Aching to Pupate [Destyn, Flower]

[Sivan]

10th of Searing, Year 122 Steel
Sivan's Enchanted Garden

It was a lazy day. Kalzasi never got exceptionally hot as those things were measured, but it was hot for Kalzasi and Torin hadn't needed his help at the forge and none of his students needed him, so Sivan was dozing on the moss between the buttress roots of the Living Grave. He was bare but for his short pants, dirt under his fingernails from working in the soil. This didn't seem to bother Destyn, who had fluttered down through the branches to relax upon him.

Many things were blooming, and everything was lush. The vegetation had spread through the moon gate into Laurevere's yard, as well. A breeze sussurated through the branches where the hive was droning. Though the sound was lulling, they were quite industrious while the flowers had spread open their petals to offer up their bounties. Honey flowed slowly into a jar he had set up. The sapwood of the tree flowed as well, and one could almost hear it. Crystals and mirrors tinkled, the gentlest of white noise.

Exael was his aidolon now, and the celestial spirit was rarely idle. It—sometimes he—had helped Sivan find the enchantment to grow the tree up around Flower to keep his curse at bay. The tree had become such a fixture that Sivan barely registered the arboreal equivalent of a sigh as a seam running up the bole of the tree began to slowly widen as it prepared to release its slumbering ward. Flower's rebirth had begun.

The elf hadn't been expecting it, not knowing the full purview of the spell. Destyn had named it, Living Grave being the closest equivalent to the Velasren word in Common, but he hadn't had any knowledge beyond that either.

Sivan dreamed of that winter, fully a year and a half ago, when he had found Flower in the bitter cold and brought him to Kalzasi.

[Destyn]

Aching to Pupate

10th of Searing, Year 122 Steel

The scion of Summer sighed in satisfaction as he settled against Sivan. He doffed his vest- which was little more than a row of fabric ribbons that hung from his shoulders and covered bits of his chest and the parts of his back that from which no additional appendages were protruding. Skin against skin was better for snuggling, he thought, folding his wings taut to his back and nestling close.

"I found a stoat today." He declared. "He was very cute and friendly to me. I think that maybe I will make friends with him if we again cross paths." Destyn declared. "I like stoats. They look like they should be bigger than they are, but they aren't and that is, to me, adorable. I think that I am the opposite, though. I look like I should be smaller than I am. Maybe I will amend this some day. Do you think I would be cuter if I was smaller? I think that sometimes-..." Destyn's head jerked into a sharp tilt- now facing his shoulder, his eyes were gaping at the trunk of the tree behind them.

"Spiorad Naomh!" He exclaimed- his voice sounding harrowed, and his exclamation unintended. His volume softened as he quickly added: "Dúisíonn an sióg codlata..." Whatever struck Destyn was stark enough that he no longer seemed conscious of Sivan at his back- All of his attention was upon the tree. He slowly turned his whole body to face it, unconsciously straddling Sivan's lap and propping himself up with hands on the elf's shoulders to gaze up at the miracle unfolding before him.

"Aiséirí Dhiaga!"

Aching to Pupate

[Flower]

Shadow melted away, and warmth began to soak into his body, coaxing him back to consciousness. The dark peace and cool comfort of his sleep had at last slipped from his mind like silk sliding over skin. The winter faded away, and the little creature at last seemed to materialize from his long slumber.

Movement was difficult. After so long wrapped in the comfort and safety of slumber, held cradled in the tree that had shielded him, it felt strange to shift his limbs, odd to breathe and feel conscious of the sun. His limbs stretched, and he stifled a whimper. They were sore from being still for so very long, and he did not feel especially powerful. His color-tinged fingers slowly dragged across his chest, familiarizing himself with how it meant to feel awake again, alive. He breathed. He was alive.

He was alive.

He blinked sluggishly, his fingers now running along his brow. He caught the scent of warm air, freshness. He exhaled and felt a surge of alertness. The fog had cleared. A voice broke in on his reverie, and he slowly–almost excruciatingly so–extricated himself from within his resting place. He ducked his head, blinking in the sunlight. His hand now raised to shield his eyes, and he could vaguely make out the shapes of two others before him.

“Cad a tharla?” He whispered. Venturing a hesitant step forward, Flower peered up at Sivan, searching his features as if trying to bring back a memory. He knew that face, but he did not seem entirely able to draw to mind how he knew it. His mouth opened as he attempted to speak again, but he stopped himself. Instead, he lifted those thin fingers, extending them as if to touch Sivan’s cheek, but he once more hesitated, instead looking to Destyn. “Cá bhfuil mé?”

[Sivan]

The garden was as safe and comfortable a place to be reborn as any. The spirits kept the elements in balance. It was as safe as was possible in a dangerous world.

Sivan gazed up sharply at Destyn and then in the direction of his gaze. Blue eyes widened and stared, mouth agape. Flower came crawling out of the tree, which closed up behind him, content to live beyond its original purpose. Flower's second mother would survive his second birth. It was him, though there was something different about him. Even with his more powerful, more skilled Sight, he couldn't quite tell what that meant, whether the curse was broken and the Fae'ethalan waif healed or perhaps he had evolved around it with the help of the enchantment.

Exael was there then, a pinpoint of blue-white light among the branches. He didn't fully manifest, but he was there, observing the fruits of their labor.

Phrases passed between the Fae'ethalan, only half understood by the elf.

"Flùr?" he asked. Destyn had taught him that word some time ago.

As the shock lessened into mere amazement, he put his hands on Destyn's hips and gently moved him aside, twisting so he could rise to his knees and set his friend down beside him. Being mindful of his wings was second nature by now, and they were old hats at cuddling together, whether for warmth or animal comfort.

"Flùr?" he asked again.

At the hesitation, he gently took Flower's hand and put it to his cheek. There was something like recognition in those fey blue eyes, but not the same intelligence that used to peep out at him. Perhaps he was waking from a dream and would take some time to acclimate to this world again.

[Destyn]

Aching to Pupate

10th of Searing, Year 122 Steel

Destyn was clearly taken aback by what unfurled before him. He had been shaken by Sivan's decision to create the Living Grave and never dreamt that its inhabitant might return to life before his eyes. He'd only ever seen Living Graves that stood like monuments to bygone days. Not unlike proper graves, they stood silent and resolute o'er the centuries, awaiting some catalyst that he'd never seen arrive. Until now.

His mind having already shifted to his mothertongue, Destyn quickly processed the words of the reborn Fae.

"Bhí tú crann, ach anois tá tú ar fad arís." He explained in gentle, musical tones. He was keenly aware that this transition was likely beyond jarring and so his instinct was to be nurturing. His posture softened toward the submissive gestures one might use to sooth an aggressive animal, though Flower displayed no signs of belligerence.

"Seo gairdín Sivan." He further clarified, gesturing to the elf who had seen fit to preserve Flower in this fashion. He marked that the youth spoke, now, and recalled what Sivan had said of him in the past- That Flower was, at least toward the end, non-communicative. Or had it been that their languages were not aligned enough to understand one another? Destyn smiled softly. He would be happy to translate, if such were the case.

He thought to touch Flower and extended his hand, at first, to do so, before realising that he was a stranger to them and Sivan's was a familiar face. He withdrew his hand as the two who actually knew one another touched. That, Destyn thought, would be more helpful to the fledgling Flower than affection from a stranger- even one of common background. He had so many questions, but would allow the pair their moment and the freshly awoken Fae their time to process.

Aching to Pupate

[Flower]

His head was spinning. Some part of him remembered a storm. He remembered–His dark brows pinched. The serenity of his deep and dreamless slumber suddenly and dramatically snapped away, leaving him feeling as though he had been plunged into frigid waters, while his insides felt almost as though they might boil. He blinked owlishly, trying to clear the mist from his memory. With the recollection of why he had gone into that storm, he felt a sudden and violent surge of fear. He shook his head rapidly, scrubbing at his eyes and trying to determine if he was in immediate danger.

No.

He swallowed thickly, forcing himself to take several, deep breaths. No. This place was safe. He remembered flashes of Sivan’s face. A warm place out of the cold. He had been so very tired. So very tired. Thin fingers traced along his brow ridge, over his own cheekbones. A low breath escaped him once more, and he at last let his gaze settle on the two before him. Safe. He allowed Sivan to take his hand, to let his fingers map the shape of his features. Recognition touched his eyes, and he relaxed visibly. “An féidir leat a rá leis gur cuimhin liom?” He whispered to Destyn, his voice so soft it was scarcely audible. He let his hand lower from Sivan’s face, smiling quietly up to him. His gaze caught his own fingertips, and he seemed momentarily entranced. He was alive. He was safe. Slowly, he bent his body and lifted each leg in turn. A soft, breathy sound escaped his lips. His mind was clear. Though adrenaline still surged through him at that clarity, there was the reassurance that he would not be found here.

Once more, he turned to Destyn, though his eyes focused on Sivan as he spoke. “Cad é an focal buíochas?” His fingers trailed down his own throat, as if startled by the sensation of speech. In spite of how quietly he had spoken, it was a distant memory returning. His lips parted, and he made several sounds, making an attempt at speaking louder. It was not successful. His nose wrinkled and he shook his head.

[Sivan]

Sivan let Flower touch him, and let his hand fall when he was done. Not knowing if Flower ever would return, his attempts to learn Velasren hadn't been as avid as they ought to have been. Learning Common himself had been more important. It seemed now he would have to change that. He caught a smattering of what passed between the two fae'ethalan.

"Fàilte air ais," he managed. And, to Destyn, "Is he hungry? Thirsty? Is there anything I can get for him?"

The garden was, as ever, practically perfect, the spirits maintaining a tiny biome that made all life within comfortable, at ease. But Sivan got up into a crouch, not wanting to stand and tower over Flower so quickly, but preparing to go inside for anything that wasn't here at hand.

Perhaps Destyn would offer him bugs. Flower hadn't eaten bugs, but perhaps only because Sivan hadn't known to offer. He hadn't known a lot of things; he still didn't. Knowing one didn't know anything was supposed to be the seed of wisdom, but so far, that hadn't grown and borne fruit for him. But he was attentive, ready.

It was frustrating to have to rely on someone else to translate, but he was glad Destyn was there. Between them, Flower had a familiar face and one of his own race. If he was disoriented, at least he had two touchpoints. And the spirits clustered about, curious. Exael manifested partway, at least, a pinprick of blue-white light among the branches of the Living Grave. It knew well enough that its full-fledged presence might be terrifying at first.

[Destyn]

Aching to Pupate

10th of Searing, Year 122 Steel

Destynrael Dromlach’darach de Clann na Feithidí Uisce was no stranger to urgency. He shifted quickly- seamlessly from the initial shock into the role of helper. His focus was fully fixed upon his fellow Fae, and he promptly realised that the role in which he could serve most usefully was that of translator. Flùr had presence of mind enough to articulate their needs, and he would humbly deliver their thoughts to their intended recipient: Sivan, who face was more familiar than his tongue, it seemed.

"Cinnte!" He nodded vigorously, shifting his eyes to Sivan. "Flùr says they remember." He shrugged, not entirely clear on what that meant- But that was not his place. He was the conduit, Sivan the target of the statement. Sivan would hopefully ken the meaning. With the message delivered, his attentions returned to the reborn Fae and he awaited further instruction as the two before him shared a moment. There were simpler ways to communicate, and both were using their bodies- their affection to impart feelings that warranted nary a word.

When the time for verbal communication came again, Destyn was at the ready. He tilted his head- perhaps birdlike, perhaps buglike and smiled softly.

"Ba mhaith leat buíochas a ghabháil?" He clarified in warm, gentle tones. Everything soft and soothing. He had no runic magicks to emphasise such things, but perhaps the magic in his blood... their common blood might be enough to help in that regard.

"Is é an téarma coitianta..." He leaned in close to Flùr and whispered in their ear very softly, so Sivan wouldn't hear.

"Thank you..."

It were better the gratitude should come from Flùr's lips than his own. Better that the kindness not be spoilt by hearing it from the translator ere the speaker had his chance to breach the language barrier all their own.

Aching to Pupate

[Flower]

Flower slowly turned his eyes up to Sivan, shaking visibly. There were a thousand feelings rushing through him, a thousand memories. He opened his mouth to try and mirror the words Destyn said. Thank you. They were small words, and they should have been easy enough for him to repeat, but when he tried to speak, he could only manage the strangest, tiniest sound.

Both hands raised to cover his mouth, and his shoulders hitched. An exhausted laugh escaped him, and he shook his head. He had to try again. Sivan deserved at least to hear the words spoken by Flower himself. His eyes closed and he murmured, “Thank you.” The words were marked by a distinct accent, one that seemed to harken to distant, secret meadows, worlds known only to those whose very existence twisted and mingled with the flora and fauna around them.

At last, he spoke again, this time in the language he remembered. Though he looked directly at Sivan, spoke to him, he was entirely reliant upon Destyn to help him communicate. At least until he could learn to do so with Sivan himself. A tremor ran through him, and he took a step forward, pausing in his intended speech to at last to look down at his naked feet.

Earth.

He sank down, and his fingers delved into it, a strange expression of comfort creeping across his features. “Tá mo cheann scamallach, ach tá sé soiléir. Cá fhad a chodail mé?”

He glanced to Destyn at last. He did not remember him. Memories of Sivan plucking him from the mountainside were there, but he could not quite place the face of the other fellow. It must have been quite some time indeed. He lifted handfuls of muddy earth, pressing it between his forefinger and thumb and circling them. The act seemed to transfix him for quite some time. “Bhí sé ag stoirme…” He spoke the words as if distracted, his vision momentarily hazy.

[Sivan]

Sivan felt a smile tug at the corner of his mouth at the gratitude expressed in Common. Before Flower took a turn for the worse, they had been able to communicate fairly well—in bits of whispered Common, in gestures, and in meaningful looks. Now it seemed the sleep of the living death had brought back his native tongue, but not the Common one. But as fate would have it, Destyn was there. His smile twisted a little; he would have to thank his friend for stepping up without being asked, but of course, that's what friends were for.

When he shared Flower's question, Sivan did some maths in his head.

"Ah, I found him in the wilds on... the First of Frost... a year and a half ago. The curse or... whatever it was, started to worsen and... I enchanted you into the tree on... ah, the Fifteenth of Searing... almost a year ago."

Exael floated down from the boughs of the tree, the bees whorling around him in greeting. He remained a pinprick of blue-white light rather than manifesting, but he let himself be known.

Curious, he said into their minds. The enchantment was supposed to last a year and a day, and then require renewal.

"You are early, Flùr." Sivan grinned; he had found wider smiles since settling in Kalzasi, in large part due to making friends like Destyn. Perhaps between him and his aidolon, they had saved Flower from the mysterious curse. Perhaps he could fix IX. Perhaps all was not lost.

He put a sun-tanned hand on Destyn's shoulder.

"Seo mo charaid, Destynrael." He laughed, gave his friend a hug. "Introduce yourself properly. I'm going to get him some food. He's been eating dirt and rain for a year."

With that, he rushed inside, his laughter trailing behind him. There were fruits and vegetables from the garden, honey from the hive, as well as various and sundry things he kept about or Destyn and others brought to furnish his larder. He wondered if Flower would have Destyn's taste for bugs and pulled out a packet of candied grasshoppers from a specialty shop in town.