A Rose by Any Other Name (Sivan)

[Flower]

3 Frost 120

Sleep came more readily in the comfort of a bed, he found. It was especially better in close proximity to another person, who happened to exude a lot of heat. Sivan was useful in that regard. Flower found it easy enough to snuggle close simply for the sake of keeping cozy, and Sivan had yet to push him away for it. Perhaps Sivan got just as cold, he reasoned to himself.

The roof over his head was a strange thing. Unnerving, in truth. For a long moment, he stared up at the ceiling, keeping the blankets close to his chin in order to preserve as much warmth as he possibly could. The little cottage was, from what Sivan told him, not much to look at, but it already seemed a much more welcoming alternative to a tent. At the very least, the snow and wind couldn’t quite reach them in here, even if it was cold outside. When at last he crept from within the confines of the bed, his teeth chattering, he went in search of something to wrap around himself for warmth. Clothing wasn’t the immediate solution, but it did turn out to be the answer in this particular. He found one of Sivan’s tunics, which was drastically too large for him. It hung about his calves, swaying as he walked, bare feet padding along the chilly floor on tip-toes.

There was not much to the little cottage, truth be told. But it was a shelter, and one which meant that living on the street was not a necessity. They had some level of security while Sivan tried to get his affairs in order.

What he liked was the window in the front of the house. He settled on the floor now, staring up at the window. His blue eyes sparkled as the sun streamed in on him. He sighed and closed his eyes, letting the warmth soak in on him. He pulled Sivan’s tunic down so that it covered his bare feet. He did not know how to make a fire, so this would have to do for keeping himself cozy. Besides, there was something magical about sunlight, though he did not fully understand why it so entranced him. Even in this chilly room, the sunlight seemed to soak through him. Like a cat, he snuggled up to keep warm. He did not know where Sivan had gone, exactly, or when he would be back, but he supposed that having a house would mean Sivan would be very interested in coming back. Perhaps he’d gone to get food. That sounded nice.

His thoughts drifted. Over the past few days, he had tried to keep from thinking over much about the things he could not remember. For now, Sivan told him, it was important to rest. Other things would become clearer in time, but it was foolish to try and approach clarity without being physically healthy. Instead, he tried to imagine the little house warmer, with flowers growing and moss beneath his feet.

Yes, that sounded much more appealing.

[Sivan]

Sivan looked harried when he returned. He was as quick about opening and closing the door as he could be since it was difficult to keep the heat in. His eyes had been mostly weary since the foundling woke up in his arms. Ruined sleep at first, but since their arrival in the city, worry made his sleep fitful and his days anxious. He looked to the fae to mark his spot in the sun like some housecat, then flicked to IX, who remained a statue.

The elf hadn't complained of the fae's presence, nor cursed IX for its hibernation almost as soon as they got into the cottage. Still, the responsibilities weighed him down. He offered a tight smile and moved toward the kitchen area, unloading the food he had bought. There wasn't so much that organizing it was a necessity, so he just left it where it was—where it was would be easier to keep an eye on, gauging how long until he needed to go get more.

"Eat whatever you like," he said. "There's still honey, too." At least he knew the fae ate that. He had heard that they were part plant, so he hadn't been sure if eating vegetables would be tantamount to cannibalism or if the little creature would be like a fly trap, catching something in his mouth and letting it dissolve there. The world was full of strange things. He hung his rucksack from IX, trying to keep the place tidy. They didn't have much in the way of worldly goods, but they didn't have much in the way of worldly space either, and IX took up a good chunk of that space.

"Did the fire go out again?" he asked rhetorically, his voice a little ragged. Everything seemed like it was one step forward, then two steps back. He was juggling while tightrope walking and if he turned his back on anything, his efforts dissolved like steam. Crouching down before the hearth, he stoked it with an old wrought iron poker that had been there when they moved in. It wasn't entirely dead, but it wasn't keeping like it ought to. He fiddled with the broken flue again. It was no wonder he could afford this place. Everything was old and falling apart. He just hoped he didn't fall apart; he wasn't old enough for that yet.

[Flower]

Almost immediately, he took note of Sivan’s state of being. Though he might not have remembered much, having grown up in a family group made him rather sensitive to the moods and emotions of others. It did not take an emotional genius to realize that Sivan was struggling. There was a moment of silence as he rose and followed Sivan area to area. Though he had spent considerable time on the mountains, certain things seemed to elude him. And as he watched the very clear signs of stress and frustration, he felt a sudden surge of guilt and embarrassment. Sivan, no doubt, had so many different things on his mind, so many different plans before stumbling upon him in the night. He wondered how many of those things would now change, given that there was another person now relying upon him.

He sighed.

Trailing quietly after Sivan, he folded his hands behind his back and rocked on his heels, trying to memorize the way Sivan’s hands moved, the exact actions he took when rekindling the fire. Where Sivan crouched, he knelt down alongside him, and held out his hand, pointing to the fire. “Show?” He whispered, offering a helpful smile. If he could keep the fire going, it would be one less thing about which Sivan had to worry. What else did he have to worry about or do, anyway? If he spent the entire day kneeling by the fire to keep the house warm, at least they wouldn’t freeze to death.

He ducked his head sheepishly, a lily falling in his face and dusting his cheek with pollen. He brushed it aside as he might an errant strand of hair, and smiled apologetically.

“Help,” he offered. The other questions could wait. Food, yes. He was hungry, but not ravenous. Thirsty, too. But he wanted to help first, to learn how to contribute to their current living situation, given that he wasn’t likely to be bringing in any sort of coin, and it was much too cold for him to be running loose in the streets. He studied Sivan’s features and another smile, a sign that he was attempting, at least, to offer some comfort where he lacked the verbal capacity to do so. “Help,” he now insisted. He could rest well enough. Keeping house, as foreign a concept as it might have been, could not be so very difficult in so tiny a place, and with only two of them.

[Sivan]

"What?" he asked. Then, realizing, "oh sure."

Sivan took the time to explain what he was doing as he was doing it. He also explained the why of it insofar as he knew. Building a campfire was an entirely different animal from tending a hearth, the first being a short-term affair, whereas most homes kept the fire going most of the time unless it was let go so the hearth could be properly cleaned. He didn't think their hearth would need cleaning until spring, most likely. He tried to explain how the chimney worked, and the flue, even though that was invisible to them now. Invisible because it wasn't safe to stick one's head in an active hearth, and broken in any case.

That, at least, he could probably fix himself. It wasn't clockwork, but it was a cousin, at least. But he couldn't fix it until they didn't need the fire for survival. Then he could climb up far enough to get covered in soot, retrieve the thing, and figure out how to fix it. Perhaps he would research that over the winter so he knew what he was doing when spring came, and could do it quickly and expeditiously. When he saw the pollen on the foundling's cheek, he smiled and gently brushed it away with his thumb.

"I know you want to help. I'm sorry I'm... the way I am. I'm not mad at you, it's really just... circumstances. Our master died," he continued, nodding toward IX's inert chassis. "IX took it worse than I did, so there's that. But... I think I have an idea to help with the heat. I just need to think on it for a bit. And in a day or so, I'll speak to this Jacun person about a job or an apprenticeship so I can learn what I'm supposed to learn. I'll see if he knows anything about curse-breaking..."

He wasn't quite babbling, but he wasn't far off. He didn't know how to delegate things to this strange creature. He didn't really know how to ask for help, even if he didn't have pride blocking the way.

"It'll be fine. I promise. Has... has anything come back to you today?" He asked daily, just to check. Just the once a day, though; he didn't want to be pushy or frustrate the foundling, too. He was frustrated enough for everyone. He went in with his knuckle and gently wiped a bit of pollen from under a blue eye. "Pretty flowers."

[Flower]

For him, this was all new and fascinating. He could not recall if he had ever lived under a roof. No home came to mind, and when he tried to imagine where he belonged, his mind saw only the mountains, as he remembered no other place. He remembered the tent and the winter’s chill. Unfortunately, he did not think much was likely to change that, and he worried that adding extra pressure to Sivan’s endeavors would only make matters worse.

He watched attentively, trying to remember each and every thing Sivan explained to him. He figured that he knew well enough how to start a fire out of doors, but maintaining it the whole day was another matter entirely. Everything was different inside, and it was all a matter of adjusting to something with which he was so incredibly unfamiliar. But he wanted to contribute, and he did not imagine that managing a fire would be an impossibility. It was contained, wasn’t it? What were the odds of accidentally setting the place on fire? Oh, maybe it wasn’t a good idea to consider that sort of thing.

The gentle touch to his cheek caused him to raise his eyes, and he smiled. He did not have any pride himself, and the concept of such was utterly foreign to him. But it seemed difficult for Sivan to accept help, and while that was hard for him to understand, he knew well enough what it meant to struggle with things others could not see clearly.

He shook his head at the question, and his smile turned sad. Nothing had, for him, become any clearer, and pushing his mind to remember only made things fuzzier, or brought about a beastly headache. He reached up to rub his temple with two fingers, but his attention was distracted by the presence of Sivan’s thumb brushing his cheek once more. He smiled again, and color touched his cheek. “Flower,” he echoed. His voice was soft, little more than a whisper, in truth, like the glinting of a spring breeze across new blooms.

In turn, a small hand raised, brushing back a bit of Sivan’s hair. His eyes brightened. “Sun.” He tilted his head, and he gave a small, breathy sound that might have passed for a laugh. Slowly, he rose, and he offered both hands to help Sivan do the same, though there was not a chance that his tiny form would be able to really heft Sivan up any more than a child might lift a giant.

[Sivan]

"Yes," he said, considering, "I suppose you are a pretty flower, as well."

The color that rose to the fae's cheeks seemed like an echo of the color of the flowers that grew in his hair. Sivan wondered if he ought to find a tub to fill with fertile earth for the fae to sleep upon. Or in. Could the wilder cousins survive on water, soil, air, and sunshine? He didn't rightly know. He wasn't going to experiment on the foundling, but perhaps someday he would know.

"Sun?" He laughed quietly. "I suppose sunlight is better than tarnished gold." Several Hytori children had told him that pure gold didn't tarnish, so he was clearly impure. He hated that he still remembered unkindnesses twenty years dead, but such was the curse of memory. "My Dratori surname agrees with you. When I chose it, people thought it had to do with wandering feet, wanting to see all the lands the sun touched. It was that, but also... in Mythrasi, it's Who Runs Toward the Sun. Almost like a little poem, briefer than a haiku. It's about ambition too, rising to celestial heights. Hubris probably, or petty pride. But it's who I am."

Taking the fae's hand, he stood, mostly on his own power, though. If Sivan could carry him, he didn't weigh much at all. The principles of clockwork applied to the rest of the world too, and he hadn't the leverage to help lift the larger elf.

"You know, I think I might be able to persuade a fire sprite to winter in our hearth. That could help with keeping the place warm. We would still have to feed the fire to feed the sprite, but wood isn't the only fuel they accept. What is it...?"

[Flower]

Those words pleased him, and his entire face lit up at the praise, though he was not entirely sure why he cared whether or not he was pretty, and even more so why he ought to care about whether or not Sivan thought he was pretty. But he did care. And it was nice. Of course, he had no way of knowing what Sivan was thinking, and no way to correct his thinking, as a result. It was, in the end, a matter of experience and time. They both had a great deal to learn about one another, and given the close proximity of their accommodations, there was not a lot of choice but to get to know one another quickly.

He considered Sivan’s reaction. Tarnished gold? That was a concept beyond his comprehension. Knowing nothing of gold and its nature, he could not speak to whether or not it ever tarnished. Refined metals were not something with which he was familiar. One might find a vein of natural minerals or metals within the earth, but he understood that these things were different from the coins people gave to one another for the purchase of goods.

Why did he remember that?

He listened attentively to Sivan’s explanation of his name. It was an almost romantic notion, and he found himself wondering if settling here was a change that would keep, or if Sivan would find himself drawn to wandering again. That was a sensation he could understand very well. Wanderlust. Whether or not he remembered home, some part of him understood that he had not belonged anywhere at any point in his life.

“Sprite?” He echoed, tilting his head. Would there be someone else at home with him during the day, then? Would he even be able to communicate with the sprite? He thought of the spirit Sivan told him had guided him to where the Fae’ethalan lay in the cold. Perhaps Sivan simply saw things which he could not. They were, different, after all. He did not have to remember everything in order to understand that Sivan did not have flowers growing out of his head. The fact that they were different, saw different things, and had different experiences simply was.

He guided Sivan towards their little kitchen area, pointing at the food. “Help,” he repeated. He wanted to know how to help in that regard, too. If he knew how to make food, he could prepare such things for Sivan before he returned home each day. Surely, that would alleviate some of the stress he was experiencing.

[Sivan]

"Sprites."

Sivan considered. The fae seemed to understand a fair amount of what he said, but the occasional look of confusion made it clear that some things were simply beyond his ken, or perhaps just beyond his experience. The hybrid didn't know much about how the fae lived, except that there were seasonal courts instead of a royal court as the Hytori had. That made sense if they were connected to nature on an existential level.

"So there are four... families of spirits, I suppose you could call them. Celestials are good. Infernals are bad. Eldritch are chaotic. And wild are the nature spirits, animal and plant spirits, and elementals. Spirits in any family range drastically in power and complexity. Some are like unto minor deities themselves, but sprites... they are barely self-aware sometimes. Little motes of power that are alive. And I can communicate with them, and I can make deals with them. Usually, especially with sprites, they just want food. Which is mostly aether, the energy that keeps everything... being. But specifically, I can feed them my aether. A little bit of myself. It grows back, though. It's not a finite resource, though it renews slowly."

Considering the foundling, he rubbed his chin. It was smooth, though he was considering letting it grow just because it was cold. Hytori didn't grow them, so in Sol'Valen it had been othering. Dratori did, but his was light and fine and not proper in their eyes. Here, though, nobody probably cared one way or another.

"So, from what I understand, the Fae'ethalan are gathered in courts... From looking at you, I would guess Spring. Maybe Summer. But that's just coloration... I don't know if that's something reflected in your Court. Do you remember that...?"

[Flower]

There were several things still far beyond his comprehension, and things he simply did not know to begin with. Some vague part of him recalled that sprites existed, that they were beings who flitted about. There was a basic understanding of what they were, but not a full recollection of what their function might have been.

In truth, he did not even really understand his own nature.

He listened with rapt attention to Sivan’s words, his eyes wide as he took in this new knowledge. Sivan seemed, to him, full of wisdom and experience that he could not even begin to imagine. He clasped his hands before him, and smiled up to Sivan. Sunny, beautiful Sivan. He wondered if he might be able to bring sprites to their home by putting out food for them. Maybe that would please Sivan, having all sorts of sprites available to help in the house. Yes. That sounded very helpful, indeed.

He would certainly put out food.

The question caught him off guard, and his brows pinched. A bit of color flooded to his cheeks, tinging the pinkish shades a soft, almost purple hue. Slowly, he shook his head. Sivan’s words sounded familiar, and one thing was very clear to him, and he gave a tiny, breathy sound akin to a laugh.

“Not Winter.”

That much felt clear to him. The chill in the air left him sapped for strength, lethargic and weak. He did not recall much of his cultural, or the heritage that had reared him, but it was fairly clear to him that he was not born of Winter. He reached up, touching one of the flowers in his hair. “Spring.”

A chill ran through him. Yes. That felt right. Somehow, recognizing that left him with a sense of comfort. For the first time in as long as he could remember--short a frame of time as that might have been--he recognized something. But what did it mean to be Fae’ethalan? And what did it mean to be of the Spring Court? And why was he alone in the middle of nowhere? Had he been cast aside by his people? Had he left them of his own, free will?

His nose wrinkled, and he sighed, a slight pulsing running through his head. No. Better to not press it. Not right now. He paused a moment, stifling a faint sound of discomfort.

“Spring...Flower?”

[Sivan]

A smile quirked his lips.

"A spring flower indeed," he said. "Well, I wonder if you might feel better, more yourself, when spring comes back. In the meantime, you are safe here. I'll do something about the heat, and you will have food and water and shelter until your time comes back. Don't you worry. I'll figure it all out. I have to see a man about an apprenticeship, but whether that works out or not, I will start looking into curse-breaking. And if I meet any other Fae'ethalan out there, perhaps I'll bring them by to meet you. Maybe this is a natural thing you're going through and we just don't know..."

His face spoke eloquently of his ignorance in this matter, his hand spread apologetically. Then his gaze took in the room, his arm coming around the foundling's slender shoulders. Spring things needed to be kept warm.

"Yes, a fire sprite to tend the hearth," he thought aloud. "A water sprite to tend the plumbing. An air sprite to keep the wind from cutting in. An earth sprite to strengthen the bones of this place and prepare our little plot for spring." He turned to look at his fragile friend. "Do you think I'm supposed to plant you in the earth and wait for you to sprout?"

He grinned. Normally, he wasn't so playful, but the fae had only known him dealing with more than his share of problems. The Fae'ethalan was one of them, but Sivan tried not to make him feel like a burden. He wasn't going to leave a defenseless amnesiac to his own devices was all. It wasn't terribly heroic. And who knew — perhaps when he recovered, he would have a way to show his gratitude.