![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
November [Marzanna/Jarilo]
Title: November
Fandom: Slavic mythology & folklore
Characters/Pairing: Marzanna/Jarilo (&someone else/Jarilo)
Rating: NR; contains canon-typical infidelity/death/violence
Length: 1k
Summary: One night, Jarilo returns, and she knows he has been with someone else.
Other: We had a ton of snow dumped on us at the end of October/beginning of November, and it made me think of this.
November
That night, he came to her with braids in his golden hair.
Marzanna looked at the long plaited strands, and she knew that Jarilo did not do this himself.
Her bones knew that he had been with someone else. And she knew that this had happened before, and that it would happen again, and that this would continue until the world's end. And her bones knew what would come next, too.
"You're late," she said, as he took her into his arms and embraced her with joy, kissing at her black hair, as he always did. Pressing her face to his throat, she scented evergreen and leaves and loam. Forest scent. A fragrance that wasn't his, and wasn't hers, either.
"Yes, but I'm here now," Jarilo said. There was a smile in his voice.
That was true; he had returned. But by the way he said it, that was supposed to be good enough.
She slipped from him and swept to the chair before the fireplace, taking a seat in it beside the warmth and the light. And he came to her, and sank down in front of her, and kissed her hand with as much fondness as he would on any other night.
Marzanna watched him, golden in the firelight as he knelt in front of her, strands of wheat-coloured hair falling across his cheek as his lips caressed her knuckles. When he looked up at her, with those eyes the colour of an afternoon sky, she could see that he knew that she understood everything.
What, then, to do about it?
She cupped her husband's chin in her hand and pressed her thumb to his mouth. "Was it worth it?" she asked, watching as for a moment Jarilo's eyes fluttered shut, his long lashes low, his cheeks blooming rose.
"Are you sure you want to know?" he asked, his voice little more than a breath.
Marzanna considered that for a moment. Did she? Did she really want to know how it was? How much he had enjoyed cavorting about out there with someone else? "No," she said finally. "I suppose I don't."
He opened his mouth as if to ask more of her, but from the look of him, he was at a loss for what to say.
Fine, she thought, and slid two fingers into his mouth. Better if he kept his words and excuses and lies to himself. There was not a single thing he could do to absolve himself of this.
And as she watched his lips close around her fingers, and felt the soft looseness of his mouth as his tongue stroked along the underside, she wondered. As she watched the warmth in his cheeks deepen their colour, she wondered more.
Perhaps it was not a woman at all that he'd been dancing in the forests with. Perhaps –
Then his tongue slipped her fingers apart, and pressed between them, and the image was gone from her mind.
When she removed her hand from his mouth, he sighed, then looked up at her from where he knelt. "Should I beg?" her husband asked, his eyes just as knowing as before.
"For what?"
Jarilo kissed her hand again. "For my life? Or..." He moved, bending his golden head low to kiss her slippered feet. "For forgiveness."
For a moment Marzanna said nothing, and when he lifted his head again she only moved to caress him, stroking along his head without a word. And as her hand brushed over the braids in his hair, she remembered that he would not have put them there, and that she had not done it, either.
Between the coils of plaited gold, she felt the sharp prick of pine needles.
Marzanna pressed her lips together as the anger stirred in her once again. Well, she wondered, who have you been playing with? Who took you dancing through the forest? Who pressed you down onto evergreen boughs? Who had you on your back?
Her expression must have hardened. For a moment, she saw a flicker of fear in her husband's pale eyes; and then it was gone, hidden as he rested his head against her knee.
"I think," she said softly, tracing her fingers along the curve of his skull, "That you shouldn't say anything at all."
She heard a muffled laugh of relief, and felt him nod. He pressed one finger to his lips, curled in a smile behind it as he agreed to this simple order.
Silent, then. For the moment.
Jarilo kissed at her hand once more, taking it gently to press his lips against her knuckles, her fingertips, her wrist, her palm. Then, with one more glance at her, he ducked low again, and kissed her feet and her ankles and her bright embroidered hem.
This time, he didn't lift his head. He stayed there, and waited in silence.
Marzanna sighed.
She knew what had happened before, and what would happen again, and what she would do to him later in the bed they shared.
There was something inside of her that knew the fluttering of his throat under her grip, and now she longed for it. The sharpness of pine needles twisted into his soft hair had boiled up a craving for the sound of him gasping for air and the sight of his lips turning blue.
She would tie him to her bed, binding him like pea vines on a trellis. And there, with Jarilo under her, beneath her, inside of her, she would pluck his life, and silence his voice and his laughter and his lies for another year.
But that, she decided, could wait.
Marzanna buried her anger, and dipped her hand to lift up the hem of her dress for him. As her husband guided her feet apart, and grazed his soft mouth against the inside of her thigh, she closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the chair.
In the morning, the ground would be thick with snow.
Fandom: Slavic mythology & folklore
Characters/Pairing: Marzanna/Jarilo (&someone else/Jarilo)
Rating: NR; contains canon-typical infidelity/death/violence
Length: 1k
Summary: One night, Jarilo returns, and she knows he has been with someone else.
Other: We had a ton of snow dumped on us at the end of October/beginning of November, and it made me think of this.
November
That night, he came to her with braids in his golden hair.
Marzanna looked at the long plaited strands, and she knew that Jarilo did not do this himself.
Her bones knew that he had been with someone else. And she knew that this had happened before, and that it would happen again, and that this would continue until the world's end. And her bones knew what would come next, too.
"You're late," she said, as he took her into his arms and embraced her with joy, kissing at her black hair, as he always did. Pressing her face to his throat, she scented evergreen and leaves and loam. Forest scent. A fragrance that wasn't his, and wasn't hers, either.
"Yes, but I'm here now," Jarilo said. There was a smile in his voice.
That was true; he had returned. But by the way he said it, that was supposed to be good enough.
She slipped from him and swept to the chair before the fireplace, taking a seat in it beside the warmth and the light. And he came to her, and sank down in front of her, and kissed her hand with as much fondness as he would on any other night.
Marzanna watched him, golden in the firelight as he knelt in front of her, strands of wheat-coloured hair falling across his cheek as his lips caressed her knuckles. When he looked up at her, with those eyes the colour of an afternoon sky, she could see that he knew that she understood everything.
What, then, to do about it?
She cupped her husband's chin in her hand and pressed her thumb to his mouth. "Was it worth it?" she asked, watching as for a moment Jarilo's eyes fluttered shut, his long lashes low, his cheeks blooming rose.
"Are you sure you want to know?" he asked, his voice little more than a breath.
Marzanna considered that for a moment. Did she? Did she really want to know how it was? How much he had enjoyed cavorting about out there with someone else? "No," she said finally. "I suppose I don't."
He opened his mouth as if to ask more of her, but from the look of him, he was at a loss for what to say.
Fine, she thought, and slid two fingers into his mouth. Better if he kept his words and excuses and lies to himself. There was not a single thing he could do to absolve himself of this.
And as she watched his lips close around her fingers, and felt the soft looseness of his mouth as his tongue stroked along the underside, she wondered. As she watched the warmth in his cheeks deepen their colour, she wondered more.
Perhaps it was not a woman at all that he'd been dancing in the forests with. Perhaps –
Then his tongue slipped her fingers apart, and pressed between them, and the image was gone from her mind.
When she removed her hand from his mouth, he sighed, then looked up at her from where he knelt. "Should I beg?" her husband asked, his eyes just as knowing as before.
"For what?"
Jarilo kissed her hand again. "For my life? Or..." He moved, bending his golden head low to kiss her slippered feet. "For forgiveness."
For a moment Marzanna said nothing, and when he lifted his head again she only moved to caress him, stroking along his head without a word. And as her hand brushed over the braids in his hair, she remembered that he would not have put them there, and that she had not done it, either.
Between the coils of plaited gold, she felt the sharp prick of pine needles.
Marzanna pressed her lips together as the anger stirred in her once again. Well, she wondered, who have you been playing with? Who took you dancing through the forest? Who pressed you down onto evergreen boughs? Who had you on your back?
Her expression must have hardened. For a moment, she saw a flicker of fear in her husband's pale eyes; and then it was gone, hidden as he rested his head against her knee.
"I think," she said softly, tracing her fingers along the curve of his skull, "That you shouldn't say anything at all."
She heard a muffled laugh of relief, and felt him nod. He pressed one finger to his lips, curled in a smile behind it as he agreed to this simple order.
Silent, then. For the moment.
Jarilo kissed at her hand once more, taking it gently to press his lips against her knuckles, her fingertips, her wrist, her palm. Then, with one more glance at her, he ducked low again, and kissed her feet and her ankles and her bright embroidered hem.
This time, he didn't lift his head. He stayed there, and waited in silence.
Marzanna sighed.
She knew what had happened before, and what would happen again, and what she would do to him later in the bed they shared.
There was something inside of her that knew the fluttering of his throat under her grip, and now she longed for it. The sharpness of pine needles twisted into his soft hair had boiled up a craving for the sound of him gasping for air and the sight of his lips turning blue.
She would tie him to her bed, binding him like pea vines on a trellis. And there, with Jarilo under her, beneath her, inside of her, she would pluck his life, and silence his voice and his laughter and his lies for another year.
But that, she decided, could wait.
Marzanna buried her anger, and dipped her hand to lift up the hem of her dress for him. As her husband guided her feet apart, and grazed his soft mouth against the inside of her thigh, she closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the chair.
In the morning, the ground would be thick with snow.
no subject
no subject