#serannar

“Not tonight,” Serahlin tries to explain, “they’re watching us, da’len.” The Templars. Damned witch hunters have infested the town after Serahlin’s not so subtle performance at the police station (after they went to Ileth’s school and interviewed him without her permission, Serahlin tore into the department, her own magic cackling as she wore enchanted lipstick to make them obey her). She feels their eyes watching her house, and while they remain safe within its walls due to her wards, outside is another story. Ileth wants to dance and bask in the glow of the moon, which would only invite the hunters.

They can’t go outside, but they can't stay inside either. 

A quick online search later and Serahlin has her solution. 

“Get dressed, da’len, nice and warm,” she tells Ileth and he beams, relief clear on his little face. Ten minutes later, they are all in the car, including the familiars. Serahlin opens the sunroof, allowing the moonlight to fill the car. Ileth gasps and reaches up, mismatched eyes wide with happiness. 

It’s a thirty minute drive, but for once, Ileth doesn’t complain. He hums a song Serahlin cannot place and stares at the moon. The cool night air fills the car and Serahlin feels some of the tension in her shoulders release as they speed down the roads, alone and quiet. It’s the nicest car ride they’ve had in a while.

Eventually, Serahlin makes a turn onto a dirt path, following signs for Bright Lights Drive-In Movies! Five minutes down the road and the light from the drive-in beckons them forward. Ileth shifts in his seat but doesn’t say anything, still watching the moon. 

Serahlin pulls up to the box office and smiles at the teen working inside.

“One adult and one child for-

“Price is per car, ma’am. That’d be fifteen for one show, thirty for the night pass.” Serahlin hands over thirty in cash, fully aware they were not going home anytime soon. The gravel crunches under the wheels as she pulls into the drive-in theatre. The path angles down, following the gentle contour of a hill, leading to the flat open space before the towering screen. The open space allows for an unobstructed view of the moon, making Ileth gasp and strain against his seatbelt. 

She glances in the rearview and worries her lip, “Wait just a little longer and I’ll unbuckle you.” Serahlin pulls into a space a little farther back and closer to the forest edge. Not an ideal spot for movie watching, but a better one for allowing her son some enjoyment of the moonlight. 

She turns the radio to the station for the movie, some older black-and-white film that was rated to be child appropriate by the internet, then undoes her seatbelt. Ileth follows suit and immediately reaches up into the moon-roof. 

“It’s so pretty, Memae.”

“It is, isn’t?” Serahlin answers as she directs her attention to drawing wards on the car’s dashboard. 

“Ileth, come here, please. Good, now place your hand on top of mine. I want you to pay attention to my words and the magic in them - feel them deep inside you and make them heavy with importance. 

Guard within from harm,

Locked and stocked,

Against those with arms.”

The wards flare to life under their hands and Ileth gasps as he feels the spill of magic from both of their hands. By lending his energized magic to the spell, it is stronger and will recognize him as a caster, thereby neutralizing any effect the ward would have against him. 

“I liked that!” Ileth giggles and runs his hand across the ward, feeling the residual prickles of the casting.

Serahlin smiles. Despite Darris, despite the Templars, despite the shit that seems to pile up at their door, Ileth is coming into his own. The magic is part of him, within him, wanting to be used and embodied. He feels the moon in his soul and the magic in his heart. She is raising a witch and it brings her joy.

They spend over an hour in the car, moving every now and then to compensate for the restlessness. Ileth hops around and they play short games of I Spy and sing songs together. Serahlin tells him an old Dalish tale and despite the threat that lurks back home and the creeping exhaustion, she finds herself having a good time. When was the last time she got to just enjoy being a mother? To just be Ileth’s mom and to see him in his element? She isn’t sure, but she knows that her son will make a fine man some day.

Around midnight, Ileth sighs, “I’m hungry, Memae.” 

Serahlin rummages throughout the car but alas, she forgot to bring snacks. She glances out a side window and sees a small concession stand at the base of the hill. Ileth’s stomach rumbles. 

“I will go get snacks, you are to stay in the car no matter what, you understand?” Ileth nods at her instruction. She takes a deep breath and grabs her purse before leaving the car. Her familiar, Risin, jumps out to follow her but she shakes her head at him.

Stay with the car, alert me if anyone comes close to it.

Risin nods at her commands and slinks under the car. 

The walk to the concession stand is not long, but the distance feels interminable. Each step ratchets up Serahlin’s anxiety, and she continually glances back to the car. She reaches the stand and picks out several snacks she and Ileth enjoy, as well as a couple of waters. They will have to figure out the bathroom situation, but that is a bridge they will cross when necessary. 

She finishes paying the cashier when a tall, human man approaches the counter. He puts down a few bags of chips and looks at her from the corner of his eye. 

“Can I get one of those ice-creams from the back?” He asks and the cashier nods before heading to the back. The man turns to Serahlin as she packs up her food and drinks.

“Better watch yourself. Your kind ain’t welcome here, this is a decent town.” 

Serahlin freezes, her lips thinning into a staunch line as everything in her tenses. She wants to feel out with her magic if this man means her elven blood is not welcome or if he is truly a witch hunter, but she doesn’t dare. A witch hunter would feel her probe and potentially incite an incident. She can’t take the risk. 

Instead, Serahlin finishes packing her things and heads out of the stand without a word. She is halfway to the car when a sapping feeling hits her. She stumbles as the magic inside of her feels temporarily drained. Her heart begins to race, she turns around trying to see who could be responsible for the attack. It’s useless, any of the cars here could be holding a Templar who could have sapped her magic. The man from the stand could have followed her, but she doesn’t see him. With her magic feeling low and the car still half a soccer field away, Serahlin braces grinds her teeth and straightens her shoulders. 

She will make it. She has to. 

Serahlin resumes her trek, walking straight to her car. She doesn’t make it two yards before a searing pain flares across her nerves where her magic ought to be. 

“Ah!” She cries, tripping to the gravel. She looks up quickly and sees them this time, four burly looking men walking towards her, menacing in their gait and eyes. 

Risin, to me, NOW. She mentally commands to her familiar before slowly rising. The men increase their pace. She turns and bolts for the woods. Her magic is distant, reminding her entirely too much of when Darris had kept her powerless all those years.

But she has Risin, she has her book, she has her coven.

Sorry Selene, she thinks before reaching through the bond that connects them. She yanks moon blessed magic into her, and it burns dark and deep into her soul. It is totally unlike her and Ileth’s magicks. It is heavy and fiery, and it knows it is not in its rightful host. She reaches the edge of the woods and lets the magic out:

“Silent steps unfollowable, 

Form unsighted, unknowable.” She casts upon her person, Selene’s magic coursing over her in a fiery shadow turning her as silent and invisible as long as she draws no attention to herself. She disappears into the shadows of the woods, tucking herself against the closeness of the trees. 

The men crash into the brush, “Find the witch!” They take out flashlights and she could very well let them pass by and return to her car. But that would leave them out there to hunt her and her own. She’s had enough of just hiding, just getting by. The hunters have threatened her child, her coven.

These men will die. 

She watches them closely as they pass by her hiding spot. The man from the concession stand is there, taller than the rest, now wearing an obvious toolbelt with the old insignia. A sword’s scabbard rests on the belt, aside a pistol holster. He came prepared. The second man wears a similar toolbelt, but he has a dagger in his and a pump-action shotgun in hands. The third doesn’t wear a toolbelt, but gloves that send a chill down Serahlin’s spine. Those gloves are designed to hold a witch, somehow enchanted to neutralize any magic it touches. He could get into the car. He dies first. The fourth man isn’t really a man so much as a tall, gangly youth with a flashlight in his hand and sweat on his brow.

Creators, he’s just a kid. A kid who hunts witches. 

Serahlin allows them to get slightly ahead of her before following. Risin finally catches up to her, silently stalking alongside her.

I need that man’s shotgun, she thinks.

I will distract them, Risin answers before disappearing into the brush. Serahlin quietly positions herself to be walking at the second man’s pace. 

A branch breaks, the men freeze and turn away from Serahlin.

Now or never.

She runs forward and before they can react, she reaches up to the second man’s head and gives a hard twist. 

Snap. Neck broken, the man falls to the ground and she grabs his shotgun. The first man shouts as she turns and fires a shot at the third man, but the shot goes wide. 

The first man utters a quick chant and searing pain fills her again. She yells in pain and the gun drops from her hands. 

Shit. 

Her mind is a mess of pain and anger, her body doesn’t obey her. The man with the gloves grabs her and a wretched sob escapes her. These bastards will not see her cry, not matter how much it hurts. Her book is in her purse, strapped against her body, and there is enough magic in her to send out a message to Selene if needed. 

“Your kind brings evil and disease to our communities, the Maker will cleanse our community of this filth,” First Man says. Serahlin glares at him but does not give him the satisfaction of a response. Her right to exist isn’t a debate, it is a fact that none of the men here will acknowledge.

Instead, she juts out her chin in defiance. 

Another branch breaks. Risin, go, protect Ileth. It’s a useless command, her familiar dies with her. 

That was not me.

She barely has time to register the information before a low growl rumbles through the night air. The first man turns around, pistol raised. 

“What foul demon have you summoned, witch?” Gloved Man asks. She says nothing, only raises an eyebrow. 

The first man takes a step forward. He flashes his light to the dark to see two large, golden eyes peering back at him. He fires a shot just as the creature’s mouth opens, revealing sharp, canine teeth. 

Someone screams as the creature lunges forward, long claws and sharp teeth tearing into the first man. The gloved man lets go of Serahlin and reaches for the shotgun. He lifts it just in time for the creature to leap upon him with bloody jaws and claws. 

Serahlin, still on her knees and dazed from the pain of having all of her magic stripped from her, watches in a daze as the creature, no, werewolf eviscerates the men who would have killed her. She turns from the gruesome sight, looking for the younger one - but all that is left is a fourth flashlight, abandoned in his flight. 

She turns her gaze to the werewolf once more, astonished. Such rare creatures, werewolves are, and not native to this part of Orlais. Yet, here one is. 

The werewolf, apparently satisfied with the deadness of the gloves man, lifts their head and looks straight at Serahlin. Their snout is long like a wolf’s, full of wonderful teeth that just saved her. Their eyes are a golden yellow, glowing brightly in the moon-light dark. Long arms and legs still in its humanoid - no, elfish shape but covered in brown fur. Long ears speaking of their elven heritage still curve back from their head. 

Serahlin swallows, “Thank you.” 

The werewolf tilts their head and takes a step forward, using all four limbs to slowly maneuver towards her. Their movements are smooth and purposeful, eyes fixed on her but there is no snarl or growl. Instead, they are incredibly quiet as they approach. 

Serahlin leans instinctually back, her eyes taking in their form before catching on the red staining the fur at their shoulder.

“You’re hurt,” she breathes. The wolf sniffs but does not change course.

“This is the police!” 

The wolf’s head snaps up at attention at the call before looking at her.

“Go,” they snarl before leaping away and taking off into the night. 

Not one to wait, Serahlin rises and runs through the woods to wind around to her car. She hears the police exclaim at finding a body just as she reaches the parking lot. She slows her steps to a walk so as to not attract attention to herself.

At long last, Serahlin reaches her car. 

“Memae, are you okay?” Ileth asks as she settles into the driver’s seat. 

“Yes, baby, I’m okay.”

“Okay…did you get snacks?”

**

The next morning brings with it aches and what feels like the worst hangover ever. Serahlin’s phone is full of texts and voice messages from Selene and Thenvunin.

You okay??

What happened?

I’m coming over!!

Felasel says you’re ok a wolf helped?? What? 

Right. After leaving the drive-in, she locked herself and Ileth in his room before passing out from exhaustion without thinking to call her coven to tell them what happened. She doesn’t know how Felasel knows what happened - those twins have far too many blessings to fully understand.

Still not entirely able to hold a conversation, Serahlin sends a group text.

We’re ok. Went to the drive-in theatre last night, encountered some hunters but am ok. Will explain more later.

She doesn’t read the follow up texts and instead focuses on getting Ileth ready for school. 

She is looking raggedy when she pulls through the drop-off line. A teacher she does not recognize opens the door and she frowns.

“Where is Mr. Adannar?” Ileth asks and the teacher smiles.

“He wasn’t feeling well this morning, so he is staying home. It will just be Ms. Fleur today.”

“Oh, okay. I hope he feels better soon.” Ileth hops out of the car and Serahlin waves goodbye.

As she drives home, Serahlin’s tired brain comes to an odd realization that may not be accurate. But it is a feeling, and she has learned to not ignore those. 

First, she heads home and puts all the ingredients needed for making chicken noodle soup into a pot. She uncorks a small healing tincture and pours it in as well, giving it a good stir to incorporate it. Then, she heads upstairs and gets ready properly with a quick shower and dressing in a warm dress. 

When the soup is ready and Serahlin is looking like her regular self, she puts the soup into a safe container and heads back out to her car. A simple scrying spell later, and she has the address she needs. Thirty minutes following that, she arrives at a small, but charming home on the outskirts of town. A picket fence surrounds the front yard, while tall trees and hedges bracket the sides, obscuring the view of the backyard. 

Serahlin turns off the car, grabs the tupperware full of soup, then walks down the stone path to the front door. She knocks. No answer. She knocks again. No answer. 

“Mr. Adannar, I brought you soup to help you feel better,” she calls. A long pause stretches before her before she hears the telltale sound of locks releasing.

The door cracks open, “I appreciate the gesture, but I am really in no shape to see anyone. Good day.” He moves to close the door, but she wedges her foot between it and the jam.

“Mr. Adannar, I came all this way to give you soup. Please, at least take it.” Another long pause stretches between them before the door opens to reveal a rumpled, tired looking Adannar with a a bandage clearly wrapped around his shoulder - exactly where the bullet hit the werewolf from last night.

“As I said, I am in no state to-

“Thank you,” she breathes, meeting his lovely yellow eyes. He swallows.

“I…you’re welcome.”

Serahlin takes a step inside but he doesn’t protest. After she sets the soup down on a table next to the door, she reaches up to his bandaged shoulder. He winces but does not move away.

“Broken flesh and bone mend,

Be as you were before blood was shed.”

The magic slips past her fingers and sinks into his skin. His grimace of pain soon eases into one of relief. He takes the hand she had rested upon him into his own, much larger hand.

“I believe it is my turn to thank you.” He maintains eye contact as he leans down and brushes his lips against the back of her hand.

“There is no need, this was me thanking you.”

“So the soup was…?”

“An excuse, though it does have a healing tincture in it, just in case you wouldn’t open the door for me. You saved not only my life, but my son’s, last night. That…there is not enough thanks in the world that will ever be enough.”

“I could never let them harm you or Ileth,” he whispers. 

“No?” She says quietly. He takes a step forward, leaning down.

She must remain strong. Adannar is hidden away here, somewhere, and he could need her. This is a terrible place to go missing, deep in the dark part of the forest with no one but peeping spirits to watch the tragedy. She cannot just leave him be, not while she can ride after him and help him. It is the least she can do after he has done so much for her.

“How much farther, Huirin?” She asks. The mechanical deer turns its head to her. Its usual whirring noise pauses to click twice, two metal eyelids roll over reflective eye sockets. It is some sort of communication, but not one she can discern. It turns its attention back to whatever trail it’s following to Adannar, the whirring kicking up once again.

Velini snorts but follows the strange deer. It is not long until they start to noticeably ascend what must be a small mountain. The path is surprisingly sure, however, and Velini does not struggle with his footing. The trees curve over the path, only a few having roots that disrupt the packed earth and…stones? Who would lay a stone path this deep in the woods?

They come to a fork in the path, one leading up, another down. Sunlight spills down, illuminating the path that leads up, while casting the path leading down in dark shadow. Huirin, of course, heads down. Serahlin swallows and steels herself before urging Velini to continue to follow Huirin.

Thick shadows envelope them as they descend, and the forest visibly changes. She is reminded of the great tree Adannar showed her, the one housing a spirit of Content. These trees feel…they feel like that. Magical. Aware. Watching.

The leaves begin to take on iridescent and glowing hues, mushrooms even appear to be larger and brighter. And an air of tingling magic surrounds them all. The little hairs on Serahlin’s arms and the back of her neck rise at the magic. Her concern morphs into a near panic. Adannar likes to harvest alchemical ingredients – they’re for his creatures and for potions he likes to dabble in. He laughed once, saying he was no alchemist, but he can concoct some poultices and potions that are helpful. He gave her one, once, to help sore muscles. She cannot be certain, but she suspects these mushrooms and other plants are likely subjects for alchemical harvesting. He could have fallen, hit his head! Or twisted his ankle, broken his leg, his arm…the list goes on.

She keeps fighting the urge to ask Huirin if it knows anything. It could, it very well could, but that doesn’t mean she will understand what it says. Or blinks, or whirrs. She should have asked Adannar to teach her how to communicate with his creatures, that way in case something like this happened she would be able to find him more quickly. It’s no matter now, but when she finds him, she is going to sit him down and have him teach her. After he gets better, of course. If she doesn’t kill him herself, after scaring her like this.

Huirin keeps the same walking pace, and it feels terribly slow. They started the search hours ago! And still no sign of Adannar. Where is he? Heavens, she hopes he isn’t dead, that…that would be the worst.In the short amount of time they have spent together, she has come to care for him, more than she ever thought possible. Before, she had resigned herself to a loveless marriage – to a good man, but still loveless. She never dreamed that when she ran she would ever find someone like Adannar. She did not know that such kindness could lurk in such unexpected places.

Now she must return the favor. It’s the right thing to do and besides she…cares for him. Deeply. So much so that the thought of fulfilling her duty to marry Dirthamen or someone else fills her with a sour taste in her mouth and dread in her heart.

She cannot in good conscious marry someone while she feels this way for Adannar. It isn’t right. Even if it is simply political, a marriage is a marriage. She would still be connected to Dirthamen and longing for someone else.

At least hiding out in the woods means she doesn’t have to marry anyone she does not desire.

Feeling like for Adannar is exactly why she needs to find him. And why if he turns up dead or hurt, she’ll kill him for scaring her so. She’ll kiss him, then kill him. Or maybe she’ll just kiss him. Really, she just needs to find him.

They descend ever further into the darkened forest, now illuminated by glowing mushrooms and other plants she doesn’t know. Adannar had been teaching her some of the more mundane plants, focusing on the herbs and foliage that could help her. None of the plants here could be defined as mundane. Some of them even come across as hostile. Before, she would never have believed a plant could be hostile, but nothing makes as much sense as it did. Or perhaps she just sees more.

Huirin makes a clicking noise and Velini stops, dragging Serahlin out of her thoughts. The air is colder and the glow from the mushrooms darken. Some of the mushrooms even shrink back as a shadow slinks through the trees.

Velini shakes and steps back. She tries to comfort him but he is inconsolable as the shadow draws nearer. Huirin’s clicking noise grows louder before it leaps at the shadow, a light emanating from its head. The shadow shrinks back in haste, and the mushrooms grow back, lighting the pathway once more.

“What was that?” She asks, breathless and more than a little disturbed. Huirin turns to her, plates on its head reforming to the face she is familiar with. It makes a low whining noise then shakes. Right. It’s…whatever that was.

Serahlin reaches down and pats Velini’s neck, reassuring the horse even while she needs reassuring herself. That shadow is only one beast that occupies this forest, she reminds herself. Just because she has been fortunate in the forest does not mean that her experience is representative of the nature of the forest. A dragon lurks here, as do many other creatures that would see her harmed. Or worse.

Huirin chirps at them and Serahlin encourages her horse to follow it. Remember Adannar, remember that he could need her and Velini.

The path winds down but it remains a path. To where, she can only guess a terrible pit filled with bodies. Maybe this path was made by beasts that would haul their kills off to a deep part of the forest and perform dark rituals furthering their beastliness.

She has got to find Adannar if only to stop these ridiculous thoughts from polluting her mind.

Huirin turns around a bend and Serahlin follows – to see the mouth of a large cave. Long dark moss dangles, nearly obscuring the soft light emanating from the cave. Light, from a cave. It is a magical forest, she reminds herself. Huirin ducks into the cave, the moss trailing over its smooth metal body. Its pace remains that same, undeterred by the cave and moss. It is likely safe, then, or as safe as it can be.

Deep breaths, she can do this. Be brave, be brave.

She urges Velini forward and braces herself for the moss. It is soft, but in her face and not unlike unwanted touches in a ballroom. Thankfully, it is over in a heartbeat and she is free to ride tall and unhindered after Huirin.

As she crosses the threshold, a wave of magic comes over her and she gasps at the rush of it. Magic back home always felt cool and powerful, and tame compared to the wild swirling gusts of it in the forest. Here, magic is like its own entity, moving and shifting. And powerful.

It makes sense that the magic in the forest, and so deep into it, would have a lot of magic. Spirits form out of massive emotion and magic, if one is not present, then the spirit cannot form. Its why spirits are not common back home, and why they almost take on bodies as soon as they can. Without a well of magic present, maintaining their spirit forms is not only difficult, it’s risky. Spirits who do not wish to take on bodies back home risk shrinking into nothing or shattering from the strain to stay alive.

She knew that it wasn’t like that everywhere, but it was shocking to see so many spirits in the wood. Adannar had explained that he was the rarity. Most spirits in the wood opt to refrain from a corporeal form.

If that is so, she wonders why Adannar took on a body.

Her thoughts settle as the magic flurries away from her, allowing her to gaze in stunned awe at the cave around her. No, not a cave, a…she has no proper word for this! The walls are shined stone, swirling with blues, greens, greys, and browns. Just past the mouth of the cave, the walls turn from rounded to actual walls. The ceiling is high, and not just palace high but so high that she cannot quite make out where the ceiling is. Only that it is there.

Huirin is undeterred, but perhaps it cannot experience the incredible magnitude of this place. The magic, the obvious care that has been taken to create a palatial home…cave. Enchanted sconces light up as they walk by, blue tinted light illuminating the smooth walls.

Velini’s hoofbeats echo in the hallway, filling the otherwise silent room with a steady beat.

What is this place? Who made this?

Is this some entrance to the dwarven empire? She thought those were heavily guarded and sealed off while the surface nations battled the dragons. Perhaps they forgot about this entrance? Or maybe the age of the place marks it as different? Maybe it was abandoned ages ago due to the magical fluctuations in the forest.

Huirin stops at the end of the hallway and turns to her, its eyes mimic blinking and it makes a whistling noise at her.

“I am still following,” she asserts. It would make some sense if this was an entrance to the dwarven empire. They have crafting abilities that would fascinate Adannar considering his hobby of creating these automatons.

Huirin turns to the right, down a set of stairs, activating more lights with its descent. Serahlin dismounts and hitches Velini to a sconce holding a stone. She follows Huirin on foot, down the stairs, feeling dread creep into her. She is not that strong, if she needs to pick him up…how will she?

The stairs end and another hallway stretches before the, but now piled with stuff. There are boxes upon boxes upon dresses and cabinets and satchels…just so much stuff.

“What is all of this?!” She says, mostly to herself but Huirin takes it upon itself to make a few chirps then a low honking noise, not unlike a goose.

“Don’t take that tone with me, this is a lot of stuff…and why is fine tableware next to not so fine linens? And is that a…lamp? That’s from Veharan, across the gulf, isn’t it? Oh, and those are silks from Pah’naar! What in the world was Adannar doing down here?” She’s beginning to suspect he found this place and has gotten enveloped in snooping through all of this stuff! Where did it come from? Who collected all this?

Some of these things are seriously beautiful, and they are just…wasting away in this cave. As nice as cave it is, it is still sequestered away from everything.

Huirin chirps at her, making her realize she has stopped moving. Serahlin snaps out of her awe for everything around her and steps quickly after the mechanical deer.

The hallway curves and there are gaps in the piles of stuff. In those gaps are gigantic doors – one set of doors is open and inside is just another pile of things. Light reflects off the shinier and more valuable items, while others remain in crates and satchels. She pauses when her eye catches the light glinting off what must be a cascade of golden coins. Or a mountain of them.

All this wealth, all these things, stored away. What is this place?

Serahlin resumes following Huirin, coming to another large door that is cracked open. Huirin nods its head toward the door, then moves behind Serahlin and all but shoves her through the door.

“Excuse me!” She says, but follows his instructions and goes inside. Huirin does not follow and a heavy dread worms its way through Serahlin’s body. Whatever is in here is deterring even Huirin. Should she even be in here? The lights are dimmer and the stones in the sconces are not lighting as she walks carefully through the room.

The piles in here are much more specific, either pillows or blankets or other soft creations, making the space almost like a large bed.

A gigantic bed. For something as equally massive.

No, no, no. She has to get out of here, if Adannar truly wandered down here…he is not getting back out. A broken sob leaves her, the sound filling the space. She clamps a hand over her mouth in horror just as something massive moves in the shadows. A low rumbling echoes from the shadows making her eyes widen in terror.

Adannar deserves to be buried, deserves better than to die at the jaws of a cruel beast. And there is nothing she can do. She is unarmed, unarmored, and it has been more than a century since she has lifted a sword. And if she is not quick, she will only join her darling Adannar in his demise.

Oh Adannar, Serahlin mourns for a second before turning on her heel and running. She runs from the room and back down the hallway, past all the piles of stuff. Behind her, she hears the beast moving after her. Its breathing is loud, filling the hallway with a rumbling timbre that spurs her to go faster.

“Serahlin?” Her voice echoes through the space and horror fills her. It knows her name? How?! Heavens above, let her escape this treacherous place!

She runs up the stairs, her legs burning with protest. But she ignores it, she has to. The rumbling grows closer but she rounds the top of the stairs and rapidly unhitches Velini. She mounts her horse and spurs him into a run.

Velini charges down the hallway and out of the cave, and they are heading up the path when the earth shakes and she feels the wind at her back. It is a pushing motion followed by a pull – like when a bird takes off.

She tries to urge Velini to go faster, but they are on an incline and the horse can only go so fast. Goodness knows that he was never trained to outrun a dragon.

They reach the top of the hill when the air snaps with a sudden chill. The shadows from before surge forward, lead by a screeching white spirit with outstretched gnarled hands. Serahlin screams as the hands tear her clothes and sink into her body, causing pain to lance deep. Her vision blanks out and she only realizes Velini is throwing her too late.

He bucks wildly, throwing Serahlin, vision blurry and screaming down the hill. Her body slams into the earth and rolls. She tries to shield herself from the blows by the demon and the tumbling in equal measure.

The pain! She cannot see and as she falls, her heart races faster and faster and the demon grows stronger – sinking deeper into her.

She flails her arms back in a desperate attempt to grab hold of…something! Her hand comes up with a root that she snatches quickly, wrenching her arm and halting her suddenly. The sudden cessation of movement temporarily dislodges the demon and she gasps in relief, only for it to return with vengeance. It tears into her, forcing her to turn into herself, releasing the root. She does not move but she screams and writhes in pain.

The ground shakes and the demon hisses, its movements halting but it remains atop her. Serahlin doesn’t dare look up, only hoping for a reprieve, just…something to stop it. Stop it all. How does this keep happening? Running from monster to monster right to another monster. Is this world just so plagued that this is her fate? To be hounded and harmed and thrown to death time and time again? What a cruel fate, to never know lasting peace, to never have happiness be a constant fixture in her life. The pain of that is enough to make her sob, physical and spiritual pain surrounding her in a bubble that makes the demon screech in delight.

The dragon roars in retaliation, the sound deafening. Sudden heat fills the air and the demon is wrenched away from her. Serahlin gasps in pain of the removal of the claws but oh the relief! The pressure and pain ease, making her eyes snap open –

To see the dragon, the great and terrible dragon of the forest, pinning the demon, much larger and more solid seeming now, to the ground. It pulls its head back, golden mane moving almost beautifully with it. Its maw opens and from it spews a geyser of steam. The demon screams and shatters into a dozen dark shards.

It…killed the demon.

The dragon lifts a clawed hand and waves it over the shards. Magic fills the air as light blasts from the dragon’s palm. When it rests the hand, the shards are no longer dark but filled with soft light. It…not only killed the demon but managed to somehow purify shards? She has never heard of such a thing

Maybe…maybe it has forgotten she is here. The demon was very distracting as was the magic. Maybe, just maybe she can just…sneak away.

But when Serahlin tries to move away, she collapses against the ground, pain blooming anew in her chest. Her ribs…something is wrong.

The dragon’s head snaps towards her and the last thing she sees are its yellow eyes that are somehow vaguely familiar.

I’m so sorry, Adannar…I failed.

**

This is not how Adannar wanted Serahlin to discover his nature. And now she is injured on the forest floor, after witnessing him killing. He should have taken care of Torment years ago, he knows, and now she is paying for his inability to act.

A sound of torment escapes him, and he fears it just sounds…beastly. But she is unconscious now, limp and most likely internally bleeding after falling so far.

With ever so much care, Adannar picks her prone body up and murmurs a healing spell over her. It will keep her until he can heal her properly back in his home. He takes to the sky after some of the worst of the bleeding is resolved and hopes to everything good in this world that she will recover. He would not be able to handle her not, truly.

He takes her to a guest room that he has managed to clean in the recent months of knowing her. He had hoped he would one day bring her here, that she would sleep in this bed, surrounded by all the beautiful things he has collected throughout the years. He wanted to show her all of the beautiful things, to tell her stories of the people who once came to see him.

But now…she is alive, but hurt. She is surrounded by the beautiful things but all he cares about now is making sure that she is alright.

He spends the next two days laboring over her healing. He wishes she was stable enough for him to take her to Selene, but he does not even know if Selene would tolerate having someone like Serahlin in the Glass Tower. After all that she has been through…after her self-imposed isolation, he doubts it.

The first day is the worst. She has several broken ribs and one of her lungs ended up collapsing after he repaired the ribs. She lost a lot of blood to the demon and he has to replenish it somehow. He generally dislikes using spirit shards for anything other than helping birth new spirits, but he is filled with enough anger at Torment that he uses its shards to power himself to heal her. All of the shards, filling her so much with magical healing energy that it makes her hair grow even longer and her skin glow faintly.

He remembers when Torment was Composure. Brought into existence by a group of dignitaries from Veharan. But it had corrupted after the long years of isolation and the general lack of composure of everything around it. Now it will serve to bring the woman who had so exemplified its former self back to life.

The second day, Adannar cries. A poet once wrote that the reason rivers existed because dragons would cry atop mountains and the sadness had to flow somewhere. Oceans were of sorrow and sadness, of joyous triumph. It was a beautiful sentiment, incorrect but beautiful. But he does take care to cry into the river that runs under his lair, flowing from his home waterfall.

She brought so much light to this dark place. She made him feel joy again, made him feel more like himself than he has in hundreds of years. And he had only ever wanted to make her feel the same. He wants her to know the joy she has made him feel, he wants her to be surrounded by love and light and everything good. And instead, tragedy strikes.

He returns to her side, shifted into his elf form. He can feel her healing aura even down in the cellar and he worries he will shock her too badly if he remains in his true form. It is not much trouble to ensure she is comfortable. But if she asks…he will not lie. He cannot lie to her anymore, it is wrong, and she…she deserves to walk away if she wishes. He would not blame her if she did, not after…all this.

Adannar watches over her through the night, trying not to fall asleep. Sleeping in too late is what got them all into this mess. He had been resting so wonderfully, so deeply and perfectly, that he had not realized that he had not woken at the appropriate time to see her. He does not know why she decided to come looking for him, is it too much to hope that she had searched for him out of worry? And what a terrible fright to find his lair, finding him yes, but also finding something she had been taught to fear.

On the third day, Serahlin wakes. It is slow and Adannar must restrain himself from fussing too much over her.

“Memae…?” She murmurs, lifting her hand in his direction. He takes it gently between his and settles next to her.

“No, darling, it’s me, Adannar,” he tells her, smoothing hair away from her face. Serahlin blinks her eyes open, not only pink but faintly glowing with magic. And oh when she smiles it is like being bathed in holy light.

“Sweet Adannar,” she says, reaching up to his face, “if this is death, then it cannot be so bad if I am with you.”

His heart aches at the sentiment and he lets her pull him down to her, kissing her long and slow. She is warm and pliant so full of life. When he pulls back, he cups her face and regards her with the softest expression he can.

“As beautiful a sentiment that is, my dear, you are not dead, and neither am I.” Her brow scrunches in confusion and she shakes her head.

“How?”

“I healed your injuries with the shards of the demon,” he explains but her confusion remains.

“That does not make any sense. Huirin lead me into the dragon’s lair when I asked him to take me to you.” It is only then that she looks around and recognition dawns on her face. He is leaning back as she sits up, fear and shock bleeding off her.

“I…” she stops then turns to him, her once soft gaze now knowing and fearful, “you?”

He nods slowly, “I did not know how to tell you.”

“You…you…you lied to me?” She accuses, and he flinches. She is right, he lied and he has no recourse.

“I was afraid,” he says, unsure of how else to explain.

“You? You were afraid? You are a dragon!” She says, horror creeping into her voice. “You could have killed me!”

“I would never hurt you,” he says quickly.

“I don’t know that!” She responds just as quickly. He cannot meet her gaze, all he feels is shame for letting it go on for this long.

“Once, when the times were different, and my kind were not hunted or turned into storybook villains, I would have not hidden it. I was…afraid that you would know and refuse to know me, refuse any help I have to offer. It was wrong of me, selfish and wrong and I am so, so sorry.”

She draws her blanket around herself and moves into the corner of the bed as far away from him as she can get.

“You were never in any danger from me,” he says softly, “please, I…was afraid if you knew you would inform knights or someone.”

“So you lied?!”

“I did not mean for it to go on as long as it did. But I also did not expect to become so enamored with you, either, and I couldn’t…I was wrong.”

She is quiet for a long time, staring at him with the same horrified expression. He cannot tell what the worse crime is – being a dragon or lying about not being a dragon. But he knows that he never wanted this, and that his concealment has only made everything worse.

“So it is my fault that you fell in love with me and you couldn’t tell me the truth?” Her voice is low and sharp and it cuts him to down to size.

“No! It is my fault, I place none of the blame at your feet. I am…I was so wrong, and I have no preconceptions of your forgiveness.”

“I…can leave? I am not your prisoner?” She asks and that hurts too, to think that she ever thought he would be capable of such a horrid thing. He nods slowly.

“If it is your wish to leave, then I will not stop you, and neither will any of my creations. I will ensure your safety out of the forest even. You should not have to pay for my mistakes.”

She falls silent and he can see her thinking, coming to a conclusion that will hurt, but one he will respect.

“That is what I wish,” she murmurs. He nods and steps back.

“Very well. You may dress and then either I or Huirin can take you to your horse,” he says, keeping as much emotion from his voice as possible.

“I would prefer Huirin,” she replies and he nods again.

“It will be arranged. I hope you find all the happiness and joy your heart desires,” he says, leaving the room. He wants the last word to be kind and good and he cannot stand the thought of anything else. If she leaves, he wants her to remember as fondly as possible under the circumstances.

Adannar leaves her room and finds Huirin. He gives the deer instructions to wait for Serahlin then to take her to Velini. The horse had suffered some minor injuries but those had been easily healed. He has primarily rested and eaten in the past few days, and now he can take his rider back…to wherever she wishes to go.

Melancholy and heartache fill him so intensely, he must retreat to his rooms. But a restlessness takes hold, as well as a greediness to see her one last time. He moves from his rooms to the atrium, it is up higher into the mountain, with a great lift that allows him to rise quickly to the top of the mountain if he does not wish to don his true form. The glass ceiling opens like a flower and he steps out onto a small balcony, just in time to watch her ride out of his lair and into the forest.

It’s only every few days since there is work to be done for her to survive sufficiently on her own. It is a goal he supports, even if he knows that she may choose to not spend as much time with him afterwards. She deserves her independence, she’s worked for it, and he doesn’t want to forcefully spend time with her anyways. Her choice makes the time better.

He takes her to a great tree, first. The Great Tree, to be exact. An old spirit of Content possessed it a millennium ago, and it has remained here ever since, growing to a gargantuan size. An old hollowed voice rings from it, greeting Adannar in an equally old tongue. Serahlin doesn’t realize what it says is a greeting, but she marvels at it all the same. She touches its bark with respectful reverence, more polite than even some of the scholars Adannar knew hundreds of years ago.

“Content, perhaps you could show our guest your view?” He requests.

In the old tongue, Content replies, “Has she not ridden upon your back yet? Oh, you have not told her. Very well, I will show her.” A thick branch slowly lowers to in front of Serahlin.

She glances back at him for reassurance. He smiles and gestures for her to climb onto the branch. Adannar joins her, and slowly they are lifted up to another branch. Content guides them to the canopy in this manor, having them climb aboard semi-mobile branches until they sit perched atop the tree, looking out around them.

The sun is low in the sky, painting the sky in hues of pink and orange and blue. The tops of the trees all stop below Content, their leaves soft and pliant as the cool air of the afternoon swirls around them. Serahlin’s hair loosens from its tie and sways with the wind, but she does not seem to mind as she leans her head back, eyes closed, and smiling in enjoyment. It is an entrancing image of her, leaning back and enjoying the natural magic of the forest. She is entrancing.

His heart clenches. There is no beauty like hers, no heart, no person whose eyes shine so brightly when discovering something new. And there is nothing more natural for him at this point to love her, even in secret, even if she does not return the sentiment. He loves her, and he is happy to even know that. To know her.

He wants to tell her, but fear holds him back still. She isn’t ready to know quite yet. He wants her to know him before…before potentially running from him. It is selfish, he knows, but he can’t bring himself to change course.

He takes her home after the sun sets. He takes her hands in his at the door to the cottage. She is looking up at him with a soft expression that makes his heart melt and oh, how he loves her. He lifts her hands up to his lips, kissing her knuckles before wishing her a good night. He steps away but does not hear the door close, and when he turns around, he sees her watching him, her cheeks almost as pink as her eyes.

Adannar lifts his hand in the air, waving goodnight as he slips into the forest. His nocturnal creations skitter through the night, joining him as he heads back to his home.

There are other places he can take her to, like the meadow and he can even see about showing her some of the crystal caves in the mountains. He wants her to enjoy living her and to know that even though she is far from her home court and palace, she is still surrounded by beauty.

He goes through more of his storage, finding more beautiful clothing to give her. The breeches he had given her earlier were fairly basic, mostly in beiges and browns, along with white shirts. But now he finds the more colorful garments – pinks, greens, blues, even a few reds that he think she will look splendid in. He packages them in a case and the next morning presents them to her.

“Adannar! You don’t need to,” she says even as she fawns over the prettier clothes.

“Do you like them?” He asks in earnest. She looks up and smiles, then cups his face.

“I adore them, thank you.” He leans into her touch just for a moment before straightening his back.

“Wonderful!”

He means to take her to the meadow today, but there is work that needs to be done and they end up spending the day working around the cottage. The chickens need tending to, as does the garden they’ve created in the past weeks. The roof of the cottage also needs a repair, it’s been leaking, and then by the time everything’s completed, the sun is low in the sky and there is no time to take her anywhere special. But they do have enough time to cook and eat dinner together. Well, a dinner for her. Adannar will need to do some night hunting to fill up.

Serahlin lets her hair out, spilling down her shoulders, making her look like the princess he first saw in the Dreaming. But now she is smiling and happy as she eats her stew and makes conversation with him.

“In Eletharan, it is customary to have small meals throughout the day. Consuming large meals at once is seen as bad for health,” she says, even as she breaks a bread roll to sop up some stew.

“But I can’t say I have felt any different with this regimen. Sometimes I think half of the things the nobility did was simply because they could and it set them, us, apart from everyone else. How often you ate became a symbol of wealth. I would eat eight small meals a day, my sister ate ten. I knew of merchants who would stretch their food to last six meals a day.”

Adannar tries to contemplate that. He knows that she came from a world of wealth and excess, but this seemed…much. He knows that her meals were made for her, judging by how she has not exactly been that great in the kitchen. He is not judging her for any of it, of course, she was born into this and she did what she could to survive the environment.

“The company was horrid most of the time,” she says, “All these people just…watching, waiting for me to be imperfect.” Her eyes move down to her food and his brow furrows in concern.

“I find perfection boring, to be honest,” Adannar says, “It is fleeting, and flaws are what make people unique. There is no true beauty in perfection. I am not perfect, you are not perfect, but it does not make you lesser.”

Serahlin blinks and her lips part on a silent “oh.” She tucks her hair behind her ear in a gesture he has come to know as a sign of nervous flattery.

“I…thank you.” She speaks in the way of someone unused to compliments, but perhaps it is not the compliment that is throwing her, but the sincerity. Those at court must be so…blind, he thinks, to lack the ability to see how much Serahlin truly deserves compliments. She is kind and funny and beautiful, even if she is imperfect with her distrustful nature and stubbornness.

They finish dinner and he helps her clean up before it is time for him to leave her to her nightly routine. But before he leaves, she takes his hand.

He turns to her, heart beating, expectant.

Serahlin opens her mouth to say something then shuts it. His heart falls but she takes a step towards him and lifts her free hand to his face. She caresses his cheek and while the silence stretches before them, it feels like she is saying a thousand words, and he is replying in kind.

She pulls back after a moment and straightens her clothes. The normal Serahlin with her stoicism and pleasantries. More and more, however, that Serahlin gives way to a softer version of herself. A version of herself that smiles easily and enjoys his jokes and the simple comforts of the forest.

Adannar leaves that night with his heart in his throat and a great desire to sweep her off her feet.

It takes a few more days of completing chores, but eventually they find the day where the work can wait. On that day, Adannar guides her through a young part of the forest. Small critters scurry from their path. Serahlin holds onto Adannar’s arm as they stride through the brush and it sends little electric flares through him.

They are both dressed in flowing fabrics, her in a pink tunic and him in one of his brighter blue robes.

“It shouldn’t be too much further,” he tells her.

She smiles up at him, “Even if it was, I would not mind. I am enjoying our walk.” He returns the smile and feels his heart do a little pitter patter.

“Have I told you that you look lovely today?” He asks and she nods.

“It was one of the first things you said, but I do not tire of hearing it.” She leans into him, grinning playfully.

“Well, you look lovely still…even with the leaves in your hair,” he points out, to her playful horror.

“Oh no!” She bats at her hair and he calms her, reaching carefully and extracting the few leaves.

“There, no worse for wear.”

He steps over a root, then down a small knoll. Light filters in from where the trees end and the meadow begins. With this time of year, the meadow should be filled with wild flowers – and potentially even some frolicking spirits of the forest. He shifts their positions so that he is holding her hand, leading her through the brush. Excitement fills the air as they reach the boundary of trees.

They emerge from the forest and into the meadow. Serahlin gasps in awe, filling Adannar with a relieved sense of pride. It is a tad hilly for a meadow, but the flowers carpet it all the same, reaching up to the sun in brilliant hues of yellow, cream, pink, and blue. Spirits swirl in brilliant displays of light, shooting up fallen petals into little petal dust devils.

Adannar turns, smiling, to see Serahlin with a near devious expression on her face.

“Serahlin?”

She lets go of his hand and dashes into the meadow, “Catch me!” She calls back, running headlong into the field of flowers. Adannar laughs and does as she commands, letting himself go and feel free as he chases her.

The spirits turn their attentions to them, initial alarm turning to gleeful mischief. They are harmless and Serahlin shows no fear of them as she laughs and darts through the flowers. Adannar lets his inhibitions go as he runs after her.

**

It was a spur of the moment decision to dart off, enticing Adannar to chase her. But she had been so inspired by the beauty of the meadow. All she wanted to do was to run and feel free and happy. And this meadow is so…it is from her dreams it is so beautiful. Maybe she has seen this place in her dreams, her spirit drifting from her sleeping body, drawn to this magical place.

Now she runs through a field of flowers, past bright spirits as a former spirit chases her. His laughter, so pure and joyful, is music to her ears. It sets a rhythm to them running. She turns and laughs with him, cresting over a hill. They revel in the sunlight, and she has not felt so far and free from the court as she does now.

Serahlin spins, her eyes closing at the wonder of it all. Her arms are outstretched, palms up feeling the warmth of the sun. She used to walk the gardens at the palace, enamored with the flowers. But she had always been bedecked in fashion, a smile plastered on her face as a thousand eyes watched her every move. The fashion she loved, the eyes she wanted gone. But here, there are flowers and sun, and the only eyes are Adannar’s. And his eyes are so kind, so beautiful.

He reaches the knoll she is slowly spinning on and rounds on her. His arm slides around her waist and pulls in her close. She travels with his moment, her arms quickly wrapping around his shoulders for stability. They spin together, laughing, until he stumbles and falls back into the lush grass. She lands on top of him, hair flying free from its loose bun.

“Oof!” She says, splayed on top of him, the long grass curving over them. She can feel his chest rising and falling with his labored breaths, and the warmth radiating from his body.

Adannar leans his head back and laughs, only leaning back up to cup her face. His laughter dissipates but his face remains blissful and soft. His hands are rough from work, but she does not mind them as he brushes a thumb over her cheek.

“Serahlin, you are a wonder,” he whispers full sincerity and warmth. Her heart stutters and breath hitches. Through all this time, Adannar has seen her at her worst, broken down, dirty, ugly, and starving. He has seen her struggle with everything she has learned, and not once has he shamed her, or looked at her like she is useless or bad. He has been kind and patient, caring and thoughtful. He hasn’t babied her, but respected her and where she has come from. Not in all her life has she ever met someone like him, and she doubts there is anyone else quite like him either. There is an undeniable goodness to him, a light within him that makes her want to be better.

She shifts up his body and brushes her fingers across his cheek. He sighs and leans into her touch, yellow eyes growing hooded. He is beautiful, she sees. A beauty unlike those at court, natural and striking, full of softness.

Boldness and fondness in equal measure take over her. She leans down and presses her lips to his. He startles for only a second before responding. He leans into her, kissing her back, lips moving under hers. She angles her head and sucks his bottom lip into her mouth, earning her a gasp, borderline moan. It thrills and warms her both to feel his reaction to her.

His hands trail down her body, holding her waist, running up into her hair. It feels so, so good, she leans into him, arching her back. He is the first to pull away, lips pink and breath labored.

“Serahlin, I…do you…” he breathes. She isn’t sure exactly what he is asking, but she feels like she has an answer all the same. She strokes his cheek and her expression remains soft.

“You amaze me,” she murmurs before leaning down to kiss him again.

**

The days following the kisses in the field turn into a new pace. Adannar still arrives at the same time in the morning and leaves the same time at night, but he kisses her hello and goodbye. He is even more free with his affections, holding her waist, and pulling her to him. She enjoys it all, holding him and kissing him back as much as she pleases. There is no worry that they will be caught. He is not a dalliance someone at court is waiting to use to blackmail her. The result is Serahlin being free with her affections in return.

On an evening where the sunset is turning blue and purple from the magic in the sky, she turns to him.

“We have grown so close, and I feel like I am…not being entirely truthful with you,” she explains.

Adannar looks down from the sunset to her, expression curious but sweet, “How so?”

She swallows, “I never told you what I was doing in the cottage that first day you found me.”

“You were running from a political monster of some sort.”

Serahlin nods slowly, “Yes. But that is…a great over simplification.” She wrings her hands and averts her gaze. Adannar reaches over and settles his much larger hand over her nervous ones.

“You do not have to tell me,” he whispers, his tone far more understanding than she has a right to ask for.

Serahlin shakes her head, “No, I do because I left a terrible mess behind. I fear I will have to return to it at some point. I can’t always run, some day we all have to face what chases us.” She takes a deep breath, and begins.

“I was born Serahlin Felise Elethari, to Queen Felena Elethari of the kingdom Eletharan to the west of this forest. I am the eldest, and by rights, that makes me in line to succeed the throne if my mother should die. My younger sister, Elvara is also a princess, and she has been named heir apparent due to my…inability to secure diplomatic relations with the kingdom to the east, Elvhenan.” She goes slow, giving herself time to pause and assess. Adannar remains quiet, listening to her story.

“They wanted to create a tie that will unite the kingdoms in custom and spirit. Which meant an arranged marriage between me, and the High Knight family’s chosen. After visiting their court, the younger son, Dirthamen was chosen for my betrothal. It could have been worse, the eldest son spurned the idea of me, the younger son was by far better. Not a man I could fall in love with, but a man I could at least be happy with. But unfortunately, as the envoy passed through this forest, he went missing.

“With the alliance in jeopardy, a new knight was chosen from his brother’s honor guard somehow. A man greatly indebted to the family, so loyal he could never betray them. His name is Ser Darris, Slayer of Mighty Tor’el, a dragon to the east.” Adannar nodded and swallowed, his face stony and solemn.

Serahlin continued, her voice only wavering slightly, “They arrived at the palace and explained the situation. My mother foolishly allowed the switch, saying that this alliance was still the best option for the kingdom. But my former betrothed and I had been exchanging letters – in Eletharan, it is customary to know your intended for at least a year before marriage. The switch meant that Darris would have to wait a year, and in that year, we would have to spend a lot of time together.” She takes a deep breath and steadies herself.

“It only took a month before things began to become suspect. Darris is an intensely charismatic man, and he charmed my mother and sister instantly. But I was more hesitant. He was not the man I had spent the last three years getting to know. I had resigned myself to a loveless marriage, but a marriage of respect and decency nonetheless. I didn’t know Darris, and I was expected to…marry him in so little time. A year is nothing! I was reluctant, and it showed. But I was also curious – what had happened to my betrothed? His brother was still at the palace, making life difficult. He is possibly the worst person I have ever met in my life, cruel, arrogant, and stupid.”

“He sounds terrible,” Adannar says softly, his expression still inscrutable. Serahlin nods, then bites her lip.

“I never found what happened, because while I was distracted and distant, Elvara was seizing the opportunity. She went to our mother and said she would be a better candidate for marriage with Darris. She should be made heir over me. And mother agreed.” Her voice trembles and she fumbles with her hair, biting back tears.

“When I was told, I was horrified. Relieved I did not have to marry Darris, but my baby sister, she…I protected her from court, I did everything in my power to protect her, that is the only reason she was where she was, and she used that position to stab me in the back. I was distraught, I wanted to be alone. When Falon’din found me, I was in no mood to be played. He grabbed me, demanded I look at him – which I did, as I backhanded him.”

Adannar’s eyes widen, “I know that was a very dangerous thing for you to do, but I would have liked to have seen that.”

She shakes her head, unable to hold back tears any longer, “He said terrible things, hitting me back. And after my inability to play nice with Darris…he convinced my mother I would serve the alliance better as a sacrifice. And my mother…agreed.” Her voice breaks and her tears begin to flow freely as she cries. Adannar takes her into his harms.

“No, no, no, I cannot believe…what kind of mother…no,” his horror is palpable and strangely welcome. It is the horror she wanted more to feel around her, what she had expected her own mother to feel when Falon’din had suggested it, even when Elvara had suggested supplanting her.

“I was locked away and-and only loyal guards and spies came to my rescue. My queen-mother was content to let me die, my sister…my memae had long been dead, and I was alone. They stuck me on a horse, and I ran.” Her voice breaks and disappears as she succumbs to her sobs, leaning into Adannar. He holds her tight and runs his hand through her hair in comfort while whispering sweet nothings to her.

She collapses into him, and it feels right to let him lift her completely into his lap. She gives him all her sorrow and heartbreak, her terror and horror that her own family would betray her like that. She gives him her gratitude and her amazement, the burgeoning love for him she is beginning to feel.

He holds her through it all, making her feel more loved here than she ever felt back home, surrounded by people who should have cared. Memae had cared, but Memae had also died. Ironic that when she felt more alone in a palace, constantly surrounded by people, than she does in the forest with only Adannar and his strange mechanical creatures to keep her company.

She stays in his arms for a long time, even after she stops crying. Adannar is warm, and he doesn’t seem to mind simply holding her even after the main tumult of her emotions pass. Eventually, Serahlin sighs and looks up at him. She guides his face to hers and kisses him sweetly, thanking him for listening to her.

He leans his forehead against hers and sighs, his grip tightening just slightly, “You deserve love and trust,” he whispers. There is an emotion in his voice she cannot quite place, but it almost feels like heartbreak.

Adannar stays late that night, holding her in her bed, stroking her hair. It soothes her into a sweet sleep, and when she wakes, he is gone.

Serahlin goes about her normal morning routine – dressing, collecting eggs from the coop, and tidying up a bit. Normally, Adannar arrives while she is tending to the chickens, but he must be running late today. Perhaps he slept in to make up for staying so late at the cottage? Should she have told him he was welcomed to stay? Because he was, and she hates to think he endangered himself by leaving so late at night.

It’s probably nothing, she tells herself, and continues with her day. She has a breakfast of eggs and toast then heads out to tend to her garden. It is midday when she begins to worry. Was it wrong of her to tell him why she is hiding in the forest? Or that she is likely to leave at some point? Is this her doing?

It’s hard to believe that Adannar would abandon her now, after everything he has done. By that logic, she fears something has happened to him.

Concerned, Serahlin heads back inside and dresses in her thickest leather breeches and boots and dons a tunic that feels like it has an old protective enchantment on it. She pulls her hair back and under a hat before heading outside.

Huirin, the mechanical deer that likes to linger around the cottage, is sniffing around the chicken coop, its eyes darting in curiosity to the chickens and then to Serahlin.

“Huirin,” she calls. It lifts its head up, ears forward in attention.

“I need you to take me to Adannar,” she tells it. Strange enough, it bobs its head, similar to a nod and turns to walk into the forest. It looks back at her, waiting to see if she will follow. She saddles and mounts her horse, then follows Huirin into the forest.

Without Adannar by her side, the forest takes on a more sinister feeling. She feels eyes upon her, watching her every movement, like the spirits and animals of the forest know that without one of their one with her, she is fair game. But she rides tall, and follows Huirin, keeping her eye out for Adannar. He could be lying in the dirt, needing assistance. While she has gotten stronger, she is unsure if she would be able to lift him onto Velini, her horse. But she will try and she will help him in any way she can – it’s the least she can do after everything he has done for her.

It is not long until they reach his waterfall. This is the farthest into the forest she has gone, and Adannar’s words from the first night echo in her head.

“Do not go past the waterfall to the west.”

But Huirin is moving past it, and she knows that whatever is to come, she must face it with a brave face and a braver heart. Adannar may need her.

Days pass in a similar fashion. He comes and helps, and they talk. She’s still largely a mystery to him, and she doesn’t give much away other than she lived in a palace. So not just a lady, but potentially a princess.

After two weeks, Adannar shows up at the cottage, as usual, with a basket of breakfast. Serahlin is already awake and working on the garden they planted last week. She stands up to greet him and the hem of her skirt catches on a bramble, ripping it. Oh dear.

But Serahlin doesn’t look so much as disheartened as annoyed.

“These dresses are beautiful, Adannar, but I keep tearing them. I don’t suppose you have any breeches?” She hefts the skirts up to around her knees and walks awkwardly to Adannar.

“I do have breeches, I can fetch some if you’d like,” he offers, setting the basket of food down on the outside table they built a few days ago.

“Oh you don’t have to go now –

“It’s no trouble! I will leave you to breakfast and go fetch your breeches and then we can be about the day.” He doesn’t mind the running back and forth, or flying really, especially if it means Serahlin will continue to look at him like that. With kind gratitude, gracing him with a smile and a light expression he’s only recently been treated to. In the weeks Serahlin has spent here, she has grown from suspicious to politely reserved to happily smiling at him in greeting, not caring if she stumbles over a rock in the garden or not. It’s a surprising transformation, one that has endeared him greatly to her.

“I do know how to sew, the only practical thing I know, but I know it. If I just had cloth and needle –

“Really, Serahlin, it is no trouble. But I will bring you what you need to sew.” He opens the basket and pulls out a loaf of bread he baked through the night. She hesitates, and he knows he has her. Bread, any princess’s weakness.

He leaves her to her breakfast and rushes off to the glen where he can shift and fly quickly to his lair. He launched himself up into the air and travels at great speed. The wind is with him this morning and helps him along to the lone mountain.

He raids the wardrobes filled with clothes, taking out the slimmest of the breeches. Before the days of the knights and their propaganda, Adannar hosted researchers and other dragons. Sometimes at the same time. Both groups required changes of clothes and over the years, he accrued quite the collection. They’re mostly basic style leather breeches, a few cloth types, but the leather is better, it’ll provide better protection and wear for Serahlin as she traipses about her new home.

Adannar packs a bag then heads back, the bag delicately balanced on a claw. He lands back in the glen and shifts. He’s wearing breeches himself, today, along with a longer style tunic. He is in a good mood when he returns to Serahlin, but the smile on his face quickly disappears when he spies her terrified expression.

“Adannar!” She cries, running quickly to him. All sense of propriety must have left her in that moment, because she flings her arms around him in a crushing hug.

“Ser-Serahlin?” He asks, shocked at the sudden contact. He drops the bag and returns the hug, wrapping his arms around her slim body. It has been…a long time since he has had this much contact with someone with a beating heart. There are spirits, his creatures, but Serahlin is warm, solid, breathing. He feels her breath on him as she holds him tight.

“I saw that dragon and feared the worst! It was all I could do to hide in the cottage and hope for your safe return.” She holds onto him tight and her concern over him is so heartfelt and touching.

He leans into her touch, “The dragon does not bother me, but your concern and hugging is very welcome.” She stiffens at that and pulls back quickly, hands covering her mouth.

“I’m sorry, I did not mean to impose! I was so relieved to see your return, I…I must have lost control,” she explains. Adannar laughs and gently takes her hands down from her face.

“There is no worry. It has been a long time since I’ve been touched, any surprise from it is good.” He holds her hands so that they are between his larger ones in a comforting way he once saw of elven researchers that were visiting him.

A blush colors Serahlin’s cheeks, “Still, I let my emotions overcome me. I would never have done this back home…”

“You are not there, you are safe to feel whatever you wish to feel here,” he explains.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, averting her gaze. She pulls her hands free of his and he lets her go without resistance. He can understand her being reluctant to be more open with him, that run and hug and sudden expression was so unlike the Serahlin he has come to know. But it was still her, just a her that wasn’t worried about expression or judgement.

“The clothes!” He remembers, grabbing the bag off the ground. He hands it over to her, “I hope at least one of them fit, if not…we’ll see about stitching something together that does.” She takes the bag and thanks him before darting into the cottage.

Adannar occupies himself by the chicken coop. No chicks, yet, those eggs still have a couple of weeks to hatch, but the rest of the chickens seem happy enough. They have a large enclosure, nice places for roosting – it’s good. They unfortunately can’t let the chickens be free range, too many foxes and other predators around to let them out. He reaches in the bag of feed and tosses it out to them. The birds flock to the food even though they’ve already been fed.

The back-door cracks open and Serahlin steps out, bedecked in her new tunic and breeches. Her hair is pulled into a braided bun and she looks ready to conquer the world. Or at least the forest.

When she first arrived, Adannar knew she was beautiful. Physical beauty is easy, however. There are many in this world who are beautiful. But she has shown to be so much more than that. She is compassionate, tenacious, and despite her upbringing, not arrogant or condescending.

Buoyed by the emotions she brought to the surface with her hug, Adannar beams and walks up to take her hand.

“You look spectacular, the breeches were a wonderful idea.”

She smiles back, “Thank you. I haven’t worn breeches much before, just for my archery lessons. Mother did not believe learning other forms of combat befitted our station – ‘we have people for that, Serahlin.’” She stops suddenly, “and that is not appropriate, I don’t know what has gotten into me today.”

“It’s the forest! It’s Improper Day, the deer are the chasing the wolves, it’s all very wacky,” he says, and she chuckles.

“My mother would never hear of such a day. Heavens forbid someone was ever improper to her.” Her eyes grow distant and she looks at the way she came a month and a half ago. Adannar moves from around the coop to stand by her.

“You do not have to worry about propriety here. I have been alone so long that I don’t even really know what el- people find proper. I’ve been trying to be proper with you, but I’ve mostly been guessing.” He shrugs and gives her a smile. She faces him and her expression turns less wistful.

“You are surprisingly proper for a hermit living in the forest.” Her compliment is sweet and he feels just a tad bashful at it. Compliments were usually levied at him for his draconic form – grand, great, majestic. He’s even been mistakenly called fearsome, but not proper, and not with the soft eyes like Serahlin’s. The expressions he’s inspired in the past ranged mostly from fear to awe, even to pointed mirth, but not gratitude or softness.

Adannar reaches forward and takes her hand.

“I want to show you something.” He leads her down the steps and into the forest. She laughs as they jog along, a free and happy sound.

“I am glad I am wearing breeches and boots for this! Where are we going?” She calls. He guides her past the glen he transforms in then to a bubbling creek.

“It’s a surprise!” He calls back. She laughs and continues to jog with him, following his movements. While dragons grow and stop at maturity overly changing in physicality, the forest is constantly changing. Learning its ways is as much knowledge as much as an art. To run like this means to know how the forest is, all the places to step, places to not step. He guides her through it, not going as quickly as he can, but quick enough to make Serahlin’s face flush and her breathing deepen. She tugs on his sleeve halfway to their destination.

“Stop, stop, I need to catch my breath,” she pants, leaning against a tree. His own breathing is labored but it’s not much for him. If anything, the exertion feels good, he hasn’t done anything like this in so long. He’d laze around his lair, motivation to do anything reaching zero. He looks to her, her breaths slowly evening out as she catches her breath. Serahlin has been a catalyst to how’s he felt these last few weeks. She reminded him of himself in a way. He’s taken to working on his creatures, actually building new ones, after he leaves her each evening. The lair is slowly getting put back in order and he wants to thank Serahlin. As much as she says he’s done for her, he feels she’s done for him as well.

“Normally we stroll through the forest. Change can be good, but this is quite sudden,” she says after her breath returns.

“I want to show you something specific, to thank you.” He takes her hand again and she grows curious, pushing off from the tree to step closer to him.

“Thank me? I should be the one thanking you.”

He can’t truly answer her, so instead and he moves closer and raises his free hand to gently caress her cheek. She swallows and lips part. His ears can hear her heart, once close to rest now speeding up again before they even begin moving.

He pulls his hand away slowly. They resume traveling through the forest, but at a more reasonable pace. She doesn’t speak again, but she holds his hand fast and lingers close. He helps her over the now stream and in only half an hour, her ears twitch and she looks westward.

“Is that…” she doesn’t finish her sentence. Adannar only smiles in response before leading her the rest of the way. He pulls fronds apart and she gasps at the beauty before her.

The waterfall – a great pillar of falling water from one of the highest of the cliffs outside of the mountain range proper. The cliff was covered in a special rock, one that only few could tell was special. To most, the stone appeared average and dull, but he could see it for what it was – an iridescent rock that revealed itself under the right magic. What appears to be dull is actually shining, browns and blues swirling together, making the water shine and appear almost like it’s moving. The pool of water at the bottom is blue, tinged with magic and reflecting the blue of the rock at the bottom.

This waterfall is older than he is. Before light, before dark, before feeling anything, he knew this waterfall and the joy it brought to the animals and people around it. A source of water and beauty, a wonder unlike any other. He remembers seeing for the first time the turquoise and copper colors meeting and feeling so pure and light.

“It is amazing, I…” Serahlin steps forward, down the bank, letting his hand go as she approaches the pool. Can she see it? The colors, the magic? He wants her to, he realizes, he wants her to see the magic that is so close to him, even if it is no longer him. He is no longer Joy, but this…this is part of him. Even he can’t tell her what he is, not yet, at least, he can show her where he began. She doesn’t know it is his beginning, but…he can know enough for them both right now.

Serahlin is totally dwarfed by the enormity of the waterfall but she doesn’t look out of place as she strides down the bank to the water.

“The water has some healing properties. I have woken up with a sore back and a dip in here later, I’m no longer sore,” he says as she dips her hand into the water. When she pulls her hand back she marvels at the loss of the cut on her finger from earlier in the morning. A chicken had bitten her, hard enough to draw blood, and now it’s gone.

“This is…how does something like this exist and we don’t know about it?” She says and something in Adannar clenches in fear. He is fine to share the waterfall, it is just that…it once was bottled and sold as healing tonics. The mystical waters of the Copper Falls, but the property leaves once it leaves the pool. The magic is in the rock, not in the water, that is why.

“A dragon lives in these woods, many see that and do not brave the forest, even if there is this,” he says. It’s true. Many take his living here as a ward against any further excursion. And while it has resulted in his loneliness, it has benefitted the forest. The waterfall is left undisturbed, trees are not cut, animals are not hunted to their breaking point.

But dragons are.

Adannar pushes such thoughts from his mind. This is a good thing, he wants her to be happy seeing this, not morose, and he certainly does not want to dwell on such thoughts. This is a joyous place.

He joins her by the water’s edge. It is an unseasonably warm day, even if they are rapidly approaching spring. The water is beautiful and he knows it is cool. Perhaps it is his draconic blood that makes him run warm, but he longs for a swim.

Sudden nudity for swimming, however, is most likely improper, and he does not wish to make Serahlin any more uncomfortable than she has been.

“I’m beginning to wonder if the dragon is the menace my people has made it out to be,” she confesses and his heart stops.

“Truly?” She nods, then rises from the bank. She walks along the water’s edge, watching colorful fish below the surface.

“It does not bother you, and we are quite deep within the forest now. This waterfall is magical, surely something a dragon would like to protect – yet nothing. I have not been menaced. Only early in the morning do I hear what could be the thunderous sound of wings in the air.”

And Adannar thought she could not surprise him any further. Perhaps…eventually…. What a hope! He offers his arm to her and she takes it. As they walk, he tells her about the area. The waterfall and pool feed into the river down here, but the river continues up beyond the ledge where the water comes crashing down. This waterfall is one of many in a series, it just happens to be the largest. At the top of the mountains are hot springs, surrounded by snow.

“My curiosity is too much, I must know – is there a hidden cave behind the waterfall?” She asks, and he looks down at her. She’s all flushed and smiling, embarrassed but also full of humor.

“Nothing but smooth rock, what a thing to ask,” he answers.

She laughs, leaning into him, “All the adventure stories I used to read all seemed to have secret caves behind the waterfalls. Perhaps a cove filled with treasure, or a hollow where lovers would meet.”

He cocks his head to the side, smiling as he speaks, “There is nothing behind the waterfall, but there is a passage in the side of the pool – it leads to an underground river.” She turns to him, bright faced and excited.

“Really?”

“Really!” He doesn’t mention that said underground river leads to a specific lone mountain in the foothills of the range, but she does not need to know yet. He laughs and nods instead, patting her hand on his arm. “Bioluminescent creatures call that river home, it’s beautiful.”

Her replying expression is equal parts wonder and incredulousness.

**

“How do you know all this?” Serahlin asks. He is a bounty of information and knowledge, the kind only few of her tutors had been. And even then, he seems to know more than a few of them.

“I have lived out here for a long time. There is a great deal to do when you are alone,” he says but his voice wavers slightly and something tickles the back of her neck. Just as it does when someone is telling a lie. Her brow furrows and she stops walking, retracting her hand from his arm.

“What aren’t you telling me?” She asks softly, giving him a chance because she wants to believe anything but the worst. But old fears die hard and she feels like there are a thousand eyes on her, just as it was at the palace. Everyone had watched, forced her to play in sick games that only hurt people.

He stops and turns to her, brow pulled together in concern, “Serahlin, I –

She doesn’t let him finish, “You are not from my land, are you?” She asks softly. He shakes his head and she drops his hand.

“And what? Are you from there? Did they send you? Are you just waiting to take me back just when I grow to trust you?” She accuses, getting ready to run. Dammit she knew this was too good to be true, she should never have trusted him she should –

“I was a spirit,” he says and everything stops. Her heart, her mind, her body – everything. His shoulders droop and he drops his head so that she can’t see his face. People who used to be spirits are rare, they only form from powerful emotions and where magic has pooled. It’s not unheard of, but she has only met one other former spirit – her non-Queen mother.

He looks out to the waterfall, gesturing to it dejected, “I formed here, from the joy experienced by the animals and any passerby at seeing this place. I wandered the area as a spirit for hundreds of years before forming my body. I am not from your land, I’m not from another either, however. I am from here, and I wanted to share that with you.”

Serahlin cannot speak. How horrible of her! She can’t…she assumed the worst immediately, ready to run, and here he was simply trying to share this with her. Her heart falls as he turns away from her. She does not feel like he is lying and…it would make sense. She has heard that former spirits like to remain close to where they originated. Memae remained close to the capital, even though it meant her eventual demise, but whether that was because of her origination or her daughters, Serahlin doesn’t know.

She steps forward. Tentatively taking Adannar’s hand, she joins him in looking down at the shimmering water. The fish are a riot of moving rainbows beneath the surface, reflecting light and color.

“I am sorry, I should not have assumed…you have been so good to me, I owed you the benefit of the doubt.”

Adannar looks down at her. His eyes look suddenly very old and the expression in them is inscrutable.

“Thank you. I understand why you are scared, though, political monsters can be some of the most vicious. You are not the first to seek asylum in this forest.”

A silence more awkward and tense than any of their previous stretches before them. She wants to apologize more but she also wants to let him feel. If she were back home, the proper thing to do would to leave him to his room, allow him to feel however he wished then apologize with a gift. Or food. But she has no gift and no food and they not back home.

So Serahlin tries something else.

“My memae was a spirit. Diligence, she was the head of my mamae’s guard – it’s how they met. The…political monsters killed her and my mamae did not stop them.” It is improper to reveal such intimate details of one’s life, but they are far from home. When he looks down at her, eyes softer, she knows she made the right decision.

“I was Joy.”

She gives him her best smile and reaches up to touch his cheek.

To gather the moss, Adannar must shift his large, draconic body into a form more suited for the task. He shifts into an elf and walks the rest of the way to the hill. This way, he also avoids alarming the spirit. The creature has been known to take to fright overly much, accidentally shattering itself. Such a delicate thing.

After a moment of walking, he realizes he has neglected this form. His hair has grown long and reaches his ankles, and he is thinner than previously. He is not gaunt, but the robe he has attached to this form is looser, giving it a much billowier look than intended. No matter, he is simply here to gather the moss.

He walks up the hill to where the moss grows in thicker patches on stones, shaded by the tall tree Renewal likes to spend its time. Adannar sets his basket down next to a large rock and takes out the small pairing knife. He gently works the knife along the rock to remove the moss, placing it in the basket as he goes. He needs a good bit of it, so he makes his way to several other rocks before feeling satisfied with the amount he has collected. He won’t return to the hill for some time to gather more. Renewal will need time to cultivate more.

With his basket packed and the day’s main task accomplished, Adannar shifts back into his true form. He picks up the basket with a particularly dexterous claw then launches himself into the sky to fly back to his roost.

The forest is in the foothills of a great mountain range that acts as a natural border between two kingdoms. He…doesn’t know the names of the kingdoms, but he does know that the one he is flying from is smaller and the kingdoms don’t always get along. His nest is in a lone, small mountain that he has dug and carved out for himself through the centuries. It was his primary objective for many years until he was satisfied with the outcome. It is not as gigantic as some dragons’ lairs, but he likes it – it’s homey and allows him to work.

He’s created all of the decorations in his lair, from crystal chandeliers to beams that support some of the ceilings to burnished floors. It is the only home he has ever known, and while on the modest size for dragons, it can feel large and lonely to him. His seclusion is not by his choice, but rather by the choice of others to create spurious rumors about dragons.

Every so often knights fancying themselves as dragon slayers find his home. They demand he relinquish a prince or princess he has not stolen then attempt to kill him. The ones that live because they wisely run have spread tales of him and his little automatons. They know him as the Mad Dragon in the Forest. But to his kind, he is simply Adannar the Lonesome.

His home is just as he left it, in a disarray that he has felt unobligated to fix due to his lack of visitors. His friends have taken to solitude as well, and he is unsure of how to broach the subject on breaking it. He longs for the days when his kind could just be, visiting not only other dragons, but people – elves, humans, dwarves, even the horned people to the north. But the dragon slayers have risen in prominence, dragons have been killed for being too…prominent. So they lay low, even if it means seclusion and depression.

Adannar does his best to remedy his loneliness by creating. As a result, he has created many, many little creatures – wisps woven into mechanical bodies that resemble woodland creatures. They populate his home and the forest, not harming anything, just…being. He has struggled to give them language to converse, however, despite figuring out how to give them full personalities and lives. He loves each and every creation, and each is given a name, but he longs for more.

He has moss to create and repair but a heavy melancholy overwhelms him when he returns home, the piles of stuff only reminding him of everything he should do. But he lacks any of the ability to actually do any of it.

Instead of doing of the work he ought to be doing, Adannar collapses into the pile of pillows and blankets that make up his bed. He falls asleep and drifts into the Dreaming much more easily than he has in the past, his soul drifting and floating through familiar pathways.

He is not seeking anything in particular but feels strangely drawn to a small cottage in the forest between his home and the kingdom to the west. He lets his curiosity pull him to the long-abandoned home. Or supposed to be abandoned. Through the bright colors of the Dreaming and the familiar spirits drifting through the space, Adannar sees a horse tied to a tree, nibbling on a bush.

Curious, Adannar floats down into the cottage, his body wispy and delightfully formless. It is strange to be this way, like he was before he was a dragon, but not entirely unwelcome. He admits, there are days where he longs for the simpler days of a bodiless existence. And it comes in handy for exploring his territory when the weight of his body is too much.

Inside the cottage, a small fire burns. It has the look and size of a fire recently made, or made by someone not accustomed to building fires. Curled by said fire is an elven woman with her legs pulled up in front of her body and her forehead leaning against her knees. Hair black as ink spills down in front of her face and down her back. Pastel pink and blue robes are torn from her ankles to her knees, stained by mud and dust. But her hands are soft looking, her nails delicately manicured. Not accustomed to building fires, then. A noblewoman, but a noblewoman far from where she is supposed to be.

Her shoulders shake, from cold or crying, Adannar can’t tell. But he can tell that she has very few items on her person, and there is no food in the cottage, he knows. The poor thing! She must be so scared and lonely.

Adannar drifts out of the cottage and back to his body, forcing himself to wake. A burst of energy fills him and spurs him to gather a few foods that are palatable to elves – bread, fruits, and cheeses. He even packs a wine that’s been sitting in his kitchen for some time.

With all haste, Adannar takes to the skies and heads for the cottage. He lands and shifts into his elven form before reaching the home, however, careful to not scare his guest away. Several of his mechanical creatures follow his path as he strides to the cottage. Once, twice, he knocks before opening the door.

“Hello?” He calls before entering. The woman gasps and shifts back, scrambling to her feet and fishing out a dagger in her robes, pointing it at him.

“Who are you?” She demands.

He blinks, “I could ask you the same, seeing as this is my cottage.” Alright, not really his cottage, but it’s in his territory and it’s been abandoned for some time, so it could be said it is in his possession at least.

She hesitates before speaking, voice laden with suspicion, “I did not think anyone was living here.”

Adannar shrugs, and smiles, “Well, I now live deeper in the woods, more room you see. Old wards alerted me to your presence.”

Her eyes narrow for a moment, her lips pressed into a harsh line, “How do I know you’re telling the truth? How do I know she didn’t send you?”

Adannar blinks, “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. No one sent me, just…myself I suppose.” He lifts the basket, continuing to smile pleasantly, “I brought food.”

“How do I know it’s not poisoned? She…she would do something exactly like that,” she says, taking a step back, hand still firmly gripping the dagger.

“I really do not know who you speak of, but it is a fair worry, there are some very concerning sorts in the world.” He opens the basket and samples each food item, careful to show her each one before he nibbles on it. He even tries the wine. A delicious rose that matches her eyes.

By the end of the demonstration, he can see the hunger on her face, lips parted and eyes devouring the bits still visible. He places the basket on the floor and steps back.

“You are welcome to as much as you like, I am not an impolite host.”

She eyes him for a moment longer before settling down next to the basket. First up are the strawberries. Then she nibbles on some cheese and bread. She pours a glass of rose with a shaky hand and seems to have to resist from downing the entire glass.

She must be starving to eat so quickly. But even as she devours the food, he notices her posture is straight, her fingers delicate and poised as they hold her food. A noblewoman retains her manners everywhere it seems.

“My name is Adannar, by the way,” he says. She pauses and looks up from her meal, bashful and without a napkin to properly dab away the fruit juice at the corners of her mouth.

“How remiss of me, I am simply so used to everyone knowing who I am. I am Serahlin El – just Serahlin. A pleasure to meet you, thank you for the food, it’s delicious.” Her smile lights her entire face up in a brilliant display and he feels his heart stutter for a moment.

It has been far too long since he has had company to feel this way about simply conversing with a woman. A woman who had just threatened him, no less.

“A pleasure to meet you as well. And if you have need of the cottage, you are welcome to stay, though I must insist on letting me actually fill it with things to make it habitable.”

“Oh that is,” she pauses, biting her lip, blushing, “that is too kind of you. This is your home and I would hate to impose.”

He waves her off, “You would not be imposing in the slightest. As I said, I live deeper in the woods. I would be a terrible host if I did not ensure your comfort, correct?”

Serahlin pauses, then nods slowly.

“Great!” He claps his hands and walks outside where many of his little creations have gathered, curious to see the mystery woman. The mystery woman who follows him outside and gasps at the sight of the creatures.

“Wh-what are they?!”

“They are my creations, do not worry, they will not harm you. Here,” he holds out his hand to her while a deer-construct named Huirin sniffing at Adannar’s other hand, “let me show you.”

**

Serahlin stares at the…mechanical deer and wonders briefly if she has fallen into one of the stories her maid used to read to her as a girl. The man, Adannar, holds his hand out to her, clearly gesturing for her to follow his lead and perhaps touch the creature. It is…overwhelming, to say the least.

It must be the lack of sleep over the last few days because she takes his hand, rough from building these…creatures. But he is gentle as he guides her hand to its muzzle. The metal is warm and smooth and the deer responds like a real deer, blinking and sniffing, curious. A curious air surrounds it as it steps closer to her.

“Oh, that is…”

“Alright, Huirin, give the lady space. I apologize, he is a glutton for treats and rubs.” A soft whirr emanates from the deer in what she can only assume be a noise of communication.

Serahlin swallows and retracts her hand.

Adannar, the man, is very…earnest in his kindness. When she had found the cottage it had been a blessing after the three days on the road, trying to get as far away from the palace as possible. Even if getting far away meant braving the Dragon’s Forest and even the dragon itself. There was no food or furniture, but it was something, which was more than she had.

The food Adannar brought was blessedly not poisoned and the more he acts, the more she is convinced he is not sent by her mother, but just a strange man who lives the dangerous woods…making mechanical woodland creatures.

It is too much to fully process at the moment lest she risk completely melting down in a sobbing mess. First her mother tries to kill her and now she is in a strange wood with a strange man and stranger creatures. Too much. Better to ignore it and let it happen than to think about it.

Adannar gives the creatures instructions, requesting they bring back everything necessary to make the cottage livable. But really, Serahlin doesn’t need it, she just…alright, perhaps she does need it. She hasn’t even been able to find food on her own, and only luck granted her finding that small brook to drink from.

“In a few hours, the home will be ready. Would…would you like a change of clothes? I have some robes that can fit anyone easily.”

She must look horrid for him to ask her such a thing, but she supposes it is part of the deal after spending three days on the road running from her tyrannical queen of a mother. She nods.

“That is too kind.”

“Nonsense, the world can always use more kindness.” He turns back to a creature, a large bird this time, telling it to bring back robes. She pulls her clothes closer to her body, stupidly worried over her appearance. He doesn’t know who she is or her status or anything. She is just Serahlin.

It makes his kindness nigh unbearable.

Don’t think about it don’t think about it.

Her hands return to her front, clasped together to keep them from shaking. Her distress must be obvious for Adannar to turn to her, brows drawn together in concern.

“When was the last time you slept?”

She swallows and considers lying, but what use would that be?

“Sufficiently? Three days ago. I have attempted to sleep more but the forest…I’ve never been without a bed.”

His expression turns soft, “And fear keeps you awake nonetheless.”

She startles, “I said nothing about fear.”

“You pulled a dagger on me when I first entered the cottage, your robes are torn, you have no supplies – you’re running from something. Do not worry, I don’t even know who to report you to if I even was the sort to do such a thing. And I’m not! I promise. Lots of people run from things! Often from monsters.”

Not for the first time she thinks of how strange he is. His way of speaking is foreign, as is his accent, robes…truly everything about him is odd. He is not from the neighboring kingdom, his mannerisms are entirely wrong, too open and honest. But he is not of her kingdom either, he is too earnest and bombastic. Besides, he is…in quite the disarray aesthetically, though it looks entirely more purposeful than Serahlin’s own current state of ruined robes. His hair has been allowed to grow significantly past fashionable length and what are his robes even supposed to be? They hang loosely on his frame, too big, and yet they are exquisite.

“Monsters?” She asks carefully.

“Yes, I’ve met many people fleeing monsters. Gurguts are common enough to run from, nasty buggers, they smell terrible. Bogfishers, though they’re less aggressive as long as you give them room. I once saw an entire village flee a giant that had decided to take over the village for some strange reason. And of course, there are more sinister monsters, abusers who make fleeing almost impossible. You don’t need to tell me what monster you’re fleeing from. Just know that you are welcome here as long as you need.” The mechanical creatures disappear into the wood, theoretically fetching the items Adannar has requested.

His words are reassuring in the least. She had not dreamed of finding safety in the Dragon’s Forest of all places, running from her mother of all people. And speaking of monsters…

“Isn’t there a dragon living in the forest?”

Adannar blinks and shrugs, “I’ve never been bothered by the dragon. Keeps mostly to itself from what I can understand.”

“That is a relief,” she sighs, leaning against the cottage wall. The knights had all said the same thing about the dragon in the forest being terrible and cruel and mad. She ran here because she knew that it would give anyone pause chasing her. Leave Serahlin to the forest, she’ll die soon enough with that dragon in there.

And perhaps she would have if she had not met Adannar.

Don’t think about don’t think about it.

“You are exhausted, please, sit, allow us to fix the place.” He guides her to a stump to sit on and she turns away from him.

“I am not an invalid, good sir, I am fully capable of helping.”

“I am not saying you are incapable, I apologize for insinuating such. Rather, I am striving to be a good host. Though I am failing if I am insulting you – what would you like to do?”

What a question. What would she like to do? What she wants is to sleep for week and to be taken seriously and not just as a silly princess. Not that she wants to tell Adannar that. He doesn’t need to know that she is more than what she seems to be, and that the monster she’s running from looks more like herself than a gurgut or bogfisher or whatever else he was on about.

Sitting is nice though, and she appreciates his candor. She is unaccustomed to such openly kind and honest behavior. He is bound by manners, clearly, but not in an effort to one-up her, but to genuinely be good to her. It is as foreign to her as his garb.

“I am quite fatigued from my journeys,” she says, “but if there is a task you need assistance with, please ask.”

He nods and continues to smile, “That I will. Rest is important, it is how the body naturally heals itself.” Several of the creatures return from their venture, carrying various objects in their talons or mouths or on their backs. Adannar waves his hands and conducts the items into the house by floating them in. There are thuds and scrapes but the entire spectacle is quite…amazing. He must be exceptionally gifted to be able to move all of this, and there is quite a bit, on his own.

“Do you require assistance? Telekinesis is not my forte but I can certainly reduce any strain.”

“What? Oh no, this is not very difficult me, don’t worry,” he affirms before returning to the task at hand. Posts and lamps and rugs and even dishes are floated in, arranging themselves into proper formations. But no, it’s Adannar doing all of this.

Exactly how powerful is this man? He says he made these mechanical creatures and now this blatant display of power is…it’s a bit concerning. Is she his guest or his prisoner?

“You are quite gifted with magic,” she says.

“I suppose.”

“It makes sense then for you to live out here, many would seek to use you or your power for their own gain.”

He hesitates but nods, “That is very true.”

“But it’s not why you live out here?” She presses.

The flow of items reaches its end and he lowers his arms. When he turns to her, she expects a harsh face, a turn in his demeanor to show that she is more prisoner than guest. But he only looks…sad, even with his smile and kind, yellow eyes.

“Not entirely. Many do not understand and what people do not understand, they seek to hurt or tame. I have no interest in either.” He turns from her, gold hair flowing away from him as he strides to his creatures.

“Food will be brought to you. If you are interested, I can teach you, or one of the spirits of the forest can teach you to hunt and gather and cook. I imagine noblewomen aren’t taught such things.”

Feeling suddenly defensive, Serahlin narrows her eyes and straightens her back, “I am not a frivolous dependent. I went out on hunting trips regularly with the hunts master.” Not that she learned that much from those trips, but still, his tone leaves much to be desired.

“I do not wish you to starve, Serahlin. I apologize for poor manners, the exertions of the day have left me fatigued,” he turns toward her, serious and solemn, “a caution about the forest - do not pass the waterfall to the east, many who do, do not return.”

What a cryptic thing to say. Before she can question him by what he means, he slips into the forest, seeming to disappear within the shadows. Strange, but it the Dragon’s Forest, strangeness is probably the norm as backwards as that sounds.

When he leaves, the creatures go with him, taking the low whirring that had filled the air with them. It leaves her with a sudden heavy silence and a full cottage for her to explore anew. Serahlin rises from the stump and heads into the cottage, now alight with warm candles and a much more sufficient fire. There is a sofa with cushions covered in a vibrant floral pattern that makes her smile. Behind the sofa against the wall is an oil lamp; and next to a bookshelf that even has a few books on it – old and weathered tomes on flora and fauna of this part of the world and even a few fictional stories.

She wanders up the stairs into the bedroom to find the fireplace in there lit as well, and a small oil lamp sitting on a side table. The bed is smaller than what she is used to, less extravagant, but it is beautiful all the same. It appears to be hand carved from a light wood, swirls and symbols etched into the small posts at the head and foot of the bed. The bedspread is floral as well, though different from the cushions on the sofa it’s still a beautiful print.

She wanders to the wardrobe on the other side of the bed and opens it to find it filled with robes. They are unlike any of the fashionable robes she had in the palace, but they are radiant in their own way. Best of all, they are clean and untorn.

Opting for comfort for the day that is winding to a close, she chooses the night gown, wrapping the soft simple robe to her body. She spends many minutes simply brushing out her hair, getting all of the knots and tangles that have formed over the past few days of running. It is not easy and by the end, the brush is covered in hair.

But her hair is brushed, and her clothes are clean, and she is exhausted. This place is strange, and she is alone. Before a few days ago she had never really been alone. There had always been people around her – servants, her mother, her sister, knights, nobles…. It is not a terrible thing, she doesn’t think, but it is not good either. She is alone because her mother wants to kill her, because another kingdom demands it due to their supposed honor. It’s ridiculous and sad and terrifying.

She lies back in the bed and looks up to the ceiling. As strange and scary this entire thing has been, she thinks she’s at least temporarily safe. Safer here at least than at the palace. Adannar seems kind, if odd and exceptionally powerful. He seems to be bound to a code of hospitality that obligates him to see to her needs, but she is unfamiliar with this code. Hospitality is expected back home but so is a certain amount of distance and an “accomplish what you can on you own” attitude.

He returns home feeling wonderful despite the lies. It has been so long since he’s had someone new to talk to. But then appears Serahlin, in her torn robes and her need to hide from whatever she is fleeing. And he is happy to give her shelter! His little creatures will also be useful in monitoring whatever comes in to make sure she’s safe. Not that he knows what she’s running from, but still, he will make the effort.

He hasn’t felt this good in a long time. A lovely energy fills him, and he spends it cleaning his workshop. He gets only a portion through cleaning before collapsing onto a different pile of pillows and blankets, his energy leaving him in a rush. Still, he’s happy to have accomplished even a small piece. His sleeping mind is less aware of the Dreaming this time, truly asleep and unaware, just…drifting through the Dreaming like he ought to be.

When he wakes, it is to a golden sun rising above the mountains. There are birds chirping and the whir of his creations to greet him. Dragons don’t really smile, mostly for aesthetic reasons and it never quite feels like smiling to bare teeth this large. But if dragons did smile, he would.

He digs into his stash of food and chomps down on cured meats. He rather dislikes eating as an elf, he never feels…full. He thinks the size equivalent would be to be starving as an elf and only enthusiastically given crumbs. Crumbs. He is not the biggest dragon, but he is big enough to need a full-grown deer in the morning, and a one of the large mollusks in the nearby ocean in the evening, supplemented with snacks through the day. He once ate an entire cheese wheel which is apparently even a bad idea for a dragon.

After eating his fill, he packs up a basket full of breakfast items. Then he takes to the sky and flies toward the small cottage west of his mountain. Flying after eating may not be the smartest thing, but there is a lot to do today, lots to teach and show her if he is going to help her successfully live away from her old life. And he wants to help, he realizes.

He lands in a grove close to her cottage, but far enough away for her to not see him transform. She doesn’t…she’s not ready for that piece of her world to come crashing down.

What do you mean dragons aren’t evil fire-breathing creatures bent on stealing beautiful people and doing terrible things to them?

Oh yes, Serahlin, dragons are quite nice, we enjoy chess more than raping and pillaging. Well, most. There are some who are vile, but that’s how it is for elves. I don’t judge your entire race on the dragon slayers who spread false propaganda about my people, so please don’t judge my entire people on a few bad eggs.

He snorts to himself. Bad eggs! Like how some hatch!

Back in his elf form, he shrugs a different robe closer to himself. It’s russet colored, to compliment the gold in his hair. He feels like it’s only right to look nice for proper ladies like Serahlin.

He should bring her more clothes, she looks like she enjoys clothes, fine ones. He can understand that, she is radiantly beautiful and anything that touches her ought to be just as stunning. It’s only right.

The forest is beautiful this morning, the leaves are perking up in the early sun, drops of dew melting off the grass. Is it always this beautiful this early? He can’t remember the last time he was up so soon.

The cottage is as he left it, peaceful. The horse she rode here is still tied to that tree, all the grass pulled up around him. Poor thing must be hungry. Carefully, Adannar approaches him, unties him, and guides him to a lush spot where there’s grass, a bush, and a tree to nibble on. There are certain perks to being a dragon, especially when you’ve lived in one region for so long. The territory begins to react to you and your magic. All he has to do to replenish the grass the horse has eaten is wave a hand and encourage life to grow and little grass spouts rise to poke out of the dirt.

The window on the second story of the cottage opens and a familiar face pokes out of it, sleep still on her face. She rubs at her face then squints down at him.

“Adannar?”

“Good morning, Serahlin!” He calls up to her. She leans on the window sill, her night’s braid, all frayed from sleep falling over her shoulder.

“Is there an enchantment on the house for good sleep?” She asks, voice all husky.

He chuckles, “No, but I am glad your sleep was good. I bring breakfast!” He raises the basket and she nods, gesturing for him to come inside. He waits several minutes before she descends from above wearing a cream-colored dress and forest green over-robe. Her hair is up in a high braided bun and he has to remember to think for a moment.

“The clothes you have are unlike anything I’ve seen, how did you come upon them?” She asks.

Oh. The clothes are out of date, which he should have expected, he hasn’t done anything with the wardrobe in…many, many years. He swallows and shrugs.

“I made some of them, many were…found. This forest is large and home to many ruins, magical ruins that tend to preserve old remnants, like these clothes.” Not a complete lie. There are many ruins. There is the Glass Tower to the north and the Glade Keep ruins east of that. And south of Adannar’s mountain is ruin by the sea where wyverns like to live.

Serahlin glances down at her clothes then back up at Adannar, “These are…vintage?”

“You do them lovely justice. Clothes want to be worn, especially finery like this. They are well made, simply as you said, vintage.”

She raises a brow at him, skeptical for a moment before smiling small.

“You are right, clothes like to be worn, and there is no court to judge what I am wearing. So, what is for breakfast?” They make their way to the table close to the small kitchen. He places the basket on the table and removes bread, a grapefruit, and a couple of eggs along with a pan.

“I can cook up the eggs while you eat what you like of the bread and fruit,” he offers. She nods while he moves to the fire and begins to fry the eggs. He is no chef, but he can fry a mean over medium egg. In minutes, he’s back at the table, sliding the eggs onto her plate and fishing a fork out of the basket.

“Why are you being so kind to me?” She asks softly after a moment of staring at the eggs.

Adannar blinks and smiles, “People ought to be kind to other people, don’t you think?” The kingdom to the west must be so cold for her to not expect basic kindness from a stranger. Though…this may not be basic, he is bringing her breakfast and making her cottage livable. But still, she doesn’t expect kindness, he can see it in her hesitations and small puffs of surprise every time he does something for her.

“I do think that, yes, but it is so rarely taken to heart so truly as you have done. I am grateful, so very grateful, I am merely surprised at how freely the kindness is given. Unless, it’s not free,” she says the last bit on a worried note, her brows crinkling slightly in the middle.

“Free! Yes, free. I am kind to you because it is the right thing to do, because I want to be. And you are free to refuse anything I offer.” He pulls his hands into his lap and tries to make himself smaller, less intimidating. He really doesn’t know if his size is considered intimidating for elves. He hopes it isn’t intimidating at least, he’s taller than Serahlin, broader too. He knows he’s not small, but he’s seen other elves, mostly dragon slayers, who have been bigger, he thinks, than his elven form. But the point is that he doesn’t want her to feel intimidated to accept anything he offers.

Serahlin tilts her head and looks down at the fried eggs. She takes a fork and begins to eat, neat as she was yesterday.

“These are delicious, thank you. Please help yourself as well!” She pushes the basket towards him and he…should eat something, to be polite. He cuts the grapefruit in half and uses one of those little serrated spoons and slowly works on half of the grapefruit. It is very citrusy, and it tickles his tongue, makes his lips thing, but it’s tasty, just…small.

Serahlin seems to be enjoying the food, which is more important anyways. When she finishes her breakfast, he suggests teaching her how to look for foods around the cottage. They gather berries and he shows her how to catch a rabbit. They cook the hare for lunch and in the afternoon,  he decides to build a chicken coop for her. He explains the processes of building it and she surprises him by rolling up her sleeves and helping him build the coop, or at least the frame. Her soft hands are not strong or gifted with the craft, but she is tenacious and determined. He is gentle with his instruction, showing her how to tie the ends up together, how to drive nails into the wood so that the wood doesn’t splinter.

It won’t be ready for chickens for two more days, he estimates, but it’s a good start. He chops some wood for her and she insists on watching to learn. Her determination to be self sufficient is admirable, and she is a quick learner! He has her hold the axe to feel the weight, and he even has her swing it a couple of times.

By the end of the day, she is so tired she flops with an uncharacteristic lack of grace onto the sofa. Her bun is askew, her dress and over robe are dirt smeared and her hands are red and cut from the day’s work. But she never complained; a noble woman who probably has not done any of what she did today, didn’t complain, even with her raw, blistered hands.

Adannar kneels before her and gently takes her hands in his. He sucks in a breath and exhales slowly, letting his healing magic fall over her hands, healing them. She looks down at him, sweet shock on her face.

“You know healing magic?”

He smiles and nods, folding her hands back into her lap, “I make those creatures and in order to do that I need to have at least some knowledge in healing. There will probably be lingering soreness but the blisters and the scrapes I can heal.”

She pauses for a long time, her expression inscrutable before she looks down at her hands, “All day I have been working to learn from you to be independent. And yet at the end of the day, here you are, doing everything for me.”

He blinks, trying to understand, “You are learning. When…when you were a little baby, your parents did all the talking and while they did that, you learned, and eventually you learned how to talk as well. Learning takes time, and I am happy to teach.” If he sounds odd, it’s the desperation. He wants her to stay, but he doesn’t want to guilt her, so he doesn’t say that if he wasn’t here teaching her how to do all these things, he’d be in his workshop, alone.

Her expression turns soft and her cheeks turn pink. He stands up and sets about getting her supper ready. He’s beginning to hunger himself, spending the day shifted and doing manual labor has exhausted him past what he is used to. His creatures had brought a basket full of food earlier for her supper, all it needs is to be warmed and it will be ready. The chicken is set to warm over the fire, next to the kettle which he takes off to make some calming tea.

Once, this wouldn’t be so unusual. Scholars and draconologists would come by and sit with him, speak with him on all sorts of matters. He’d cook for them, sometimes even as a dragon. Once upon a time, he wasn’t so lonely, and maybe he won’t be, not if Serahlin is here. Or at least…he won’t be lonely for at least a little bit. And he’ll make sure to enjoy her company, even if it’s temporary.

When he returns to her to give her the tea, she’s slumped over the edge of the sofa, sound asleep. It seems that she doesn’t need the tea, after all.

Adannar sets the tea aside and takes her carefully into his arms. She shifts some, a sleepy “what?” floating up from her lips but he urges her back to sleep as he carries her upstairs and lays her in the bed. He cleans up and returns to his lair, happier than he has felt in decades.

**

Serahlin doesn’t remember how she got to bed. The last thing she remembers is…Adannar’s smile and the world fading into the Dreaming. She drifted away, exhausted from the day’s activities. Her body aches from the work, but it’s good. In the palace, things like food and warmth were always taken care of for her. She never had to work for those things like most people in the kingdom. It separated her from them and it made her dependent on the staff of the castle.

But still, she doesn’t remember getting into bed. Which means that she was taken to bed, and there is only one person who could have taken her to bed. It may be an irrational fear, but she runs her hands over her body and clothes, checking. Nothing is amiss, and her heart settles. She ought to know better, falling asleep in odd places at the palace was never wise. There were mother’s spies, untrusted diplomats and guards…any number of people who would love to see her…removed disgracefully through equally disgraceful and wrong means.

But Adannar is nothing like the people in the palace. He is kind, warm, the kind of man who breathes magic on her hands and heals them because he doesn’t want her to hurt.

She rises from her bed and brushes out her hair…to find it greasy and disgusting. Oh what she would give for a bath.

Her thoughts must have summoned him, because Serahlin hears the rustling she heard yesterday morning. She pokes her head outside the window to see him standing below, wreathed in the glow of the morning sun.

“Good morning!” He calls.

“Good morning, to you as well. I don’t suppose you have a place where I can bathe?”

He startles and nods quickly, “I am so sorry! How remiss of me to forget something so vital. Yes, of course. There is a room on the side of the cottage, at the back, I’ll have it filled with a tub and water for you quickly!”

“Oh if there is a well or a pump or something, you can show me how to do it, I don’t want to put you out,” she says. He waves her off and she can see his broad smile even from her position and sleepy eyes.

“Don’t worry! But if you are interested, I will show you how to use the well.” She smiles down at him before closing the window and putting her hair up, so he doesn’t see how awful it is. Unfortunately, she has no perfumes to disguise the smell most likely emanating from her, how embarrassing.

She goes downstairs and outside, joining Adannar by the side of the cottage. He has a bucket in one hand, the other gestures for her to follow him. The well is around the back of the cottage, behind a shrubbery that Adannar contemplates.

“This was not here the last time I was here,” he says, holding a hand out to the plant. It’s a prickly green…thing. Plants were never something that captured her interest, but he seems very interested in this seemingly plain shrub.

“The well, Adannar? The shrub can be removed later.”

“What? Remove it? No, no need, I was just…sometimes I get caught up. The well! Right, it’s here.” They move around the bush to the well. He attaches the bucket to a hook, then pulls on the ropes, lowering the bucket down. She hears a splash and then Adannar is tugging the rope in the opposite direction. His sleeves fall back, revealing his arms. Muscular arms. She doesn’t know why she wouldn’t have expected that, just…his robes are very billowy and obscure his form, so unlike the clothing she is accustomed to.

Thankfully, the blush is faint and quick and she helps him bring the full bucket over the edge of the well, hauling it back to the cottage. He leads her into a side room only accessible from the outside where an iron tub waits. They empty the bucket, then return to the well.

It takes several trips to fill the tub to a sufficient height, and she makes one last trip to have a spare bucket for washing her hair. A mechanical heron flies down and hands her a basket full of bathing oils and soaps, all beautifully, if subtly, scented.

Adannar runs his hand across the face of the tub, activating a warming rune. In minutes, steam rises from the tub and Adannar leaves her to the bath.

When she steps into the old tub, she sighs. It seems no matter what the tub is made from, or how the water was gathered, or who drew the bath, baths are and always be wonderful things. The tension is slowly worked out of her body as the heat sinks into her.

Serahlin lingers in the bath, luxuriating in it. She washes her hair and feels immediate relief. When she leaves the bath, most likely more than an hour later, she is scrubbed almost raw, but she is radiant and clean.

She dons the yellow dress in the wardrobe, and lets her hair hang low and wet, but she doesn’t care. For the first time in…ever, she doesn’t care. Adannar’s smile is just as broad, just as happy to see her, face reddened from the steam and the soap, hair undone, and who knows how fashionable this dress is.

“You look much happier!”

“I feel much better, thank you. Where did you get those soaps and oils?”

He blushes and shrugs, “I have many hobbies.”

“Your hobbies are very useful, though I suppose necessity breeds a willingness to do. They were very nice, thank you.”

He inclines his head before gesturing to the table, where there is a spread of food. He seems intent on feeding her again, it seems. Though she’s not complaining by ay means! He is being so good, so good that she almost wants him to stop because she feels terrible. Terrible for being so useless and dependent on his hospitality and knowledge. Back home, it would be expected she would at the very least pay him, but she’s not back at home and she doesn’t have any money so…she feels terrible instead.

They eat breakfast, or rather brunch by this point, together then head back out into the woods. He has her hold a bow and sets up targets on trees. Finally, something she has some familiarity with! She had lessons as a girl, basic archery lessons along with basic swordplay. But even with her basic archery skills, she doesn’t hit the targets straight on, she’s off and it requires gentle correcting on Adannar’s part.

After archery lessons come foraging lessons. He directs her to what appears to be remnants of an old apple orchard, now overgrown with other trees. They’re ungroomed, and the apples are ripe for picking, so they pick many.

The basket is filled with mostly apples by afternoon, so they return back to the cottage. She eats an apple while Adannar prepares the chicken the chicken they were going to eat last night.

“We should finish the chicken coup tomorrow, and then I can bring chickens! They’re a little smelly, fair warning,” he says, bringing her a plate.

She chuckles, “The wood is smellier than what I am accustomed to, I will adjust to the chickens.”

“I am glad that you are adjusting, and so gracefully as well.”

“I see no point in making a fuss about doing things that must be done. I am here, I must learn how to survive, expecting it to be like…like where I am from is irrational and impractical.” She enjoys frivolity, a good bit of it, but she is not without rational thought and an extreme appreciation for practical things. Elvara was always the one complaining about learning even some basics, like self-defense swordplay and the little bit of archery instruction they received. She was such a frivolous, self-centered, oblivious person. And despite everything, Serahlin misses her, misses her assertions that everything would turn out well because it had to. It was blind optimism fueled by self-centric thinking, but sometimes it helped. Serahlin would get caught in the details, Elvara was more of a big picture person, happy to leave the details to people who actually cared about them.

Elvara would not have survived this, but is she surviving the palace right now? Everything Serahlin learned was in the details, all the hints to what was going on…. But maybe it was her knowledge that put a target on her back to begin with, and maybe Elvara’s obliviousness can keep her safe enough to survive. How long can that keep her alive though?

How long can Serahlin stay here and run from the storm? How can she return with…nothing but herself? It’s not enough, she’s lucky to be alive at all.

“Serahlin? Is everything all right?” Adannar’s voice rouses her from her thoughts and she blink away the memories of her sister and the palace. And the knight.

“Oh, yes, my apologies. My mind wandered for a moment.” She reaches for the wine and takes a generous sip. Adannar’s expression softens.

“I understand, I am prone to that as well. Do you wish to talk about whatever is on your mind?” His tone is soft, understanding, and yet the question is direct.

She shakes her head slightly, “No, but thank you for your concern. I…I think I am going to retire for the evening, thank you for everything,” she says, rising from the table. Adannar nods and stands with her.

“Good night, I hope your thoughts turn for the better,” he says, cheerful, happy even, as he packs up the remains of dinner. She walks him out and bids him a good night before walking upstairs and changing into her night clothes.

Elvara is only three years younger than her. It’s an unheard-of age difference, most are only allowed to have multiple children after waiting…almost an entire century. But no, their mother decided that she wanted another baby, little Serahlin was…well, she wanted another baby, so she had one. It was a ridiculous abuse of power and prestige. Many believed it would either bring Serahlin and Elvara closer, or it would tear them apart.

Managing doesn’t bring joy, but it does bring other things – like rank and money to do things he does take joy in. It lets him commission artists whom he admires and wear fine garments. He likes the garments and he enjoys the art. His apartment is adequately sized and while his work does not…stimulate him like he would like, it isn’t entirely bad. Complaining about managerial work also seems very impolite considering there are far many worse jobs in the empire.

His work is fine. Just…fine. It’s work.

Ileth discovers baking mostly on a whim. He is in one of the more middling living districts of one of Sylaise’s cities when he sees that a baker is offering a class on baking. It’s really not much to pay and the bakery smells so wondrous that he spends the money eagerly. He attends the class and that is when he finds the joy. It is the best joy he has felt in a very long time.

He pays for another class. And another.

The baker learns his name very quickly. During the seventh class he attends, the baker comes over to check the small cakes Ileth is making.

“These are perfect. Have you been practicing, Ileth?” She asks. Ileth blushes and can’t hide his bashful smile.

“I enjoy it immensely. My brother is only twelve and he enjoys all the treats I can make now.”

The baker, Savrindra, nods and watches him work for a moment before shaking her head.

“You are wasted in management in Arlathan,” she states. He stutters for a moment before hearing the compliment for what it is.

“Th-thank you?”

Savrinda smiles and returns to her teaching station up front. The class finishes a few hours later and they all dine on their fine work for the day.

“Stay a moment, Ileth?” Savrinda asks as the rest of the students begin to file out to the street.

“Yes? Is there an issue?”

“Do you know why I started offering these classes?”

“…To create a new and fun way to bring in extra money?” He suggests and she laughs.

“True, but the biggest reason was to find an apprentice. The past few apprentices I’ve had have been good, but I have not seen someone who, as you said, enjoys it immensely.”

His eyes widen at what she is implying.

“You are truly wasted managing in Arlathan. Consider this an invitation to apprentice with me, here in Samihlan. And before you argue the drop in status, please consider that there is more to life than status. Who is living the better life? An unhappy manager in Arlathan, adorned in pretty robes as a consolation prize for his inadequate life – or a happy baker in Samihlan who gets to do something he loves every day.”

“I…that is…hm,” he struggles for words. He’s only been fully back to work for two years. Tonlen’s first decade had required help and he had gotten to bake and cook and do things he had not known he enjoyed so much. Going back to work had been…like a balloon deflating.

“You have certainly given me something to think about. Thank you, Savrinda, this is…truly a most kind offer.”

Savrinda nods, “Take your time to think it over. Talk to your family, particularly your father.”

He laughs at that, “You know exactly what he will say.”

“I know! That’s why I’m telling you to talk to him. He’s wise, that one. Life is not life without joy. You deserve to love what you do, Ileth, and you bake so well.”

He thanks her more before leaving and setting to think. He really could be a baker? Memae has always wanted him to be in management, the rank is good and affords protections that other occupations don’t. He knows that the artisans are unfortunately closer to the sacrificial block than others.

But should he truly let that fear dictate him denying what he loves to do?

“You should do it,” Papa says without hesitation over dinner.

Memae is very quiet however, still in her way that signals distaste or internal conflict.

“I do enjoy it so much more than what I currently do.”

“That’s wonderful! I am so happy for you!”

“You will be farther away, little one,” Memae says softly, “and bakers are not ranked as you are now. You would have to give things up, change your lifestyle.”

“Perhaps a change in lifestyle is called for,” Ileth muses.

“Do I truly need fancy robes or to have my apartment filled with art that only signals that I am of a status to commission? What am I truly getting out of that?”

She does not need to answer security, it hangs in the air between them all. Papa turns to her and takes her hand.

“Vhenan, our son is saying he has found what brings him happiness. And managers that do not find joy in what they do, pride in what they do…they do not remain there for long. Ileth has the opportunity to choose how he leaves, that is a blessing that not all are granted.”

Memae takes a deep breath and clasps Papa’s hand back, “I know, but it is a mother’s prerogative to worry. Ileth, I want you to be happy, and you are truly a spectacular baker. Go, with our blessing. I am decorating your new apartment in Samihlan, though, do not even try to dissuade me from this.”