#thenvunin

The weekend passes and Thenvunin is still adjusting to his new home. Without the constant abuse and draining, it must be quite the change. Good change, of course, but change nonetheless, and that takes time to adjust. 

In the days following Stalking’s demise, Serahlin and Selene struggle with the debilitating effects of magical exhaustion. It is all they can do to ensure the boys are fed and given proper explanations about Thenvunin. 

“This is Thenvunin, he is going to be staying with us for awhile,” Serahlin said softly to Ileth while he stared at the new man standing awkwardly in the foyer. Ileth cocked his head, bright, dual colored eyes watching Thenvunin stand perhaps where Darris once stood. 

“Why?” Ileth asked.

“He needs help and a home - and he’s a witch without a coven. When that happens, and we are in a position to have another person in our coven, we help. Thenvunin needs a coven, and we can help.” 

Her little boy looked at her and then at Thenvunin. And then he smiled, a top and bottom tooth both missing, “What’s your familiar? I don’t have one ye’.” 

Darevas was similarly excited about the new addition, though Felasel was much more wary. Even so, Selene chose wisely to spend the weekend at Serahlin’s. With the moon waning into a new moon and her magical exhaustion, it was safest for everyone to remain close.

The boys thankfully largely entertained themselves with their games in the backyard. Thenvunin even played with them every now and then, keeping a rousing game of Hide and Seek going. He spoke to them, read to them, did yoga with them of all things! 

Serahlin is immensely grateful she can trust Thenvunin with the boys while her and Selene sleep through the worst of the exhaustion. Monday comes and they drop the boys off at school to return home for more sleep. Selene curls up on a fainting couch in the library while Serahlin retires to the conservatory to let the warmth of the sun and the inherent magicks of the plants infuse her sleep with regenerative auras. 

The house is so still like this, with three slumbering witches. Thenvunin has his own recuperating to do, even if he still hates having to sleep so much after sleeping for days at a time while Stalking fed from him. 

They all rouse for lunch, then lounge some more. They would look quite lazy to the outsider, but really - magical exhaustion is not to be over exaggerated. Serahlin feels...cut off, numb, yet overly sensitive to every little thing around. She feels helpless in a way that reminds her entirely too much when Darris had her book. 

Not long after lunch, they have to fetch the children. Serahlin volunteers to pick the boys up since Selene is considerably more exhausted given her immense power expenditure. It’s a bit shocking, even, that Felasel and Darevas aren’t exhausted even a little. Selene tapped into both of their magicks, honed them so that she could obliterate Stalking. While the boys don’t have their magic yet, they’re still connected to it, can feel it when it’s been expended. 

But when the boys bound into her car, excitedly talking about their days, she knows they’re not feeling any negative effects of their mama’s fight with a vicious warlock. For which she thanks the gods. 

“Memae! Memae!” Ileth chatters, leaning as forward as possible in his booster seat. 

“Yes, da’len?”

“Mr. Paenir said to uh, to uh, to tell you about the fair!” 

“There’s a fair?” A pit forms in her stomach at the mention of the school function. It sounds oddly familiar -

“It’s tomorrow!”

Somehow, Serahlin prevents the groan that threatens to come out of her. The boys will want to go and worse, Serahlin and Selene will be expected to attend this function. And worst of all, she thinks she may even signed up to prepare a dish for the fair. She probably signed up to make a traditional Orlesian Dalish meal, which really translates into a staple of her home coven’s. 

They reach her home, the boys pile out of the car and into the house, dropping their bags in the mudroom before dashing to the kitchen. Ileth’s appetite has been on an upswing with only a month to go before his birthday. Like mortal children in the middle of a growth spurt, Ileth’s body is preparing itself to receive his magic by having him gain weight to handle the transition. It’s a lot to handle and he’ll need the extra energy to process it all. 

Darevas and Felasel are farther from their transitions but it seems like their appetites are taking on a premature upswing - that or they are following Ileth. They collectively raid the pantry, pulling out snacks and juice boxes. 

“Mama!” Darevas yells before Serahlin shushes him.

“Sweetie, your mama is very tired, remember? Let’s go into the play room,” where it’s nice and warded against sound if she wills it. Quickly and as quietly as possible, Serahlin ushers the boys into the room off of the kitchen, on the opposite end from the conservatory. She clicks the door closed and pricks her finger, bringing a drop of blood to the surface before pressing her finger to a symbol next to the light switch. The magic tugs at her and her ears ring at the idiocy of using magic so close to being drained so thoroughly. But the enchantment zings to life, warding the sound from escaping the room.

The boys romp around, eating their snacks, talking in fast, child speech that is difficult for her to follow with the splitting headache that is now throbbing between her ears. 

While the boys keep themselves occupied, Serahlin goes through her phone, searching for any mention of a fair -

There! The International Fair, and she did indeed sign up to make a traditional dish. If only she was blessed with foresight! How else was she supposed to know this would be at a time where the last thing she wants to be doing is slaving away in a kitchen for a bunch of elementary schoolers and their parents? With the PTA the way it is, she can’t back out either, she’ll be labeled as a flake and Ileth will bear the consequences when he’s not invited to birthday parties or sleepovers or what have you. Really, the mortal mothers in this town can be quite the exclusive and vindictive lot. That’s a lot coming from a witch.

She will...make bread, she thinks. An easy flatbread her mamae used to make. The bread machine can take care of making the dough, which just leaves the kneading and baking. Cut it up into little squares with some store-bought dip on the side, and she should be good to go. 

“Ileth, baby,” she calls.

“Huh?”

“Do you want to help me bake tonight?” She asks, smiling as a great grin spread across his face. His fascination with baking started very young - she was making brownies when he was coming up on two and he sat with her the entire time. She let him taste the batter and they would check up on the brownies, looking through the little window on the oven. The process delighted him almost as much as eating them later. Ever since, whenever she bakes, she has him help.

Her son’s face lights up and he nods with great enthusiasm, “Yeah! What’re we making?” 

“Dalish bread, da’len.”

She’ll need to dig up the recipe from one of the old books in the attic. A finding spell should help, if she can harness enough focus and energy for it. Instead, Serahlin clicks her tongue, calling Risin to her.

Moments later, the cat slinks through the cracked door.

“Yes?”

“I need a book from the attic, older, it has a floral pattern on it - one of the scrapbooks I brought with me from Orlais. You know, the one where I put all the recipes?” She smiles at her familiar who, if he were humanoid, would lift a single brow in either amusement or annoyance. Perhaps both. 

“Ah, the one where you wrote in the margins about that girl - what was her name?”

“Risin, I just need -

“Lara! I will find you the Lara Book.” And with that, the cat disappears into the shadows, using her old infatuation to locate the book. She rolls her eyes then rubs at her temples, trying fruitlessly to will away her headache. These events are always at the worst times. Once, there was a recital the day after the full moon. Her poor baby had been so exhausted he forgot his steps. 

This time around, Serahlin is the one exhausted as she eventually leaves the kids to the playroom while she makes dinner. Making dinner for six people when she is used to cooking for only three is a task even when she isn’t magically exhausted. She could order something, but they did that yesterday and the day before that. The babies at least deserve better than meal after meal of overly processed and salted food. A chicken tortellini bake is easy enough to make anyways. The hassle comes in when she goes to set the table and can’t just float the plates out of the cabinet and onto the table. Ugh. 

Serahlin sets the table as the mortals do and by the time she pulls the bake out of the oven, Selene and Thenvunin both come slinking into the dining room. 

“Fetch the boys, would you?” Serahlin asks as she sets the bake on the table and begins to dish. Selene rises with a yawn and five minutes later she returns with three eager, hungry five-year-olds. 

Even though cooking for so many more people is more taxing than what she has become accustomed to, it feels right. Growing up in a coven, group meals are expected and a time honored tradition. She hadn’t realized how much she missed this part of being part of a coven. Another thing Darris took from her, and took from Ileth as well. 

“Mama, the international fair is tomorrow! Can you come? Pleeeeaase??” Darevas asks halfway through dinner, cheeks still stuffed with tortellini. 

Shock and realization flashes across Selene’s face, “That is tomorrow, isn’t it.” Her voice trails off and Serahlin can see the dark shadow of exhaustion cross her features. “I can...make...halla sugar cookies.”

“Mamaaa!”

“Those are cultural, dear, every clan makes halla cookies. I have the cookie cutter mold in the kitchen. We should have all of the ingredients in the pantry.” By the end of tomorrow, Serahlin will surely collapse. They all will. The children will be fine, of course, that’s how it goes - the parents collapse while the children run about, unaffected and unknowing of the great their parents go through to ensure they can continue to run around unaffected. 

Selene rubs her face and nods. Thenvunin looks around and takes a deep breath.

“I will help. Should I watch the boys or would you rather me cook?” He asks and Serahlin smiles at him, so grateful. 

“The boys needs baths and then they are to be put to bed. They should all know by now how to bathe themselves, you just need to act a traffic director. They each get one story,” Serahlin says, staring at each boy. They’re grinning like they’ve won the lottery with a new person putting them to bed. 

Thenvunin accepts his task and works about getting the boys upstairs. There’s giggling and running, and while Selene and Serahlin are making their respective dishes, a naked, soapy Darevas runs through the kitchen. He laughs as if it’s the grandest thing in the world to be naked and escaping from bed time. A moment later, Thenvunin comes running after him, a giggling Ileth under one arm.

“Darevas! It’s time for PJ’s!” 

“I’m naked!” He laughs, speeding through the downstairs while a frantic Thenvunin chases after him with his Finding Nemo pajamas. Selene stops over her dough that she is just now cutting into halla shapes. She leans over the counter, biting her lip as her shoulders begin to shake. Distorted laughter makes it past her lips and it’s as if the damn breaks. Laughter bubbles up and she laughs and laughs, so much that she turns and slides to the ground.

“Oh you…” giggles escape Serahlin as Selene’s laughter catches, “stop that!” She says but she’s lost to the laughter, her chest heaving as she finds her legs unable to completely support her. She staggers to the floor next to Selene and her sides ache. 

“Mama? What are you laughing at?” Darevas asks and that just makes Selene laugh harder. She gestures for him and he comes to her, naked and wet from his bath but she takes him in her arms and promptly tickles him, his laughter joining theirs. 

What a sight they must be, Serahlin thinks. Two grown women laughing so hard they are near tears, one of them holding a laughing child, his wet hair whipping around, getting everything wet. 

What a wonderful sight, she thinks. As absurd and terrible things have been...they’re here, and they can laugh. Yes, the laughter is the kind induced by exhaustion so strong everything seems absurd and funny. The laughter hurts, but the kind of hurt that means they’re still alive and able to laugh. 

Thenvunin rushes in and he ends up taking Darevas back upstairs for bedtime, which he is unfortunately entirely too riled for now. Thenvunin looks at Serahlin and Selene curiously, but they wave him off to tend to the children while they attempt to gather themselves.

Several minutes pass before laughter dies down to heavy breathing. Selene’s white hair is plastered to her forehead and she looks over at Serahlin, green eyes bright with laughter and lined with exhausiton.

“We killed our husbands,” she whispers, “and a fucking warlock.”

“We killed our husbands and a fucking warlock,” Serahlin repeats. 

Selene runs a hand down her face, shaking her head, “What have we become? Is this what our life is now?”

“What a life that would be.”

“All I ever wanted was to be free of it, free of him, free of…expectation, I guess. Now look at me, I killed my husband and a warlock and I have two kids,” she says, gaze lifting up to the ceiling before coming down to Serahlin’s again, “I don’t think I’d change it. Well, the horrible years with Haelir, yes.”

“But then you wouldn’t have the boys,” Serahlin whispers, but she gets it. Would she be able to take back her time with Darris and not have Ileth? It’s...as bad as Darris was, what he did to her and to Ileth in turn, he did make Ileth happen. And she loves her son so much. She can see herself without Darris, but also without Ileth, and it’s so hard to say if she prefers it. It’s useless to think about, really. She has Ileth, she had Darris - life takes and it gives, it’s all in the balance.

Selene pauses, her lips thinning, “Right,” she whispers. 

“If it helps, I do not anticipate killing anyone else.”

“Good.”

They sit there for several more minutes, listening to the noises of the house and the night creatures beginning their night songs of croaking and cricketting. They hear the slight murmur of Thenvunin reading to the boys and Darevas every now and then hopping up on the bed. 

Eventually they rise and finish tending to their task of making bread and cookies. Over an hour later, the cookies and the small pieces of flatbread are finished cooling. They’re shuffled into large tins they will take to the fair tomorrow. They both have a batch to do tomorrow as well before they’re called in to help set up. 

They crawl into their beds close to midnight, collapsing into a dead sleep. 

**

The next day comes early. The boys’ school for some reason mandates the children be at school by 7:45am which means parents must be up and about with small children at a horrendous hour. 

Serahlin doesn’t bother to do more for herself than pile her hair into a messy bun atop her head and don some athleisure wear. She leaves her room and heads to Ileth’s room to begin the process of rousing them and coaxing them to dress. She turns and sees a tired Thenvunin, dressed in a robe and fluffy slippers, hair still up in curlers, padding down the hall.

“Did my alarm wake you?” She asks and he nods while yawning.

“It’s fine, I can help.” He gestures to the door and Serahlin nods before heading downstairs to make some quick lunches. She whips up three PB&J sandwiches, puts apple slices in each pack, as well as a juice box and some carrot sticks, and finally a cookie. She’d like to be able to write a note for each of them, but they come downstairs before she had enough time. Felasel looks mopey and stern to be awakened so early, so she hands him the first muffin. 

“Good morning, darlings,” she says, bending down to give them each a kiss and a muffin.

“G’morning, memae.”

“Goo’morning, auntie Serahlin.”

Thenvunin passes her and in a moment of auto-pilot, she too kisses his cheek and hands him a muffin. They both stop for a second before moving forward. They’re tired, they’re adults. It’s not like she stuck her hand down his pants. 

They all pile into her car then drive over to the school.

**

Selene watches the car pull out of the driveway and head down the road. She has approximately forty-five minutes to do what she needs to do.  She has to get to the bottom of this. 

A pit has settled itself in her stomach and voices whisper in the back of her head. The shadows in the house seem darker, the books call to her even more strongly and a deep hunger that cannot be alleviated has taken root in her gut. Some may say she’s possessed, but she knows that is not the case. 

Channeling her sons’ power did not exhaust like it should have. She is tired, yes, and her magic feels distant, but she can still feel their power. There are no bare hints or mere suggestions of what it is, but a regular pulsation of power that is more than concerning - it’s frightening. What will her children be inheriting? Because she knows this dark mass of power is not from her, which only leaves one reason.

The creature with whom she struck the bargain.

With Des’s help, she shutters the house, douses all of the candles Serahlin keeps lit. She takes to the attic with some of her own candles and a piece of chalk and an offering. She draws the large circular symbol on the floor, lies in the center and takes a breath.

This time she follows the dark threads she feels in her soul, a tether that connects to her to her children and to their sire. She doesn’t wait in the Fade, but walks along a path that she can now see - dark and winding, but also so intensely beautiful. Pages from untold books swirl around her, buoyed by eddies of purple currents of power. Eyes open and blink, watching her as she traverses this eerily beautiful landscape. Impossible black and blue trees wind into a sky of ocean, light filtering down in white gold bands. The path bends and her feet lift off the ground until she is floating in the air, white hair a cloud around her head. 

The thread ends here. He’s here, she can feel him.

“Show yourself!” She demands, her voice stronger than the trembling in her heart. The world vibrates and a pair of brilliant blue eyes snap open in front of her. 

“You sought me?” He asks and she swallows.

“Yes.”

“You wish to ask a question,” it’s a statement and question both. She nods but he speaks once more, “you fear you know the answer. What is your question?”

“Who, or what, are you?” She blurts, staring into the eyes, not sure if it’s better to hope or to suspect the worst. 

He’s a demon. Or worse. What’s worse than a demon?

“I am...not unlike you.” He says.

“Well, that’s helpful.”

“I am not a demon. That should be sufficient.”

“Except it’s not. I killed a warlock the other day - I stopped time. I feel you - you’re...what are you?” She demands again and she feels rather hears his sigh. 

“You wish my name.”

“I wish for your nature to know what to expect for my children.”

“Our children,” he corrects quickly, “I watch over them as well as I can. They are...amazing.”

“No argument there, will you answer me?”

“Will you love our children any less if I am...not what you desire?”

“No,” the answer is immediate, “I...couldn’t.”

“Truth. It’s been so long since I spoke my name.” The world shudders with him, his bright eyes closing only to open slowly as he speaks a single, life-altering word.

Seeing Inan with her clan peers is a bit of shock. He’s generally used to her being good natured but nervous and prone to anxiety. Kind but not someone he call sociable. That is until now at this little impromptu gathering of  many of the younger clan elves currently in the city. It’s about as raucous as you’d expect for a group of youths this large but there’s nothing untoward going on so tolerable to his sensibilities.

What’s the focus of his and Uthvir’s attention now is Inanallas who had been called away from their table about 2 hours ago by some friend and is now embroiled in leading some large group songs and play acting what is clearly very popular childhood tales to the delight of the crowd. The songs at the start had been the most jarring, He had absolutely no idea she could yell that loudly and wished he had not found out by her yelling obscenities at her fellows. It must be the drink— though he knows she hasn’t drunk enough to lose her senses so completely but— clearly it must just be that she’s extremely drunk. People are very different when inebriated that’s just normal.

The play acting is actually quite engaging, it’s not a quality production by any stretch of the imagination, but the stories are the tales that Inanallas and her peers where told as children, folk lore and such which is actually deeply interesting. Uthvir is going along with the crowd laughing and crowing with the lot. Honestly.

Inanallas seems to usually end up as a villain or something similar (which he finds offensive frankly, his spouse is not a villain!) and they do a very good job being an incredibly hammy villain, shifting to match the character, some of which he cannot help but note are quite attractive— not that she’s normally not, in fact, her main form is definitely more attractive than any of those. Definitely. His spouses are very attractive just like he is, they are all very good looking.

He takes a healthy swig of his wine.

They are all drunk by the time they make their way back to their apartments, not embarrassingly so but still. Inanallas is still in exceedingly high spirits leading the way as Uthvir endlessly goads them.

“I’m shocked, I hadn’t realized we’d married such a talent” They drawl wickedly.

Inan spins around and bows dramatically as they walk backwards.

“Why thank you! I pride myself on being a rank amateur thespian.”

“Amateur? No, I thought you scenery chewing was truly professional.”

He can’t help the burst of laughter at that apt jibe, but he quickly covers his mouth and works to contain the outburst. Inanallas wink at him roguishly and Thenvunin can feel his face flush from more than wine.

The mood is high when they get back and as comfortable as it as ever been between them all which is practically sublime after all the stress and terrible awkwardness of it all. Their conversation seems impossible to break the train of and they all end up still at chatting in the living room hours later and much more sober by the time he realizes how late it is and how he really should get to bed. He’s loathe to end this moment but he supposes someone among them has to be responsible, though it pains him to have to wear that mantle so frequently.

“I’m sorry to say but it is terribl—“ before he can finish he’s overcome by a yawn which he covers quickly with his sleeve. How embarrassing!

“Tired? Oh no wonder! Look at the time!”  Inan exclaims sympathetically, noticing the hour herself.

He nods. “It’s unfortunate we have to end such a wonderful night but we really should be to bed.”

“Oh? I don’t think it really has to end just now does it? Though I agree moving things to the bedroom is for the best.”

Thenvunin stares at Uthvir aghast. Honestly! The savage! If anyone here that should’ve been playing the villain it’s Uthvir not Inanallas! How typical of them to ruin a perfect night with their lewd lustful ways! His gaze snaps to poor virginal Inanallas who this must be traumatizing to only be even more horrified. They’re grinning at Uthvir with a look he’s categorized as ‘Inan is about to go along with Uthvir’s Terrible Plan’. He’s Doomed.

Before he can try to dissuade them (because of course he would) Inan has scooped him up as if he weighs nothing and his flush returns with a vengeance. A hot spike of embarrassing arousal pierces him and he works furiously to regain his composure. He is clings to them tightly—for balance! And focuses on the impropriety of it all and not how solid her arms are or the feel of her so close.

“ I— You! Put me down at once! This is— I swear—! You two are incorrigible! Even after all this you to still want to— to—!”

Uthvir chuckles as they open the door to his bedroom for Inanallas.

“Oh come now, I thought you just said were loathe to part with your beloved spouses? We’re simply remedying that.”

He huffs angrily but supposes it was bound to happen eventually. They are married and it was only a matter of time before they prevailed upon him thusly. He must simply stay strong and preform this more lewd duty of a husband.

Only, by the time Inan places him on his bed and topples on top of him, nuzzling his collarbone it’s clear that she at least is just as tired as he is. It’s no shock, they were the most active out of all of them. Looking again at Uthvir as they sit next to them even they too look a bit sleepy. It looks like the likelihood that they’ll be jointly ravishing him is quite low. He feels a bit put out— only that he has to continue to wait to get it over with. Obviously.

He cannot help flush further when Inanallas begins to undress him.

“W-what—?!” he gasps—demands.

“Well you can’t sleep in your fancy clothes can you?”

Once again he’s thrown for a loop, it must be part of some evil clan mind trick since he’s so throughly caught wrong footed that he’s practically wanton under he as she works, maneuvering him out of his dress. He notices with mounting horror has she shifts that he is definitely reacting and as she is straddling him she must certainly have noticed. But maybe she hasn’t as she doesn’t exclaim in shock or make some lascivious remark like Uthvir. Maybe she’s simply is so untainted she doesn’t even know how to tell? But then he’d be a monster for exposing her to something to lurid—

He’s distracted by the trail of kisses she leaves down his neck that seem to hit sensitive spots too well to be lucky that makes him rethink that.

Uthvir sits back down —Uthvir had left? With one of his nightgowns in hand— one of the red ones. Gods, red— Honestly the elf had no shame.

“Tell me Thenvunin,  would you like us to dress you as well?”

Thenvunin shoots up one of the hands on Inan’s thighs —when did those get there?— reflexively going to her back to keep her steady and safely to him.

“I am more than capable of dressing myself thank you!”

They raise their hands in mock defeat and offer him the offending garment.

He snatches it and Inan takes it as her cue to leave his lap and he instantly misses her weight. Without her body to obscure it, his reaction is in full view. Quickly he gets up and turns his back to them as he changes quickly in an attempt to preserve some of his dignity.

He can hear clothes flying and hitting the floor and he looks down at the growing pile of what’s clearly Inan’s clothes before looking at her in time to see her boots go flying. She haphazardly wrestles her pants off and throws them to the floor as well leaving her in only what could best be described as a kerchief held up by string and tiny panties. He stares openly for a moment as he now can very clearly see the full extent of her tattoos before his senses come back and he quickly returns his attention to the pile of clothes. He’d wonder how someone who wore so much could disrobe so quickly if it was clear she tore them off her like an animal.

He snaps back around at Uthvir’s growl of approval to them oggling Inanallas. Honestly! He returns to the bed and quickly slips under the covers for modesty, closer now he can keep an eye on that beast and make sure they do not try to take advantage of their spouse.

“Inanallas would you be a dear and help me out of my armor?”

“Yeah of course.”

She moves closer to Uthvir and he can see her back. He feels a jolt as somehow her back is even more covered than her front. He didn’t think that— Well it’s not as if— Tattoos can be quite artist even if her’s are quite brutish thought he would never say that were interesting to him—It’s doing things to him in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

He shifts the blankets.

Uthvir and Inan move quickly and soon Uthvir is out of all their many pieces which are set away much more neatly than Inan’s own articles. Inan comes and slips in beside him as Uthvir removes only what would be truly uncomfortable to sleep in before joining the two of them.

They sit up slowly, hair and nightgown fairly rumpled, and reach over into the drawer of their nightstand. Oisin has not quite had the courage to wear the scarf that Tonlen sent them yet, but they like to take it out and look at it a lot. To hold it in their hands. The fabric is smooth and slithery between their fingers, not beyond their station, but finer than a lot of clothing readily available in Daran.

They lift it to their face and brush it against their cheek briefly, letting out a sigh of deep contentment.

Their first courtship gift.

From their very first courtship.

There had been other things before. Fumblings. Awkward flirting and hasty liaisons that had never gone much farther than some sloppy kisses. Mostly because a lot of potential suitors had seemed reasonably intimidated by the size and prominence of their family, but also probably because Oisin is a little…odd.

They had been worried that Tonlen would notice the shift in their aura, and withdraw his interest, but he had not mentioned it while they were dancing. It seems impossible to think such a thing could have been overlooked. Perhaps he assumes that the change would be permanent, or that Oisin's shifts only ever happen infrequently.

They do tend to unnerve people sometimes, and they do not want Tonlen to think of them the way that those people do. That they are fickle and inconstant. That because part of their identity changes, the rest of them must change with it.

It is their first courtship, and they want it to be special. They want to believe Tonlen is special. That what he feels for them might be special, too.

Oisin tenses slightly at a suspicious rattling from one of the vents that channels warm and cool air throughout their room. A system of small tunnels that also serve as a huge ward of protection that incircles the whole house, when activated by Nenae's magic. It is also a passageway for small nosy siblings to wiggle through.

Sure enough, Mealla pops the grate off and tumbles out on top of his wardrobe in the far corner of the room. A tiny fox with huge ears, completely covered in dust.

"Good morning, little sibling," she chirps happily, hopping down onto the floor and leaving a trail of dirt in her wake, "Did you have pleasant dreams?"

"Mea, why can't you use the door like everyone else?" Oisin sighs, not managing to convey much disapproval. They never can, really.

"Where's the fun in that?" she laughs, shifting into her normal form and coming to sit beside them on the bed. "Besides, if I used the door, then everyone else would know that I came to bother you about your new paramour. You don't want that, do you?"

"No!" Oisin baulks, feeling their face darken. "I mean, he's not… We're not… Nothing happened! At least…not yet."

"Aw, but it sounds like you want it to!" Mealla snickers, leaning closer with a wide knowing grin, "Is that scarf from him? A token of affection? Was that what came in the box Nenae almost threw away, or did you take it off of him yourself while you were dancing?"

"Mea!" Oisin objects, properly mortified, "I'm not going to undress someone when I know my whole family is watching!"

"So, that means you want to undress him!" she crows triumphantly.

"Who is Oisin undressing?" Ardal asks muzzily from the doorway. He looks more than half asleep, his shirt nearly falling off one of his shoulders, and his hair an absolute bird's nest. He is flanked by their two younger sisters, neither of which look pleased to be awake at this hour.

"I'm not undressing anyone!" Oisin insists.

"The cobbler from Daran!" Mealla pronounces, almost simultaneously.

"A cobbler?" Virevas sniffs, making a face, "You've got a crush on some rough-hand who bangs bits of leather into boots?"

"Beautiful boots!" Oisin insists, already flustered. They are not very good at arguing, but Tonlen is not here to defend himself, and someone ought to. "He's from Arlathan. He's very fashionable, and his shop is so fancy. It's…it's like a garden. Full of bright vivid colors. It's lovely, you'll see!"

"Oh, will I?" Vir wonders, snickering.

"If he makes shoes, that means he's probably got some weird obsession with feet," Ardal says sagely, "He probably wants to court you because of the shape of your toes or something."

"That is not a thing," Virevas snorts.

"It is so!" Ardal counters, hackles rising, "I heard it!"

"Right," Vir replies, rolling her eyes, "From where?"

"People who know!" Ardal growls stubbornly, folding his arms.

"As if any of your grubby little friends know anything about what makes people attracted to one another," she scoffs.

"More than you," he snaps back, "You've never even had a romance!"

"Neither have you!" She retorts just as quickly.

"Why does it matter?" Einin wonders, injecting calmly before the other two can break into a full-out brawl, "Who cares if he likes your toes? If you like him, and you don't mind him pursuing a courtship, then the reasons for his initial interest don't matter all that much in the end."

Oisin heaves a sigh of immense relief.

"Is he actually courting you?" Ardal gasps, eyes going wide, "Has he sent you gifts?"

Oisin fidgets with their scarf, but Mealla heads them off before they can muster any sort of reply.

"He sent them a scarf!" she exclaims, pointing at the object in question, "Nenae almost threw it away, but Mamae stopped them. They still ran about two hundred tests on it to make sure it wasn't poisoned or anything, though."

"Mea!" Oisin objects again. They don't mind their family knowing about Tonlen, really, but they don't need to know everything.  

"You should have seen the look on Nenae's face when they read the letter that came with it," Mealla laughs.

"Nenae read that?" Oisin groans in abject despair. They're lucky that they got to dance with Tonlen at all, in that case.

"Was it a poem?" Ardal presses.

"Was it any good?" Virevas chimes in a moment later.

"It was perfectly sweet, and completely private," Oisin says firmly.

"That means it was bad," Vir surmises.

"The scarf seems a little simple," Einin notes with a slight tilt of her head, "For someone from Arlathan anyway. Did he think you wouldn't want something with more colors, or was he limited by his rank?"

"I like that it's simple!" Oisin exclaims passionately, tears welling in their eyes, "And it's only the first thing he's given me, it doesn't have to be extravagant!"

"I think it's nice," Ardal reassures them, reaching over to squeeze their fingers in a gesture of fondness, "Don't let the fashion snobs ruin it for you."

"I never said simple was bad," Einin points out, "Perhaps he did not want to overwhelm you with something too fancy straight out of the gate."

"That's right," Mealla chimes in, "Courtship gifts can be all sorts of things. They don't have to be encrusted with jewels. They just need to be something that the other person likes. Or something that gets their attention."

"Their attention?" Oisin wonders hesitantly, most of the courtship presents they've read about in books were things like earrings and fine clothes. Sheets of poetry and bouquets of rare flowers. Mantles sewn from starlight and bright boxes enchanted to play music. But his big sister's idea of attention-grabbing doesn't quite adhere to that vein of gifts.

Mealla nods, a nearly wicked grin spreading on her face.

"Nanae sent Mamae spiders."

The other children let out a collective gasp.

"They did not!"

"As a courtship gift?"

"Mamae hates spiders!"

"It's true," Mealla tells them smugly, folding her arms and looking extremely pleased with herself, "Ask them if you don't believe me."

Oisin feels as though they might faint. They love all living things, but… Spiders. They do not think they would like to get a gift of spiders. Some of them are poisonous, and their mother intensely dislikes them, and they do not imagine that opening a box full of spiders, alive or dead, would be especially…pleasant.

"Are you going to send him a gift back?" Einin asks them a moment later, jolting them from their thoughts.

"I…don't know," they admit, sliding the scarf between their hands again. Considering. "Papae and Nenae and Nanae all think that I should keep my distance. They want me to take things slowly and be cautious. And Mamae is worried, too. But… I don't want to discourage him. He's handsome and charming, and I want… I want him to like me."

"What's not to like?" Mealla grins, reaching over and pinching their cheek a little, "Do what feels best for you, little sibling. Our parents are going to fuss and worry regardless."

"But I don't want to upset anyone," Oisin sighs dejectedly, "The look on Papae's face when I said I liked Tonlen was awful. And Nenae and Nanae were tense for days. I…I don't want to be the reason they’re sad."

Mealla ruffles their hair affectionately before standing up and stretching a bit.

"I never saw much point in drawn out courtships, myself," she shrugs, "All the good stuff comes afterwards. But it's up to you to decide."

"That's right," Ardal chimes in, "And if you do want to send a gift, we can help you think of ideas!"

"As if anyone would come to you for advice on anything that requires a sense of taste," Virevas sniffs.

"I can taste just fine!" Ardal huffs.

"All right you two, lets take this out to the back garden before you break any of Oisin's furniture again," Mealla sighs, "We still have time to get some sparring in before breakfast."

"Sparring with him is boring," Vir says imperiously, "I always win."

"You always cheat!"Ardal insists hotly.

"Being taller than you is not cheating," Virevas counters.

"Why don't you both see if you can beat me?" Mealla suggests, as she ushers them out the door, "Two to one."

Virevas and Ardal's excited voices fade into distant babbling as Einin shuts the door behind them.

"You know, when I send and receive correspondence from my office, Nenae does not have the chance to look at it, even with their army of agents," she tells them pointedly, "A letter is not a gift, but I think they still have the power to be…quite encouraging."

So saying, she offers them a small smile and slips out the door after their siblings.

Oisin smiles, too. They can easily send a letter from their workshop without their parents fretting and hanging on every word. Perhaps they can even ask Tonlen to direct his correspondence there, if their teacher does not mind too much.

They walk over to their desk and pull out several sheets of paper, bright and hopeful that this might be the start of something wonderful.

 Obviously they can hardly have bagels or pastries for dinner, but Uthvir’s favourite little hobby investment makes some lovely chicken pot pies, he knows from experience. With a breath of thanks to the powers that be for the inspiration, he pulls over into the next lane, and manages to find a parking spot not too far down the street from the place.

 With a quick check to his phone, Thenvunin gets out and heads into the little bakery. The bell tinkles overhead, announcing his presence. He smiles as he sees a familiar little face pop up next to the register, and a voice calls out from the back room.

 “Good afternoon, Eda,” he greets, to the little girl planted on the cash register stool.

 Her expression lights up.

 “Good afer’noon, Misser Thenvunin!” she replies, happily, before she twists around and shouts towards the back of the bakery. “Da it’s Misser Thenvunin who’s the customer!”

 Thenvunin winces as, with childlike enthusiasm, Eda manages to reach truly a truly impressive volume. She hops off the stool a moment later, though, and hurries out towards him. Taking a shortcut from under the counter, as her father appears and wipes some excess flour from his hands.

 “Why, so it is!” he declares, jovially.

 Eda crashes into Thenvunin’s legs. He feels a rush of fondness - such a wonderfully affectionate, happy child - and reaches down to pat her head, even as she twists around to look behind him.

 “Is Nabae Uthvir parking with Kel?” she asks him.

 “No,” he admits. “It’s just me today. I thought I might stop in and see if you have any of those delicious chicken pot pies. Kel is at swim practice and we need something for dinner,” Thenvunin explains.

 “Ah! I just put in a fresh batch ten minutes ago,” Eda’s father admits. “If you’re willing to wait, they’ll be out of the oven and ready to go in another ten. But I think we have some beef pies, if you need something quicker…”

 Thenvunin waves off his concern.

 “I can wait, it’s no trouble at all,” he assures him. Kel’s practice won’t be finished for another half hour, and the bakery isn’t busy yet. He beat the rush, it seems. Eda makes a happy sound, and takes his hand to lead him over to one of the little tables to wait, while her father excuses himself to the back room to go finish what he was doing.

 “Where is your Mama, Eda?” he asks, curiously.

 “She had to go do errands for the banking,” Eda tells him, as she hops into the seat across from his. “I almost went with her, but now I’m glad I didn’ because I can give you my card! I made it in class, for Kisses Day. It’s not Kisses Day anymore but Mama said that I could still get ba-late-id kisses from friends!”

 Reaching into the front pocket of her adorable green coveralls, Eda pulls out a little pink card. Thenvunin smiles. Oh, Kiss Day Cards! That was just yesterday, Kel had made some, and had dutifully gotten her kisses from Uthvir and Thenvunin and some of her best friends at school. Eda’s is as cute as any of them are, with her name written on it in glittery gel pen, and several birds and what looks to be a sort of dragon drawn on it. Thenvunin admires it, complimenting her penmanship (“Missus Aardaz helped!”) and then returning it, and leaning across the table to press a kiss to her cheek.

 Eda giggles, and stuffs the card back into her pocket.

 “Can you bring Nabae Uthvir and Kel over to our house tomorrow?” she asks him. “I want to get kisses from them!”

 Thenvunin can’t help but smile at that.

 “I’m sure we can manage to swing by,” he promises. “So long as it’s alright with your parents.”

 “I’ll go ask Da!”

 Eda slides back down from the seat, and runs off to do just that. Thenvunin feels a familiar twinge of wistfulness, at seeing her scamper off. He thinks it must be the growing desire in him to have another child. Lingering even though he and Uthvir are actually expecting one, now. The reminder warms him all over. Uthvir has only just begun to show, and it has made them exceedingly uncomfortable and a little prickly - they warned him it would, and sometimes they become quiet and somber in a way that makes Thenvunin ache with something other than anticipation or pleasant longing. With worry, and a sentiment that he cannot ever seem to properly define outside of his dreams.

 But it is the purview of expectant parents to worry, and of devoted spouses to fret.

 When Eda comes back, she brings her father with her, as the man supplies him with a boxed up chicken pot pie. Thenvunin’s efforts to pay for it are firmly refuted.

 “We still owe you from Eda’s last birthday,” he insists.

 “The party was no trouble,” Thenvunin reminds him, in turn. But the man gets that look in his eye, and he relents as Eda tugs at the bottom of his skirt, and echoes it in her own stare.

 “You just haveta say thank you,” she says, seriously. “And then eat the pie!”

 Thenvunin nods in turn.

 “You are quite right,” he agrees. “Thank you very much for the pie, I am certain we will enjoy it a great deal.”

The reason for it was the same reason they were suffering, Inan barely dodged or blocked and seemed committed to never wearing actual armor ever. It was maddening because they clearly had training and knew how to fight but at the same time was totally unable to perform basic maneuvers or actually plan ahead. As the opponents got better these faults became more glaring and critical but she still went into each fight with nothing better then hardened leather, metal plates and a dagger. The amount of times she’s sent flying only for her to come back as if it was nothing like some kind of indestructible punching bag increases exponentially with each opponent. Their hands twitch compulsively before they curl them into tight fists, marshaling their urge to step in. This is just fucking ridiculous, dodge you idiot just DODGE, your fast enough so DODGE, use your eyes oh for fucks sake—

Inanallas seems to be losing her patience with her poor attempts at “strategy”  in her current match and now she’s at the boulder throwing stage. The amount of shrapnel and ambient magic now in the air is making them even more anxious about Inan’s shoddy armor. They’ve seen enough of these matches to know that she’s fine, to spot the clever whisper thin barrier work that veils her like a second skin and deflects blows and spells. To know that this is how she wins fights and why she has that lofty reputation. She expects to get hit and makes it work for her or just rains down more then the enemy can defend against. She’s the definition of relentless.

 But none of it quells the tide of anxious commentary from Fear convinced that this is the time it all goes wrong and she underestimates something or the growing aggravation from watching this shit show and not being able to go down there and make her dodge or block in a way that actually works because they know she was taught how. The knowledge that she’s fine and seeing her totally unscathed after a blow does not kill the instinctual panic that seeing her get hit so hard she literally flies across the ring flares in them.

It’s absolutely unforgivable, to somehow make them worry them out of their minds over nothing while pissing them off by being absolute shit and yet somehow making them incredibly proud for doing so well despite being so shitty. It has to be a crime and if it’s not they’re going to look into making it one. They cannot live like this feeling all these feelings, it’s unacceptable.

It’s a mercy stroke to the throat of their frazzled nerves and fraying patience when Thenvunin finally knocks her out of the tournament. Despite the fact she could easily take both of them normally, the only assets she really has that she can actually use in a competition like this are her raw strength (physically and magically), endurance, stamina and her clearly nonexistent strategic prowess. She can only press her strength so far before she risks seriously hurting Thenvunin —which she naturally doesn’t want to do— so she can’t win by overwhelming him, and he’s simply just too experienced to let her drag this out and exhaust him. The setting and his skill back her into a corner she can’t escape from and now that she’s finally eliminated Uthvir can actually enjoy the tournament.

Which of course, means thanking Thenvunin for his great act of kindness by putting him on his back with the unspoken promise of doing it again later.

Afterwards Inanallas comes to congratulate them on another victory, looking she’d fallen down a mountain side but whole and safe and happy. They smile, take her face in their taloned gauntlets and press kisses to her mouth.

“You know—” Kiss. “It’s frankly offensive—“ Kiss. “That someone who’s so gifted—“ Kiss. “Is so absolutely terrible at what they’re genuinely good at.”

Inan bursts out laughing at the barb, her hands tightening on their waist as her head falls out of their hands—

and her forehead collides with the spikes on their shoulder.

Her laughter turns into fake comical sobs as she collapses to her knees in mock despair, still hugging their waist.  Thenvunin all but shrieks in horror and catapults himself to his knees as well to check if she’s still got bot eyes or no hole in her skull or something ridiculous like that. Uthvir can’t help but laugh and pat her disheveled head.