your houseguest. That’s all she is, isn’t she?” Ororo shook her head, but it was difficult to focus past the pain. “No? She’s more than that?” The enchantress laughed and waved dismissively. “But, how could she be? Forgive me for my bluntness, Princess Ororo, but you’re hideous. Ghastly. Dare I say it… beastly.”

“Thanks… to you,” Ororo rasped.

“No. Thanks to you, and your selfishness and vanity. You brought this on yourself. I’ve been patient, Ororo. And generous. But a curse is a curse.”

“Curses are made to be broken,” Ororo told her, a glint of challenge in her eyes as she straightened. The fairy reached toward the rosebush again, but Ororo lunged over and swatted her hand away.

Clouds rolled ominously overhead, dimming the sun as a wind kicked up, rustling every tree and shrub. The fairy’s eyes flashed, but Ororo’s glowed a fiery white, and her hair rose on the currents.

“I still have time,” Ororo told her. “Cease your taunts! I will break your curse! I will win her love!”

“You will lose her. And when you do, you will lose everything, Wind-Rider. You have until the turn of the seasons, when the last rose petal falls and the autumn leaves turn, to win Emma’s heart, through no bargaining, manipulation or promises. She must profess her love for you, true and unconditional, before you’ve lost your last white rose, or you and your entire house will perish.”

“Get out!” Ororo shrieked. “Get yourself from here, witch! You’ve done enough harm!” Thunder boomed overhead, followed by graceful arcs of lightning that danced from the clouds. The fairy sighed, then chuckled.

“Always dramatic. Always entertaining. I enjoy our visits, Ororo, have I ever mentioned that?” Not one to be intimidated by Ororo’s display, the fairy closed her eyes and tipped her head back, summoning her energies, and she was enveloped in a shaft of white light, transforming, growing until she surged toward Ororo, a floating, cloudlike wraith. She rushed at her with a high-pitched shrieking sound, burning along Ororo’s nerves, tingling down her spine so fiercely she felt ripped in half-

Ororo was drowning in her own sweat when she woke. She ripped through the covers with her talons in her fight to free herself, and she turned her pillow into a cloud of feathers that floated down around her like snow. “No,” she whispered. “I can’t. I can’t lose her. Goddess, help me…”

She turned her face into the remaining pillow and wept helplessly.

From down the corridor, Emma felt a blast of Ororo’s fear and anguish, stirring her from sleep. “What?” She sought her out with her mind, with the gentlest psychic touch. Just as gently, she felt Ororo’s rebuff. Emma eased herself back into the yielding mattress, adjusting her covers. “I wish you would stop being so stubborn,” Emma mused aloud.

She didn’t fall back to sleep until she felt Ororo’s emotions settle and her thoughts drift into sweet oblivion once more.

*

Adrienne’s best pair of boots rubbed her heel slightly on her walk into town, but she had precious little experience driving her father’s wagon, and she had a horrible seat for riding side-saddle on horseback. She wore her large straw hat trimmed in ostrich plumes, feeling stylish and elegant, a woman of leisure and comfort, even though her hands, beneath her kid gloves, had new callouses that belied her status. Ever since Christian was arrested and Emma was spirited away, Cordelia and Adrienne were left to manage the chores on their own, and they hated it. Cordy managed to get a swift kick from the cow when she went out to milk them that morning, and she was nursing a bruised jaw, as well as an abiding hatred of all bovine creatures going forward. Adrienne claimed the much easier chore of feeding the chickens and collecting the eggs, even though a few of them pecked at her.

Adrienne made her way down to the Black Trident Inn, shivering slightly within its shadowy interior. The man behind the counter looked up in interest as she entered.

“How can I help you, miss?”

“I’m here to see Mr. Pierce.”

“He’s with Mr. Shaw.”

“Can you please tell him I’m here?” He beckoned to a young man who arrived with a tray of empty, clean goblets. He murmured something into his ear and set him off with a nod.

“Wait here.” He didn’t invite her to sit down, which vexed her, but she was anxious to see Donald. If her hunch paid off, if her father wasn’t just raving, then she could negotiate with Shaw, with her sister’s whereabouts as the bargaining chip. The visit with Winston had been frustrating, but he had all of the tells of a man who believed his own words, and he was babbling endlessly about Emma being lost to them all… Adrienne couldn’t care less about her youngest sister, the little baggage. She only wished Winston had thought to use some of his earnings from his sale of the recovered goods to hire a hand to help with the farm. If Donald truly cared for her, Adrienne was certain a proposal was in the cards, even if Winston couldn’t offer a very generous dowry.

“You may follow me,” the young man told her, beckoning for her to precede him through the door of the back salon. She nodded and gave him a winning smile before she closed her parasol, tucking it under her arm. Adrienne then followed him though the gaming room, a large, ornately decorated space that oozed wealth and masculine charm, with dark leather everywhere, hunting trophies hung from the main wall over the bar. A few men looked up from their games of cards, smirking to each other over the female in their midst, garbed in her snug, slightly revealing gown. Adrienne allowed her young guide to show her inside the next door, Shaw’s den, and she noticed it was warmer than the rest of the club thanks to a fire lit in the grate. Shaw and Donald were seated across from each other, and Donald rose from the ottoman as she entered, smiling in welcome.

“There she is, my little dove,” he exclaimed, pouring on the charm, even though her unannounced visit vexed him. Adrienne joined him, turning her cheek up to his lips.

“Hello, darling. Sebastian,” she offered. The familiarity, Sebastian could excuse, certainly, when he had such clear designs on her sister. The young steward closed the door behind him as he left.

“Have a seat? Care for a drink?”

“I’m so parched,” Adrienne told him as she took up a place on the leather chaise. She was about to lay down her parasol until Donald took that and her reticule from her and hung them both on the coat tree in the corner. Adrienne unpinned her hat and set it beside her on the chaise, carefully fluffing her curls.

“Will a nice cordial do?”

“Please.” Donald poured one from a small, green glass bottle that he took down from the cabinet. He handed her the short tumbler, and she sipped it gratefully.

“What brings you so far into town today, dear?” Sebastian inquired.

“Cordelia and I had the chance to visit Father the other day. I wish I could be here under lighter circumstances.”

“Oh?” Shaw paused in lighting his pipe, match poised over the book he’d removed it from.

“His time in the prison has changed him considerably. His constitution has grown more delicate.” Shaw schooled his expression carefully, but Donald was dancing attendance on her, kneeling by her side and taking her hand, lightly stroking her cheek.

“Oh, darling, it must be so dreadful for you.”

“Cordelia and I are trying so hard to cope, but it’s so difficult… oh, I’m sorry. I must be boring you with my worries.” She clutched her cordial and fanned herself theatrically. “I hope you don’t think me overwrought.”

“Never,” Shaw promised. “Continue.”

“He was raving and fretful, and all he could talk about was Emma,” she told them.

Both men leaned forward in interest.

“Have you heard from your sister?” Donald asked gravely, laying a hand on her shoulder. His touch burned her through the thin fabric of her capped sleeve, and Adrienne shivered with the memory of his possessive touch during more clandestine meetings than this one.

“Not one word. No communication at all,” she told them, voice quivering slightly, just enough to make Donald give her a little squeeze. “Father has been so vague about her whereabouts, and Cordelia and I have been beside ourselves. Father is so lost without her.” She took a fortifying sip of cordial, then let Donald take it from her and set it on the small side table. “I believe he allowed something dreadful to happen. Something unseemly. You realize, Donald, darling… our family isn’t as well-heeled as we would like. Our father is a farmer now, but he was once a successful merchant.”

“You said he came into a bit of luck, and found some of the goods that he thought he lost at sea?” Shaw had heard some of the rumors around the vendor’s stalls, from the townsfolk wondering why they hadn’t seen any sign of Emma selling their eggs or milk about town.

“Yes! It was such a blessing! He seemed so happy, finally.” It was only a little white lie; if anything, Winston had never seemed more bleak when he returned home from his journey, face drawn, eyes full of guilt. “But shortly after he returned to us, he took Emma away. He gave so little explanation. She just packed a few of her things, and… I didn’t understand. Cordy and I thought Emma ran away, at first. She can be thoughtless, sometimes, and impetuous.” Another lie, but Shaw merely nodded.

“She’s spirited,” he pointed out.

“Yes, of course she is,” Adrienne said, letting the whisper of tears form in her eyes. “But Father came home without her, and I feel that… perhaps he bargained her away. During our visit with him, he mentioned something that gave Cordelia and me pause.”

“What might that be, dear?” Donald asked.

“He mentioned a castle on a hill. Over a river. Down a winding gravel road. Isn’t that odd?”

Shaw felt excitement brewing in his chest.

“He said he nearly threw a wheel from his wagon trying to navigate that road at night, when he was caught in a storm, before the night that Emma left. He really should have stayed the night in town,” she mused.

“He could have stopped here. We would have been glad to extend our hospitality to Winston, of course,” Shaw said hollowly.

“The strangest thing of all, out of his rantings, Donald, was – oh, I don’t know if I should even share this. It’s outlandish, and preposterous! I wouldn’t shame him by mentioning this, but… he mentioned a creature. Yes, Father said a creature took Emma away from him, to keep from now on.”

Both men froze. Donald released his grip on her and settled back, then stood. “Darling?” Adrienne inquired. “Did you hear what I said? A creature. Isn’t that odd?”

“Up the mountain,” Shaw murmured. “And over the river.”

“It makes no sense that he would even travel so far, instead of just remaining close to the shore, since he was still searching for his ships,” Adrienne reasoned, her tone almost a scoff. “He’s had such a hard time, and he’s so fragile at his age.”

“Darling, the circumstances were unfortunate when Winston and your brother were arrested,” Shaw told her, cutting her attempts off before they could reach their full ripeness. “They were found with two murdered men nearby. Even if Winston didn’t lay a hand on either of them, your brother has no alibi.”

“I’m not concerned about Christian! I just want my father back, and my sister!” High spots of color appeared in her cheeks, but she realized that she spoke too hastily. “I mean… I just want my family back together, and for my brother’s innocence to be proven…”

“No one has come forward yet on his behalf, my dear. We only have Christian’s word and your father’s… ramblings. You can see what makes this so difficult.”

“They still haven’t tracked down the third man. There was another, the night that my men were killed. He was a friend of your brother’s, I assume?” Shaw wondered aloud. Adrienne huffed.

“Friend. Aye, that’s putting it lightly. Christian’s idea of a ‘friend’ is less conventional than yours or mine. Christian has… exotic tastes. Too unseemly to describe.”

“You may speak freely, without judgment,” Shaw encouraged. His eyes were shrewd, burning black coals.

“Christian… he pursues relations with men. Men and women both. He’s shamed Father on more than one occasion.” Shaw sighed; this wasn’t news. “He runs about with this horrible kitchen boy… Jean, something.”

“A kitchen boy?” Donald prodded.

“Yes. Oh… I know! Jean-Paul,” she pronounced, proud of herself. “Tallish. Dark hair with cunning little streaks of white. Blue eyes. He and Chris keep close company.”

Donald continued to ply her with sympathetic words and sweet cordial as she spilled all of the information they needed. Shaw’s excitement was barely contained, hidden skillfully beneath a calm mask.

Adrienne filled their ears with her account of her plight as an abandoned, destitute daughter. “There is just so much to do, and Cordelia and I were woefully unprepared for these responsibilities. You can imagine the stress and difficulty of managing a farm such as ours? It would help us so much to have some assistance. Cordelia and I can’t be expected to handle the heavy lifting and toil…”

“Of course you can’t, my dear. Mustn’t sully those delicate hands.” Shaw closed the gap between them and bent over her hand, kissing it. Adrienne shivered. “We won’t let your struggle continue so. Expect two of my staff to arrive tomorrow at day break to help you with the chores. It’s the least I can do.” Adrienne’s face was stunned, then radiant.

“Oh, Sebastian! How thoughtful-“

“Don’t think of it as a kindness, my dear. Think of it as returning a favor.”

“Er… returning a… favor?” Her voice held a note of confusion.

“Yes, dear. I know it was difficult the last time you joined him, but I need you to visit your father once more.”

“But… shouldn’t we be focusing more of our effort on freeing him, and proving his innocence?”

Winston could rot for all Shaw cared, but he kept his voice and expression calm and level.

“Once we have a proper witness come forward, we will make sure your father is freed,” Shaw told her easily. “Here. Have some more cordial, madam.”
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White Rose