Title: Day 12
Author: tarotgal
Fandom: The Princess Bride
Rating: G
Pairing: Pre-Buttercup/Wesley
Disclaimer: Not my characters, not my 'verse. I don't get paid a cent to play. Please don't sue and make things worse.
Summary: Theirs was a dance, like the one between the sun and the moon.
Note: Part of the 12 Ficlets in 12 Days project 2009-2010. Requested by Sigrith

Buttercup rode Racer into the stable and dismounted. “Farmboy,” she called him over and handed over the reins. “Polish my horse's saddle. I want to see my face shining in it by morning.”

He was calm and predictable like the moon. “As you wish,” he said. For that was all he ever said.

But this time, this time out of all the times, she looked at him with a strange softness never before in her gorgeous eyes. And this time, as she was walking away, she glanced back over her shoulder at him. It was then that he knew that this time, finally, she had understood his meaning. This time she knew that, in those three simple words, he was truly confessing his undying love for her.

After that one time, she began seeing him more often. She appeared as if out of nowhere with more requests than ever. And, because her frequency had increased, the tasks she asked of him were more varied and obscure. There were still the typical orders to chop wood, so that the fire in her room would warm her throughout the night, and to tend to every detail in the stables with the utmost care. But there were also the orders to take one barrel of water from one end of the barn to the other, for no good reason, or to keep his eye out for any escaped chickens, when everyone who even went near the coop had more sense than to leave the latch on the door undone.

He could tell that, now that she had figured it out—figured him out—she wanted to hear those words again and again. She wanted her 'I love you' from him a hundred or a thousand times a day. She wanted it as much as she could get it. And, demanding as she was, every one he gave her was just as heartfelt as the one before. In fact, he somehow loved her more for making him repeat it so often.

A week passed by swiftly, and he might as well have lost his voice for all the 'as you wish'es he had delivered. Wesley was never without a task to perform for her.

Buttercup approached him one bright, spring afternoon. “Farmboy, I want you to gather several bunches of lavender.”

It would have to be lavender. Every bit of common sense that Wesley possessed told him to say no to this. He had an intense allergy to lavender that he didn't want her to know about. If she didn't love him now, he couldn't imagine her loving him when he was sneezing his head off. But he replied “As you wish.” If lavender was what it took to make her happy, then lavender she would have.

Lavender grew in only one valley that he knew of. The nearest field was a mile away, but the walk there was a nice one: crossing a bridge, hopping a stream, climbing over no fewer than three sizeable hills. And though he made good time getting there, getting back with the lavender would be much more difficult.

Wesley held his breath and then waded, carefully, into the field of beautiful purple. He was only just gathering a handful of lavender when his nose started to tickle. He had brought along a sack, the strap of which was draped over his shoulder. He placed the flowers in the bag but it was too late.”Hihshoo! HIHShoo!” He sneezed freely, unashamedly as there was no one around to see him.

He plucked another flower from the ground. “heh-CHIHH!” And another. “HIH-Shoo!” And two more. “HAH-Choo!”

By the time he had a full bag of lavender, his nose was on fire and desperately needed to be blown to free it from this tickle. Wise to his reaction, Wesley had brought along several handkerchiefs. However, after he had blown his nose, it still didn't help any. That fiery tickle persisted and he had nothing at all to vanquish it with. In the past, he had been able to stop the sneezes simply by removing himself from the situation and then taking a long swim or dunking his head in a bucket of water for as long as he could stand it. But none of those options were available to him. “HAH-KShoo! AH-Shoo! H'Shooo!” He had to carry the bag full of lavender with him. And he hadn't even brought a canteen. All he could do was stumble along, sneezing frequently, and hope to get back to the house in one piece.

Wesley was a complete mess by the time he got back to the house. His eyes were moist, his nose ticking fiercely, and he could barely catch his breath for all the sneezing. He wanted to toss the bag aside immediately and put some distance between it and himself.  Already feeling relieved, Wesley wiped his face on his sleeve, blew his nose, and left the lavender bag outside her bedroom door.

*

Wesley was pumping water into a bucket when he saw Buttercup again. She was like a beautiful ray of sunshine. No, she was like the brilliant sun itself. He could barely look at her for all her beauty, but she was impossible to miss when she came near. And he loved her so much for it.

This time, she wore a crown upon her head, as if she were a princess, though being such would be a step down for her. The world revolved around the sun, answering to its pull, its call. And he would do likewise. The problem was, this crown of hers was made of lavender buds.

Wesley felt his nose tickle as soon as she came near. He had met people who sneezed when they first stepped out into the sun. This was much like that, except it wasn't just one sneeze for Wesley. It was a sharp, hot tingle in his nose that couldn't be rubbed or sniffed away. It kept tickling and tickling and tickling. He tried to hold it back, tried to hold his breath. “hehhhhhh…” Nothing worked. “HAH-Ihshh!” He turned from her, not wanting her to see, not wanting to have to explain.

“Farmboy? Are you all right?”

He hated her worrying about him. He hated this whole situation. Why hadn't he thought about what she would do with the lavender? Obviously it had to be something like this. Perhaps she would make it into an ointment and her skin would smell of it. Or perhaps she would wear the buds in a satchel around her neck. Or perhaps she would place them in vases throughout the house. He would never be able to escape the scent.

And it was driving him crazy. “Ha-Shoo! HuhChoo! HAH-choo! HAHH-Shoo!”

“Farmboy?” She put her hand on his shoulder and turned him. He pressed his nose against his forearm. The very last thing he wanted was to sneeze in her face. But that crown of lavender… oh God it made his nose tickle.

His eyes fluttered closed and then closed even more tightly. His nose was afire with tickles and the irresistible, undeniable urge to sneeze. “huhh…” He pressed harder, but felt his nostrils flare wildly against his arm. “HAHChoo! HAchooo! HUH-Shoooo!”

“Bless you! My goodness, what's gotten into you?”

How could he tell her that it was her? How could he explain that something which gave her so much joy made him so miserable? Even if he could say more than those three words to her… he did not want to. Theirs was a dance, like the one between the sun and the moon. The sun commanded, and he followed. Until the day when, he hoped, she would stop and let him catch up.

This wasn't that day. Buttercup laughed lightly. “It's the lavender, isn't it?”

He made no reply apart from. “hah-SHIHH!” Harsh and unrelenting. He pulled his eyes open to look at her, only to see her pull the crown from her head.

Parts of the tied lavender stems tugged at strands of her beautiful, long hair. But when her hair settled, it looked gorgeous and in place again. “You should have said it made you sneeze so. I would have been rid of it at once. And now I will for always.” She walked to the window and flung the crown out, smiling at him all the while.

It wasn't an 'I love you.' But it was a very good start.