Disclaimer: Pokemon belongs to a lot of people who have a lot of money and power, both here in America and abroad. Unfortunately, I'm not one of them. No one should get bent out of shape; I'm just borrowing these guys for a while. All apologies also to any pop culture references warped. I'm just borrowing them, too. And finally, I don't own those songs "Once Upon A December," or "Let Me Call You Sweetheart." If I did, I would be rich and generally happy and able to sit around writing fanfics all day long. ^_^;;;

Prelude: Woo, it's been a while since we've seen this story! It's still your story, Angelstars, honey! Maybe if we're lucky it'll be finished by your next birthday, eh? LOL! This chapter features unauthorized cameos by Angelstars, Cultnirvana, Misty Blue, Neongene, and the former Pokewriter25, just because I needed names and you guys were at the top of the email list. Hope that's okay! ^_^;;; Shoutouts also to the Eldershipping Brigade--Llyxius, Spruceton Spook, Ilex, Mysterious Eldershipper, Gia, Fallon, and all you other guys out there. I love my people! *_* Enjoy, send intelligent comments to [email protected].

Once Upon a December

By Latonya Wright

Part 2: The Princess and the Prince of Dreams

"Thus Prince Vanni rode away, over the Iroke mountains, to seek the magical Pokemon who would grant his every wish. Princess Delilah bid farewell to her husband and his battalion." She lifted a hand, waved it slowly, gazed off into the distance. "She watched as they retreated, watched as the Rapidash hooves kicked up the snow, watched until they became no more than a speck on the distant mountainside. His Majesty was most gracious to the princess, and since she was now the Crown Princess, he offered her sanctuary in the Viridian castle. However, Her Majesty and the Lord Chamberlain's disapproval shone from their eyes, so the Princess politely declined, saying that she loved her homeland. After the Royal Family departed, Princess Delilah trudged back to her small cottage, cold, alone, childless, unloved." She closed her eyes, silently gathering strength for the next portion of the story.

"Oh, how terrible," Misty breathed, clutching Ash's arm. "Poor Princess Delilah. To think that Prince Vanni abandoned her in a strange and foreign land... all alone, during the winter." The girl shivered. "I couldn't imagine!"

"Yeah, but remember, Misty, the other prince was there too," Brock pointed out. "What was his name again?"

"Prince Garrett." Tracey had grabbed a sketchpad during her story; she knew he was bringing her words to life. As he spoke, she could hear the faint scratching of his pencil on the page. "Prince Garrett. What an intriguing name. I'd be interested to hear why you chose it."

Was the boy able to see through her tale? Did he know that it was more fact than fiction? That explained why she never told the tale to outsiders--But she opened her eyes, saw her lover's gaze, warm and adoring, upon her, and she smiled.

Before she could answer, Misty was boldly declaring, "It's a dashing name! I think I'd want someone with such a strong name to come rescue me!"

"Yeah, Prince Garrett," Brock was murmuring. "He's nearby, so if anything happens to the Princess, he'll be able to save her... nice strategy on his part... maybe if I--"

"Shh, guys, shut up!" Her child's patience could only last so long. Now he waved a hand in the effort to shush his friends. "We're getting to my favorite part! Go ahead, Mom, keep going."

Her child said that about every part of the tale. Still, after Misty had swatted him, after Brock had broken up the ensuing fight, and as Tracey steadily regarded her with poised pencil, she took another deep breath and continued.

"Princess Delilah passed five long, lonely days in the cottage. She read, spun at her wheel, waited. Soon, however, she grew bored of her home. She decided to explore her surroundings..."

Someone holds me safe and warm,

A few days later, Delilah's monthly flow had ended. The cramps, the seemingly ceaseless flow, the knowledge that a child was not residing within her body, all those hurts and disappointments finally dwindled to a dull ache inside her.

Giovanni had called last night; Delilah couldn't bring herself to tell him they had failed again. He had asked with his usual amount of tactlessness. She had merely shrugged and crossed her fingers in reply. She ordinarily would have killed for the hopeful look on his face, but now... now it didn't seem to matter. Nothing seemed to matter anymore.

Delilah soon grew weary of moping. She would have all the time in the world to mope once Giovanni returned. Right now, though, it was December. It was nearly Christmas, which had always been her favorite time of year. And it was still winter. She still had time to feel the crisp air on her face, to play in the light blanket of snow... even to go ice-skating on Professor Oak's pond. Yes, that sounded like a lovely idea. He had said to wait a few days for the ice to grow firm... perhaps now the pond would be just frozen enough. So she leapt from bed, dressed warmly in sweatshirt, turtleneck, jeans, sought her skates before she could change her mind.

The mountain climate had been just as she imagined--fresh, clean, cool air, panoramic views for miles, an eerie yet comforting silence. It was much easier to fall back into her fairy tale world when no one was around to annoy her, when the only sign of civilization was a faraway cottage with a thin trail of smoke snaking from the chimney.

Because the real world had worn her out, and because the world of fairy tales and dreams was completely hers to command, Delilah fell into her dream world as soon as her skates touched the pond.

She began slowly, moved in slow circles around the pond's perimeter while her imagination set the scene. In her mind, gone were the scruffy winter clothes, the earmuffs and mittens. No, now she wore a sparkling white gown. She was Odile, the Swan Princess, trapped forever on the enchanted lake, trapped in the body of a swan, trapped in the evil witch's eternal summerland. Unable to fly, only able to stretch her wings in desperate grace (as she lifted her arms in arching port-de-bras, just as the ballerinas had done once). Bound forever to the enchanted lake by the power of the witch's spell, forced to circle eternally...

...until one night, when she lifted her head from the water, gazed longingly at the stars... saw her handsome prince and savior sitting on the lakeside, gazing dreamily at her. The full moon reminded her; tonight she would return briefly to human form. If she could get to the dark-eyed prince, could persuade him to save her... Delilah/ Odile skimmed the water's surface elegantly, turned in graceful circles. Yes. He was gazing at her. If she could just fly to him, he would protect her.

She skimmed the water rapidly now, spread her wings, forced herself to soar through the air. Yes. She was flying to the dark-eyed prince, sailing towards him with double axel jumps. And she prepared to land near him...

The ice split with a thundering crack as she landed, plunging her into the icy waters.

She kicked, struggled, fought the water and the floating islands of ice. So cold. Winter clothes pulling her down. Skates pulling her down. Wing-arms useless.

No, dammit, live, the prince...

Face to face with a hibernating Gyrados, flailing mittenless hands touching rough scales. The water, cold and unyielding, smothering Delilah's screams.

Where is my hero...

...and she saw another form in that moist hell. Mindlessly she reached for it, clawed at it, gulped water in an attempt to get to it. She blacked out.

Then Delilah was coughing, retching water and bile, and someone was holding her close as she vomited and shivered. She sobbed against the person. The voice murmured sweetly to her, told her that everything was all right and that he would take care of her. She fainted again.

She awakened, saw that she was naked in a strange bed. She wondered how that had happened, wondered if the whole accident had been a dream or a nightmare.

"Thank God, you're awake," a vaguely familiar voice said. It was the same voice that had murmured to her by the pond, but she had heard it before. Delilah turned towards it, anxious to know her rescuer.

Professor Oak sat by her bedside, wrapped in a blanket. His hair was still wet. He looked weary, but he mustered up enough energy to give her a weak smile.

"Professor." Her throat constricted, but she managed to force out the words after a few attempts. "Did... did you save me from..."

He nodded. "I was out riding my Rapidash when I saw you fall in. I jumped in and pulled you out. Then I brought you here to my house. My servants helped you out of those wet clothes, and I've been sitting here watching over you ever since."

So many thoughts crowded her mind then. Only one came to sound, though. "Professor... if you hadn't been there... I would have..." She shuddered. "How can I repay you? When Gio comes back--" And suddenly she felt her eyelids drooping again.

"Repay? Seeing you alive is payment enough."

"But... I..."

"No more talking. You've been through a great deal. Why don't you rest now, and we'll talk more later, when you're a bit stronger."

His voice, eyes, and smile had all felt so warm. And his advice was pretty sensible, too. "Thank you," she whispered as she returned to the land of dreams.

Before she fell asleep, Delilah noted that the prince of her fantasy had dark eyes... dark eyes much like the Professor's. The connection seemed too slight and too foolish to consider in depth.

Her own sweatshirt and jeans were still soaked, the Professor had told her when she awakened; thus, later that evening, she had gone home in masculine versions of her clothes. Delilah had wanted to walk home, to give herself time to appreciate life and to marvel at her neighbor's kindness, but Professor Oak would have none of that. "What? Send you out walking in the cold after we've worked to keep you warm? Absolutely not!" So she sat quietly in his black Jaguar, wearing borrowed clothes, while he drove down the winding road to the winter cottage.

"I'm sorry," he finally said. "I should have put up some sort of sign."

"No, I'm sorry." She idly twisted her wedding ring. "I shouldn't have been out there anyway. You warned us the other day, remember? Besides, if I hadn't been daydreaming, I might have seen the ice cracking or something. I was just... really into my skating."

"It was a lovely routine." At her questioning look, he replied, "I saw part of it from the hill. Were you just free skating, or were you skating some sort of story?"

Her face suddenly grew warm; Delilah hoped he could not see the flush that probably covered her face. "Oh, I was just skating," she lied. "I don't think I had any story in mind." If she had told him about the Swan Princess, the enchanted lake, and the mysterious prince, he would have thought her a raving lunatic!

"Oh, I see. I was mistaken."

The Professor's answer, in its measured and soft tones, made her pause. "Did you see a story in it?" she asked.

"Well... somewhat. If you think this sounds crazy, just remember that it's the vision of a doddering old man. When you were out there, though... the way you positioned your arms and the way you glided... I don't know. You looked like a swan. And for a minute I thought of the Swan Princess."

She froze in her seat as he chuckled. "Yes, that was a silly thing to think, wasn't it?" the Professor laughed. "I'm sorry. I'll keep my raving about fairy tales to myself from now on."

That night, as she tossed and turned in bed, she found herself wondering how a man of Professor Oak's stature had become interested in children's stories. She could not shake the mental image of an attractive older man in a study, poring carefully over a Brothers Grimm anthology.

When she finally slept that night, a soft, melodious tune drifted in and out of her dreams. Someone reading a book... chasing an Articuno... he chased a Mew... and then he offered her his hand, whispered, "May I have this dance?"... What was that song? And then she was whispering, "Sweetheart," touching his cheek... a child's coo in the distance...

She sat up, shook her head, dismissed her dream as a residual effect of her accident. The dream did not return that night.

Horses prance through a silver storm.

The next day, she settled comfortably into her couch cushions with a cup of Darjeeling tea. The news crew of "Indigo Sunrise," KBC's morning news show and her personal favorite, engaged in their usual witty banter. That anchor Mike Lowery is so cute, she thought before the young, handsome man was replaced on screen by the fat, jolly weatherman.

"Well, Mike and Trini, I'm outside our studios here in Saffron with a considerably diminished crowd. Where is everybody?" The small crowd behind him whooped, cheered, tossed scarves around their necks, kicked up snow with their heavy boots. "Oh, I see, they're being smart and staying inside." Crowd laughter.

Delilah rolled her eyes, kept sipping at her tea. Sneezed.

"Yes, they're all avoiding the nor'easter that moved through Saffron five days ago and dumped 14 inches of snow on our fair city. That was enough to put Saffron on emergency alert. Now, as you can see from our handy-dandy map, this system is heading at full speed toward the southwestern part of Indigo. That means, for all of you up in the Iroke mountains, the Pallet Town, Viridian City area... be prepared, because the nor'easter will drop much more than fourteen inches of snow on you. Blizzard conditions..."

Delilah sighed, manuevered her lips to direct the air towards the curls in her bangs. "What a time to get a snowstorm," she moaned. Now she'd be stuck here in Pallet, all alone... did she have enough food? Was the heat working okay? What about getting the driveway and the walk shoveled after the storm had finished...

"That's the view across Indigo. Now, here's what's happening in your neck of the woods!"

"Good morning, Pallet Town! As Alvin just said, we're going to get the blizzard that's passed through the Saffron/ Celadon area, and we're going to get it soon. Viridian City is already getting the first batch of snowflakes--it's just a light dusting for the moment, but later tonight and far into the early morning hours, expect heavy snowfall and temperatures in the single digits. Treacherous driving conditions expected too, so please stay off the roads if you can."

She tiredly ran her hands through her hair. Dammit. She should have stayed in Viridian. Maybe, if she packed now and got on the road before noon, she could get there before the snow and ice rendered the roads unfit for travel. Yes, that was a fine idea. Although she didn't enjoy the prospect of time with her in-laws, at least she would have food and shelter, in a place that wasn't so... remote.

As she began dragging her warmest clothes from the closets, began stuffing them into her two battered suitcases, the videophone rang. Great, that's probably Sophia now. Buon giorno, bella, you will come and stay here with us... She rolled her eyes, then trudged downstairs to take the dreaded call. As she pressed the "Answer" button, she prepared to deliver the same greeting: "Hello, Mama Machiavelli..."

"Good morning, Mrs. Machiavelli. I do hope I haven't interrupted your morning routine."

Delilah was shocked to find that, of all the possibilities, her next-door neighbor was the hateful caller. "Why, Professor Oak! It's good to hear from you. You haven't interrupted me at all. What can I do for you?"

"Well, you may have heard that we're going to have a large blizzard here in Pallet Town. I don't know if you've ever experienced a mountain blizzard... trust me when I say they're not exactly pleasant. I wouldn't want you to be stuck in a storm alone, so I was calling to ask if you'd like to stay here at my home until the storm passes."

Delilah nibbled at her lip. The Oak mansion had been very comfortable, after all. She had hated to leave that bedroom last night, with its soft mattress, its warm, silky covers, its roaring fireplace. And staying with the Professor was certainly better than staying in Viridian City with Sophia and her brother Sergio. But... the Professor was being so kind and thoughtful to her... and he was coming to her rescue again... why would he--

"Unless you would prefer to stay with the Machiavellis in Viridian?" The older man looked hesitant, as if he were afraid of saying the wrong thing.

"Oh, no, no, no," she said quickly. "I mean, I'm actually liking the time here in the country. It's good to be back in my native environment..."

"Wonderful!" He grinned. "Well, you pack your things--bring as much as you want of whatever you want--and I'll send my man over with the car shortly. I look forward to having you as my guest."

Hey, wait a minute, aren't you going to pick me up? Oh, well. "I'll be ready very soon. Thanks very much, Professor. Good-bye!"

She packed, got dressed. To celebrate her leaving Machiavelli property, and to put on a good face for the Professor and his household, she planned to wear a long, flowing skirt, and of course she would wear her cloak.

Within moments, before she was dressed, there was a knock at the door. A handsome, swarthy young man wearing a black suit was waiting at the door. "Good evening, madame, I'm Dimitri. The Professor sent me to collect you." He nodded towards the black Jaguar and smiled. He was a handsome young man.

"Oh, dear, I'm not quite ready to go yet. My bags are, though. If you could carry those up to the house, I'll just walk."

"Are you sure, miss? I can wait."

But she had bundled Dimitri into the Jaguar with her luggage, and sent him away with a "Tell the Professor I'll be up in a little while." Besides, she wanted to be able to dream in the countryside again.

Half an hour later, she had dressed, changed the answering machine message, made sure the car was safe in the garage, made sure everything was unplugged and turned off. As she prepared to flip her cloak hood on her head and lock the front door, Delilah heard the faint crunching of horse hooves on gravel. Horse hooves? That was... that could only be one person...

"Mrs. Machiavelli!" Professor Oak, dressed in black riding attire, galloped towards her. "You're really very stubborn, aren't you?"

"Stubborn? Me? How so?" She pulled her keys from the lock, turned to face the handsome horseman. Again he sat tall and proud in the saddle; again she found herself admiring the way he carried himself.

"I thought I told you to stay out of the cold air." He gracefully dismounted, gave her a withering look. His look was simultaneously irked and amused, however, so she laughed as she covered herself with her hood.

"I know you did, and I'm sorry. It's just so beautiful up here. I wanted to have another look at the scenery before the snow hides it. If it makes you feel any better, I've got a nasty cold, so I can't fully enjoy the view."

"Well, I'm sorry to hear that last part. I'll have Karen fix you a nice bowl of soup when we get to the house. Actually, I rode down to see about your arrival... I figured you might want to see the scenery on the way to the house. I wondered if you might like to see it on horseback instead."

"Horseback? Why, I..." Delilah felt her face growing warm again. "Won't you and I be too heavy for the horse?"

"Nonsense. You're a mere slip of a girl; you weigh nothing. Isn't that right, Rapunzel?" In response, the horse whinnied, tossed her head in agreement.

Delilah, fascinated, watched the fiery mane and tail as they nodded, swished in the wind. She had seen a number of Rapidash in her life--who hadn't?--but somehow this one seemed... different. Certainly a gentleman's pet, yes, an animal brought to heel by a skillful trainer. Yet... there was more of the warrior in this horse, as if it had been prepared for a joust. No, a Crusade, or a quest to save a lady from the hands of certain peril...

Just then, the horse ambled to Delilah. She bent one front leg, stretched the other out in front of her, lowered her body, dipped her fiery head down. The first snowflakes wafted gently to earth.

"Why, look at that," the Professor remarked. "Rapunzel's curtseying to you. I think she wants you to get on. Just in time, too."

"But why?" Delilah asked in a whisper. "Why should she curtsey to me?" Because who was she, after all, that she should merit such an honor from a gentleman's steed?

"Well," the Professor said, coming to lead her to the horse's side, "I've taught Rapunzel to honor those who seem to be noble, worthy people." As he lifted her onto the horse, he added, "Besides, as I told you when we were first introduced, in your cloak--and with such an elegant skirt, to boot--you appear regal, or at the very least, ladylike, and therefore worthy of honor and respect." He swung himself onto Rapunzel, gently nudged her flanks. "Onward, Rapunzel."

As they trotted away, and as she held on tightly to his waist, Delilah pondered the older man's words. Ladylike. What must that mean to the Professor? Would it mean the same for any man? For instance, would Giovanni call her a lady? Would Giovanni call anyone a lady? For her part, would she still call Giovanni a prince? Would a prince have the same definition for the Professor as it did for her? She wondered.

She was so caught up in her musings that she didn't notice the slow descent of her hood. It eventually fell from her head, causing her hair to flow outward in a fiery trail, allowing cool snowflakes to leave tiny droplets on her face. He glanced over his shoulder, laughed softly. "Mrs. Machiavelli, you're exposed to the elements. You'll never get well if you allow that to happen."

His voice brought her back to the reality of a beginning blizzard. "Oh," she said awkwardly, starting to move an arm from his waist. "I didn't even notice."

"Don't let go, you might fall off. I know a way to solve it." Delilah watched as the Professor leaned towards the horse's twitching ear. "Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair, that I may climb the golden stair."

The Rapidash neighed, then allowed her mane and tail to become an inferno, blazing with warmth and fire. Delilah shrieked, snuggled closer to the Professor in an attempt to escape the flames.

"Don't worry." His tone was gentle. She felt a leather-gloved hand resting on her clenched hands. "She won't hurt you. I promise. Rapunzel is just letting down her hair."

She rested her cheek against the Professor's back. He was muscular, firm, rigid; it was almost too easy to let herself be supported by his stronger, larger frame. The velvet of his riding jacket was rough against her skin. She could smell the dark, woody sweetness of his cologne.

Does Giovanni ever treat me this gently? Does Giovanni ever make me feel like this, safe and warm and ladylike?

Would I call the Professor a prince?

She wondered, as the snowflakes continued to cool her face, as her wine-colored cloak and auburn-red hair billowed out in brilliant waves, as the magnificent flame beast rode through the mountain countryside.

Figures dancing gracefully

At the Oak mansion, Delilah smiled and nodded at the pleasant household staff. There weren't very many of them, since the mansion and its attached laboratory weren't as massive as they appeared. However, the ones present had impeccable manners, neat dress, and a simple country warmth that she hadn't experienced in a long time.

They introduced themselves to her. Trevor, the stablehand and part-time lab assistant, was in his late teens, and he wanted to be an animator someday. Dimitri, the full-time lab assistant, kissed her hand and told her that his best attribute was his charm. (From the giggles of the maids, she knew that this one might make trouble.) Ian, the accountant, told her of his love for 'good figures' and bad puns. Angie, the brash, sassy young lady, claimed never to mince words. Leah, who appeared to be Angie's "partner in crime," was a giggly, bubbly girl. Karen, the cook and the oldest staff member (though she wasn't more than twenty-seven), declared herself to be the "mother hen" of the household, and made it clear that Delilah would be spoiled during her stay.

Her first evening passed pleasantly. The whole company sat down to a dinner of filet mignon, with a healthy dose of the soup promised to her earlier. After dinner, everyone enjoyed a nightcap in the ballroom, where a fire roared and classical music played softly from a nearby phonograph. The women of the household giggled and laughed with her; the men playfully flirted, though Dimitri's flirtations were more serious; the Professor smiled at her over his glass of brandy.

Soon everyone departed for their rooms, wishing each other a good night. The Professor took her arm, led her up the staircase, delivered her to her bedroom door. "If there's anything you need, feel free to come and find one of us. We're more than happy to help." He kissed her hand once more. "Good night."

Delilah dressed in a long white nightgown, tucked herself into the large bed with the soft comforter, and resolved to watch the snowfall and the fireplace until she fell asleep. Sleep didn't come easily, however, because her mind was still full of all the wonderful things she had seen. The ride on Rapunzel, the delicious food, the gadgets in the laboratory, the Pokemon who wandered into the room occasionally... all in all, this was a strange but delightful place. And the Professor was so kind, so gallant... Delilah found herself wondering about his wife. Had he been just as gallant towards her?

After an hour, Nature began to call. Delilah realized that she had no idea where the restrooms were. That's okay, she thought, pulling herself from bed and gathering her matching silk robe. I can explore the house some more.

Dim lamps in the shape of candles lit the hallway, casting everything in an ethereal glow even as it covered them in shadows. She drew her robe tightly around her body, then set out on her search. As she walked along the dark corridor, Delilah stopped to gaze at the paintings and portraits on the wall. A still life with a wine bottle and various berries--signed "S.G. Oak." A little girl, no more than three, with black hair, kissing a dark-blue-and-silver-haired woman's nose. A young man on a graduation day, surrounded by the Professor and the same blue-haired woman. His wife and his son?

She paused before a particularly strange picture. Younger versions of the Professor and the blue-haired woman, wearing matching lab coats, stood in a shiny new laboratory. His arm was draped possessively around her shoulders; her arms, however, were folded across her chest. He was smiling happily; she had a cold gaze much like that of Delilah's mother-in-law. Goodness, if his wife had been anything like Sophia, God help him, she thought.

Then in the silence, she heard it--strings playing a lovely descant, brass and woodwinds momentarily accompanying. Delilah struggled to place the tune. She knew it--

"Let me call you sweetheart," she whispered. The same song she had heard last week, as the Professor rode away. The same song that had haunted her dreams.

Intrigued, she hurried through the hallways, ran toward the great staircase. The ballad floated gently past the portraits, echoed from the walls... Carried along by a strong sense of intuition, Delilah began a rapid descent. She needed to know who was playing such a song, to understand what it meant to that mystery figure, to understand what it might mean to her.

She finally paused for breath mid-staircase. Her eyes surveyed the ballroom--the faint light from outside streaming through the windows, the soft glow of the fireplace, the record circling on the phonograph, the figure that was carefully waltzing across the polished floor.

She could only stare at the scene: a man with impeccable posture, his arms outstretched and encircling an imaginary woman. His movements were swift, sure--and as the music wove the sweet melody around him, a pleasing mix of light and darkness surrounded him. Delilah found herself gasping: the sheer beauty of it all was leaving her breathless... until the man danced close to the staircase, dipped the air, began to rise--

--and she found herself face to face with the Professor, of all people!

He gasped, straightened himself, trained his gaze upon the floor. "Oh, Mrs. Machiavelli," he stammered. "I'm--er... I was just... I mean, I didn't know--"

"No, Professor!" she cried, holding out a hand, as if she could stop his words. The poor man was blushing now, and he refused to look at her. How violated he must feel! How stupid she was for daring to invade his privacy! "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you! I was... I was just looking for the restroom--"

"Oh, there's one over there." He carelessly waved a hand to the left. She scurried past him, holding her robe tightly.

When she returned, the Professor was sitting in a burgundy chair, idly flipping the pages of an old book. She stayed in the shadows for a moment. Perhaps he wouldn't notice her, and he would begin that slow graceful waltz with a ghost again. However, he raised his head from the book, gave her a grave look, and murmured, "Forgive me, Mrs. Machiavelli. I hope my music didn't wake you."

"No," she answered softly. She caught a glimpse of a bird, with brilliant ice-blue plumage, winging his airy way across the book's pages. "You didn't wake me up. I just had a lot on my mind, and when I heard that song, I wondered..." He started to nibble his lip, and she cursed herself inwardly once more for causing this man so much embarrassment. "Please don't stop your dance because of me. I won't bother you again."

"It's all right." The older man's smile was tinged with sadness. "As Vivaldi wrote, 'Song and dance are done; the gentle pleasant air and the season invite one and all to the delights of sweetest sleep.' Good night, Mrs. Machiavelli."

She ambled up the staircase and through the hallways, hoping to hear his footsteps on the ballroom floor, hoping to hear the strains of "Let Me Call You Sweetheart." The sounds never came.

Across my memory...

The petite maid's black hair bounced crazily as she stormed up to Delilah after breakfast. In a voice tinged with the accent of the English countryside, Angie announced, "All right, miss, I'm not normally this bold, but I want to know. What have you done to the master?"

"Angie!" Leah scolded, her own cinnamon-blonde hair tumbling out of the cap's confines as she shook her head. "Honestly, that mouth of yours just gets you in trouble…"

"It's true," Angie answered. "This morning Master Sam's all out of sorts! He always has his coffee at the same time each day, and he always has his breakfast here at the table… this morning, he took his coffee late, and without cream and sugar! And he didn't even eat. Just said I was to make sure the lady had everything she needed, and knew where all the facilities were… and I want to know what you did!"

"You can't prove that Mrs. Machiavelli's done anything!" And suddenly the two young women were arguing, calling each other "skank" and "ho" among other unpleasant epithets.

Delilah sighed, wrapped her hands around her cup of tea. Her explorations from the previous night had turned the Oak household upside down. She hadn't only ruined his breakfast, she'd also ruined his work schedule. On her way to breakfast, she had overheard the brief conversation between Dimitri and Ian. Samuel Oak had never avoided reading the morning paper, had never missed a moment of the Pokemon morning feeding, had never taken the morning ride before tackling a bit of the lab's paperwork for the day. Today, however, he had announced that he was taking the day off, and he told the men to manage as best they could.

And he's definitely avoiding me.

She gazed at the note that had been carefully placed under her door. Mrs. Machiavelli—Forgive my inhospitality, but I will be unavailable for most of the day. I've instructed the staff to help you in any way that they can. Enjoy your day. I remain, SG Oak.

"Here, now, what's all this fuss about?" Karen hurried from the kitchen. "Why are you girls arguing now? I've told you, Master Sam loves us all just as much—"

"No, no!" Angie shook her head. "It's the visitor! She's upset Master Sam somehow! He's not himself today!"

"Liar!" Leah cried as Karen gazed at Delilah thoughtfully. "Master Sam just gets that way sometimes! And she's not even been here long enough to upset him!"

Before the girls could resume their verbal brawl, Delilah spoke. "It's true. The Professor and I did have a… confrontation of sorts last night."

At first, the women grew very quiet. Angie looked ashamed. Finally Karen asked, "What happened?"

Delilah gazed into her tea, absently stirred the cup. "I'm not sure," she began, watching the amber liquid as it swirled. "I was up, and I couldn't sleep, and I needed to go to the bathroom. I wandered into the hallway… and then I heard some music. I followed the sound… I went down to the ballroom… and I saw him dancing." From the corner of her eye, she saw the women exchange a surprised look. "I watched him. He was dancing with an imaginary woman. But then he danced too close to the staircase, and he saw me." She paused a moment.

"So that's what the master does with that music every night," Leah murmured. "He dances… but that's silly. Why wouldn't he want us to see that? He dances every year at the Christmas party…"

Karen nodded at the young lady. "That's true, Leah. But… well, please keep going, miss. I think I know where this is headed."

What must this woman know? But Delilah continued. "There's nothing else to tell, really. He seemed very embarrassed about being caught. He wouldn't look at me. He just pointed me toward a bathroom. When I came back, he was reading a book. There was a picture of a huge bird with blue feathers…" Karen nodded again with more conviction. "And he just wished me a good night—"

"'Song and dance are done; the gentle pleasant air and the season—'" Karen's voice held the same pacing that the Professor's had.

Delilah nearly dropped her teacup. "Yes! That's what he said! What does that mean?" And was the cook actually the imaginary woman? She imagined slapping herself for thinking such a thing, for even caring about such a thing. What did it matter if he were a lecherous man?

"Is there something you know, Karen?" Now Angie had turned her vengeful spirits upon Karen. "What's all this about? Are you…"

Karen gave the young women a gentle smile. "Now, now, girls. You mustn't think the worst of me. No, I'm not Master Sam's lover or anything foolish as that." She fiddled with the placemats before she continued. "Miss, you don't know this, but you girls know. I've worked here practically all my life, and you know I grew up with Master Max." Here her cheeks grew red, but she continued. "I've seen and heard a lot about Master Sam in my time here…" She rose, walked to the china cabinet, turned to regard the younger women. "How can I try to explain so much to you… Like Max, Master Sam is a man of many dreams. Unfortunately, Master Sam's never really been allowed to follow them. When he… tried to dream, Mistress Tessa would always scold him for being a hopeless romantic. In time, he slowly learned to show those dreams only to Max, who in turn showed them to me." She ran a finger along the cabinet, frowned thoughtfully at the dust collected on her finger.

A man of many dreams… Delilah wondered. "So what does it all mean, Karen?"

The young women's eyes met. "Miss, Master Sam has inadvertently shown you a dream," Karen murmured. "Go and tell him that dreaming is all right. You'll figure out how to do it."

Yeah, right, Delilah thought to herself as she trudged away from the house. No one's even bothered to tell me that dreaming is okay. How in the hell am I supposed to tell him that? Still, she headed to the stables to get a horse and to pick Trevor's brain.

The young stablehand had given her a smart, gentle steed, a sweet Ponyta filly named Red Rose. He had also pointed her to a hill in the distance. "The Master likes to ride over that hillside. It overlooks his pond. He's probably there now." He'd gazed at her for a moment before continuing. "I hope you can snap him out of it, ma'am."

"Thank you, Trevor," she answered, pulling her hood over her head. "I'll do my best."

At first riding through the snowdrifts had been a difficult task. Rose Red, a slow steed by nature, had moved to a crawl in knee-deep-and-rising snow. The steadily falling flakes also slowed their progress, clouding both the woman and the horse's vision. The mane and tail flames helped a little, but they weren't as strong as Rapunzel's had been. Briefly Delilah wondered if she could make them flare, just as the Professor had done with Rapunzel. "Come on, horsie," she murmured in the Ponyta's twitching ear. "Light your flames for me." No response, so she tried again. "Let down your flowing hair, that I may climb the golden stair?" Still no response. Hmm.

Somehow she reached the base of that hill. As Trevor had predicted, she could see outlines of a man and a horse. Now what? Should she call to him, or should she just ride to him? In the end, a desire to be the riding, conquering hero won, so she plodded up the hill.

The Professor was gazing out into the distance, gazing over the whole Pallet Town area. He seemed not to notice her until she spoke. "Even in all this snow, the view up here is lovely."

He jerked a bit in surprise, then turned to face her. "Mrs. Machiavelli! I—" But then he looked away. "You shouldn't be out here in all this cold air. You'll catch your death of cold."

"So will you," she answered softly. "I wasn't the only one who got caught in a frozen lake the other day."

He blushed, but said nothing. She gazed down at the pond, gave an involuntary shiver as she mentally recreated her accident. "Is this where you were when you saw me fall in?"

"Yes. I decided to come here in case…" He smiled slightly. "In case another damsel happened to be in distress."

Her insides trembled. Was that really why he'd come here? Still, she kept her focus on her goal—to get the Professor out of his self-imposed exile and back to his household. "I'm afraid there are more damsels-in-distress at the house, Professor."

"What's wrong? Has something happened? Is Angie sick again?"

He looked ready to ride away at the least breath of agreement, so she hurried to answer him. "No, no. Nothing like that. The house and everyone in it is fine. They're all just worried about you." He looked away again, gazed into the snow. "They've been telling me all morning that you're acting, well, not like yourself. After what happened last night… I feel responsible for it."

"It's not your fault, I assure you." He rubbed his face, sighed. "It's more me. I just feel so silly… I… Your husband, for instance. When he told you about me, he probably told you that everyone thinks I'm crazy, right? It's all right," he chuckled as she bit her lip. "Everyone thinks that about me. I don't really care what they think, as long as they don't see anything. I guess I just feel silly because… well, now someone finally has proof that I've lost my mind. Tessa would be glad."

"Who's Tessa? Your wife?"

"Yes. Her name was Theresa, but we called her Tessa."

The woman on the portrait. "What was she like? Was she anything like you?"

He threw back his head and laughed. "Goodness, no. She was everything I'm not. The opposite through and through, though once upon a time she was like me. I officially specialize in the study of the Legendaries; she specialized in ordinary Pokemon. I'm a dreamer; she was always a doer. It's through her efforts that we have the Preserve and the Research facility here." His eyes grew bright. "It's very nice to have a lab, but if I had my choice, I'd be out in the world. The fearless Researcher, stalking down and slaying Dragonites, perhaps—"

Slaying Dragonites? Oh, Lord.

"—or chasing after the Legendary birds of the Orange Islands." And then he gave her an excited, boyish grin. "Have you ever seen them? Articuno, Zapdos, Moltres?"

The question caught her off guard. "Why, I—I didn't realize people could just go and look at them. I've only seen them in picture books. Have you actually seen them?"

"Oh, yes, many times. I saw them when I was a boy, and then I went back to do more research in later years. They roost in the islands surrounding Shamouti Island. They're very difficult to reach, and if you make it there, the birds are fierce at first. Yet one can eventually gain their trust and respect. They may be Legendary in nature, but in the end, they can behave as docilely as any ordinary trained Pokemon." Now he was in his element; the words were pouring out of him rapidly. "My favorite one is the Articuno. It's gorgeous. Very large but very beautiful. Imagine it."

The Professor dropped the reins a moment. He closed his eyes, threw his head back. Delilah watched the snowflakes as they fell on his face, listened in rapture as he continued to weave his spell.

"A brilliant bird, with plumes the color of a bright winter morning, gazing at you with its sharp gray eyes. It's at least three heads taller than you are, and it looks ready to snap your head off. You're afraid, you're very afraid, but you stand your ground. You gaze at each other, just the bird and you, for what seems like an eternity but is only seconds. Then, suddenly, the bird lifts himself to his full, majestic height, and begins to spread his wings." The Professor slowly lifted his arms, stretched them out to his sides. "Wingspan at least 20 feet. He begins to beat the air with his wings, and you feel the air, dusty and cold, pulsing against your face, nearly knocking you down. And just as you think the bird is prepared to strike—" He paused a moment. "The bird just as quickly settles down and dips into an elegant bow. He wants you to ride on his back, you see, he's inviting you to come with him to feel the crisp wintry air on your face, to see the world from a great height…" He lowered his arms, gazed at the dancing flames of Rapunzel's mane. "That Articuno saved my life once," he murmured.

Delilah held her breath, felt her mouth falling open. When the Professor's dark eyes fell upon her again, he looked afraid. "Have I done something foolish again?" he asked quietly. "I'm sorry. People sometimes seem afraid of my stories, the way I put things into fairy tales—"

"No," she said, cutting him off. "Don't apologize. I like your story very much." She paused a moment. "I forgot to tell you the other day… I like fairy tales myself."

Now it was his turn to appear incredulous. "You do?"

She nodded.

"Oh. I…" The boyish smile returned to his face. "I didn't think anyone liked things like that any more."

She couldn't stop her smile—and she didn't want to stop it. "Oh, yes. There are some people out there who still like stories and still believe in dreams."

They sat there, smiling foolishly at each other. Then she sneezed, and he chuckled. "Come on, let's ride back to the house. This really can't be good for either of us. I'll tell you a little silly story on the way back to the house. Would you like that?"

"Yes, I'd like that very much."

"Very well, then." As they began their walk back to the house, he began his story. "Once upon a time, a young boy named Samuel lived deep in the Ilex Forest with his mother and his sister. Samuel's mother was well versed in the folk culture, both of Johto and of here in the Iroke mountains, so she spent a lot of time telling Samuel all the folk tales that she knew. Eventually Samuel came to crave these tales. He loved them, because he liked to think of himself as the conquering hero, as the handsome prince. As Samuel grew older, he began to think of girls, as all young boys do in the fullness of time. But no ordinary woman would do for Samuel. No, he wanted a woman who could match the ideal woman of those tales—someone kind, sweet, loving, innocent, beautiful… a dreamer… just an all-around wonderful woman who could be the princess of his dreams."

The…princess of his dreams? Delilah gasped again, felt the wild pounding in her chest. No. This can't be happening. No man thinks like that.

"Well, soon Samuel heard a song that somehow reminded him of his ideal woman. Maybe you've heard the song before," he added with a wink. "He liked the lyrics." She knew even before he began to recite the words in a soft voice.

Let me call you Sweetheart,
I'm in love with you.
Let me hear you whisper that you love me too.
Keep the lovelight glowing in your eyes so true.
Let me call you Sweetheart,
I'm in love with you!

I am dreaming, dear, of you
Day by day,
Dreaming when the skies are blue,
When they're gray;
When the silv'ry moonlight gleams,
Still I wander on in dreams
In a land of love, it seems,
Just with you....

Let me call you Sweetheart,
I'm in love with you.
Let me hear you whisper that you love me too.
Keep the lovelight glowing in your eyes so true.
Let me call you Sweetheart,
I'm in love with you!

Delilah had never heard the words before; they struck a chord within her. "Sing it for me," she begged, wanting to hear the words with the music.

"I wish I could. However, I promised myself that I would only sing it to the woman of my dreams. Nothing personal, you understand, just another silly quirk of mine."

"Oh, I see." She fought to hide her disappointment. "And now that your wife is gone, there's no reason to sing it anymore. I think that's wonderful."

The smile on his face held just a touch of bitterness. "My wife? Oh, no, Mrs. Machiavelli. Ironically enough, she never heard me sing it either. To date, no woman has ever heard me sing it." After a few seconds, after the words had time to sink into the snow and into her mind, he continued. "Still, I do enjoy dancing with my imaginary woman to the tune. Who knows? Perhaps someday I'll find the woman who's worthy of hearing me sing it, of dancing with me to it."

"Yes," Delilah murmured, shivering within her cloak. "I'm sure you will someday."

Back at the house, everyone was standing at the front door, watching them ride to the house. "Hey," the Professor yelled playfully as he helped Delilah up to the house, "are we all on vacation now? Why isn't anyone working?" Trevor raced out to take the horses back to the stable; Angie and Leah grabbed hands and jumped up and down; Ian muttered about the pot calling the kettle black; Dimitri regarded Delilah with a curious, hot-blooded stare; and Karen ran her fingers through her blonde hair and beamed at Delilah.

"Does it all make sense now, miss?" the young cook asked as she led Delilah to the kitchen for a warm cup of tea.

"Yeah, it really does." But as she grasped the china cup with trembling hands, Delilah decided that nothing made sense any more, especially her emotions.

Through the whole day, she could not stop thinking of him. She passed through the ballroom—and again she saw him waltzing gracefully in the shadows. She tried to gaze out the window at the snowfall—but she saw the snowflakes falling on his face, melting. She tried to focus on dinner—but every time the Professor spoke to her, she could only hear his voice: "Still I wander on in dreams in a land of love, it seems, just with you…"

No, Delilah, stop it. You haven't known the man long enough to feel this way. She refused to state, even to herself, what she might be feeling for the Professor. All she knew was that he was much older than she was, and that he was a friend of the family, and that she had only known him for two days, and that she was a married woman, for God's sake… and that he had the most adorable smile, and that he had felt so strong during the horse ride yesterday…

Just after dinner that evening, before everyone gathered for post-dinner cocktails, the videophone rang. "Mrs. Machiavelli," Leah called through the door, "it's your husband."

Thank God. Maybe this is just what I need to snap out of all of this. "I'm on my way, Leah!"

Giovanni had looked tan, warm, infinitely happy. "Hey, babydoll, how's it goin'? I called the house and got your new message. Got snowed in, huh? That's crappy. You tired of the snow yet?"

"Not just yet." She quickly decided not to tell him how she had spent much of the past few days in the snow, and with whom. "It's beautiful, but really chilly. I caught a bit of a cold, but it's not bad."

"Poor baby! And there's no kinda doctor worth anything in that one-horse town…"

Then why on earth had he brought her here? She wanted to scream, and she hadn't even been on the phone with him for one minute yet! Still, Delilah pasted a smile on her face. "Oh, it's all right. The Professor and his staff have been taking good care of me, so I'm doing fine."

"Oh, yeah, you're over at Sam's house. I'm surprised you didn't go over to Mama and Papa in Viridian." He sounded as if he were scolding her for not racing to her in-laws.

Not for all the tea in China. "I was too afraid to drive. I was scared I'd get caught in the snow."

"Hm, figures. You've always been a little fraidy-cat. Maybe once the snow lets up, though, Papa or Uncle Sergio can come get you."

"I think I'm fine just where I am."

She didn't know where she got the courage to speak so boldly. She hadn't even realized what she'd said until she saw Gio's shocked look. Seconds later, though, Gio cleared his throat and said, "Well, the Professor's house must really be something, then, to make you want to leave the city."

"Yeah, it's really nice here. He's got a great library, and fireplaces, and his servants are so kind." Delilah began to play with her wedding ring.

"What do you think of the man himself?"

She nearly dropped her ring. "You mean the Professor? He's been very polite. A good, warm, and welcoming host."

"He started talkin' about his Legendary birds yet? He used to tell the kookiest story about how this Articuno saved him one time…" Giovanni laughed. "The man's half out of his mind, I swear—"

She gripped the receiver, snapped, "I don't think he's crazy at all! I think he's…" And then Delilah realized what she had been about to say: perfect. Princely. "Just… really great," she finished lamely.

A moment of silence. Then Gio answered in a sardonic tone, "It figures. You would like him. Give it some time. You'll see."

Delilah clenched her fist around the chair leg, quickly counted to five. "How's the expedition going?"

He shrugged. "Not too bad. We found some stuff that's pretty valuable. We haven't found the big prize yet, though, so we'll keep looking. I just don't know how long it'll take…"

She nibbled her lip for a moment, then blurted, "How is Miya Lewis? The woman I was talking to at the airport." She watched his face for any sign of discomfort…

..and got it, in spades. "She's good," Gio answered. "She's doing good. One of the best people I've got on the team." But he suddenly became very interested in his shirt sleeves.

"How long have you known her?"

Then he began slapping at his arms. "Damn mosquitos. I don't know, Delilah, she's been working for the business for a long time. Why do you ask? Did she tell you something?" He tried to sound teasing, but it failed miserably.

Tread carefully. "No, no, she just said she's been with the dealership for a while." What was he hiding, though? How far could she push before he revealed something?

"Yeah, she's worked with us ever since we were both teenagers. We worked together a lot." She watched her husband's fingers tap the receiver for a moment. Then he added, quite softly, "She's got a daughter, you know…"

Oh, no, please God no…Delilah could feel the tears springing to her eyes. That bastard couldn't tell her something as catastrophic as that over the phone, could he? She should have known… she had known… Quickly she placed her hand lightly over the receiver, called, "I'm coming," to an imaginary voice, and lifted her hand again. "I'm sorry, Gio, they're calling me. I promised I'd have dinner with everyone. I have to go."

"Wait, Delilah, babydoll—"

She froze. "Yes, Gio?" she asked, her hand shaking. Please, don't do this to me now…

"Babydoll… what about our baby?" He had a hand pressed to the screen. "Is there any way… do you know if you have any chance of being pregnant now? Any chance at all?"

It took every ounce of courage she had to put on a cheerful demeanor. She made her shrug seem effortless, made her smile dazzlingly bright, crossed her fingers tightly. "We'll just have to see!"

He looked strangely placid, almost defeated. "All right, babydoll. I'll try to call you again in a couple days."

"Good night, Gio. Love you."

"Good night, Delilah. Love you."

But she knew he didn't love her, and she was tired of trying. So very tired.

When the screen grew completely dark, Delilah placed the receiver back on the cradle, buried her face in her hands, allowed herself a few moments of quiet tears before heading back to the ballroom. She briefly considered drinking something undiluted, perhaps a shot or five of vodka. In the end, though, she decided on one mixed drink.

"Welcome back, madame," Dimitri said warmly as she ambled over to the makeshift bar. "Why don't you let me make you a White Russian? I'm very good at making them. They are a necessary part of my country's heritage, after all."

"Thank you, Dimitri, I'd like that." She seated herself in a nearby armchair. Only after a few moments did she note that she was seated next to the Professor. As he had yesterday, he gave her a dark gaze over his glass of brandy. Her heart fluttered for a moment; he searched her face, looked concerned.

"There you are, madame." Dimitri handed her the glass with a low bow. "Made with the best ingredients and the most loving care." The maids giggled; the Professor rolled his eyes but said nothing.

"How is your husband doing, Mrs. Machiavelli?" Leah asked.

Damn him… "He's fine, thank you, Leah. His expedition is going quite well, he says." And she lifted her glass to drink half of its contents. The alcohol went to her head almost instantly, just as she wanted it to do. She wanted to forget the whole day, hell, the last six months…

"Careful, madame! Slowly, drink it slowly!" Dimitri wagged a finger at her playfully. "White Russians are meant to be enjoyed slowly, to be savored at one's leisure."

Ian added sardonically, "Yeah, you should certainly savor a White Russian. You should ignore white Americans posing as Russians, though." That sent the whole staff into gales of laughter.

As they laughed, Delilah held her head, felt tears springing to her eyes once more. Before she could reach up to blot them carefully away, she heard the Professor's sweet voice close to her. "Are you all right?"

She tried to grin weakly at him. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm just feeling a bit under the weather. I guess I shouldn't have gone outside." As if on cue, she sneezed, and the tears dropped from her eyes. Then they wouldn't stop coming. Dammit, no, I can't lose face in front of them…She placed her glass on the table and rose. "Please excuse me, everyone. I'm not feeling very well. I'll see you all in the morning."

The Professor stood, took her arm. "Allow me to escort you, Mrs. Machiavelli." As the servants called their "good nights" and "take cares" up to her, she clutched on to the Professor's arm for support. Halfway up the staircase, she rested her throbbing head against his shoulder. Again she smelled his cologne; again she delighted in the sheer muscle beneath his sleeves. He did not move away. Instead, he released her long enough to wrap his arm around her waist.

When they reached her room, Delilah expected the Professor to kiss her hand and leave, as he had done the previous night. However, he opened the door and led her inside, then followed, closing the door behind him. What is he doing? she wondered…

… and she nearly screamed when he swept her into his arms and carried her to the bed. She kicked, struggled a bit, but he held her close and sat on the mattress. So this is how it ends, she thought. She should have known that no man who seemed so honorable could stay that way for long. In truth, she had no fight left; if he were going to rape her, she honestly didn't care. That was all men wanted anyway.

Yet, when he sat her on his lap, the Professor gently pressed her face into his shoulder, tenderly began stroking her hair, softly murmured to her. "Mrs. Machiavelli. I don't know how sick you are, though you feel a bit warm. I don't know what your husband's said to you, though I know you look terribly sad. I do know that you've been through a lot lately, and you need to cry. And I know I can't stand thinking of a woman crying alone. Please feel free to cry on me."

The unexpected display of tenderness from a near-stranger, and he was so strong and soothing, and she could not believe that this man was so hell-bent upon helping her… and soon Delilah was sobbing into his shoulder, making his blazer a soggy mess. The whole time, the Professor merely held her, continued to stroke her hair, told her that it would be all right.

After a while, when her sobs had dwindled to tiny gasps, she finally had enough breath to ask, "Why?"

The simplicity of his answer sealed everything. "Because you saved me earlier, and because I can never resist a damsel in distress."

Then, seconds later, he said, raking his fingers through the softness of her hair, "I know I'm a poor substitute for your husband, and I'm not quite the right type of doctor, but I would like very much to be your friend."

"Oh, yes," she whispered. "I'd like that."

"Would you call me Samuel?"

"Only if you'll call me Delilah."

"Well, Delilah," he said, carefully laying her on the mattress, "why don't we put all the sadness past us and begin to make the best of what we have?" He stood, smiled. "Hopefully I'll see you in the morning for breakfast. Perhaps by that point the snow will have stopped, and we can take the horses out. If nothing else, I can sit around and tell you more of my silly stories."

"I've got a few of my own," she assured him.

"I look forward to them, then!" The Professor—Samuel—strode to the door and opened it. She followed him with her eyes, called after him, "Good night, Samuel."

"Good night, Delilah," he answered. She feasted on his silhouette in the doorframe. "Pleasant dreams." The door clicked shut.

As she lay there, listening to the crackle of the fireplace and the wind blowing against the windows, Delilah Machiavelli allowed herself to imagine a life without Giovanni Machiavelli. A life in which her dreams and desires were met, not ignored. Where having a child or pleasing Mama weren't high priorities. Where a man felt free to dream, and to stay with her long enough to share his dreams with her. Where true happiness was just… spending the day in Samuel Oak's arms.

And with that, she allowed herself to admit what she had fighting all day long—to admit that Samuel Oak was indeed the prince of her dreams.

End Part 2

Postlude: Well, that went on for too long and ended sappily. Oh, well. I got all the plot points I had outlined down, and that's the important thing. Now then. Stay tuned for Part 3, in which the Princess realizes that her love won't be as unrequited as she believes… And you know you love Eldershipping. You know you do. So just give in and come on over to Glorious Revolution. Eldershippers unite! ^_~