Snow Way Out (Mari)

[FennWenn]

((Bunnies approved! Mild content warning))


Snow.

The woods simply shone with the fluffy white powder in the weak sunlight. It hung on the trees, tucked into crevices and layering the world in all it's splendid glory. Fenn’s cloak, his shirt, and even his hefty bag had been cast aside during the night; only his breeches remained on his person. The little Fae was curled up in utter bliss, using the snow as a nice blanket as he snoozed the morning hours away. Anyone else would have frozen to death in the wee hours of the morning, but not Fenn. To him, it felt so good out here, in the cold and the quiet, and he just couldn’t help but bask in it.

Fenn didn’t know why he hadn’t taken his wanderings to Salvar sooner. A place so thoroughly and eternally caked with cold and frosted with snow was perfect for him, he thought.

Footsteps crunched down the snow a little ways behind him. Sleepy as he was, Fenn barely made the effort to flick his ears in the direction of the noise. Probably, he surmised, just some humans passing through in their own travels. Yawning, Fenn stretched out in the snow and rolled over, ready to head back to sleep.
Rude, rowdy voices caused him to stir in annoyance and stick his head under the snow. Couldn’t those damn travelers be quieter? Actually, those voices were getting unnervingly close. So were the footsteps.

“What in freezin' 'ell is a lil' brat doin’ out here in all this snow?” a bawdy man shouted. Fenn gasped and jerked his head out of the snow as someone gave him a swift kick to the side. He never saw the attack coming. It hit hard, and Fenn swore he heard one of his ribs snapped. A sharp, stabbing pain burned into his side. He clutched the affronted area with a pained grimace and great surprise, just barely focused enough to listen to the conversation around him.

“Gabe, ya didn’t need ta do that,” someone else grumbled in protest. “It’s a kid.”

“Shaddup Thom. I’ll be decidin’ what I do an’ don’t need ta do,” replied someone with a rough, intimidating voice. Fenn knew that sort of tone; it was the voice of authority, of men used to pushing others around. “Wanted ta check n’ see if 'e was frozen n’ dead. 'Tis rather interesting that he ain't, don't ya think?”

One of the men leaned down to look at Fenn, who was closing his eyes to the sudden horror that was now his reality. “His face looks kinda funny too. Ain’t those elf ears?”

“No, ya dimwit!” another bandit called out, shoving his friend a little. “Elves die in the cold just like most folk, I reckon. 'E looks like a one of them snow faeries or whatnot.”

Gabe laughed. “There’s somethin' unusual. Search 'is stuff.”

The Fae cracked open an unearthly green eye and stared up at the man who spoke, and who had kicked him so. Eleven other men milled around him, several of them already going through Fenn’s belongings and his cast-off clothes. Anger bubbled under Fenn’s skin. Yet there was nothing for him to do but clutch his side and give an anguished look at the bandits as they tore through his belongings. Just breathing hurt, and for the life of him, he couldn’t force himself onto his feet or to cast a spell. Not that his weak magic would be much help anyway, he thought, slumping a little in defeat and fear.

Watching the men touch his things, his things, made Fenn want to scream. He weakly leaned away as one of them made to tie his hands up, but he couldn’t resist the strong hands grabbing for him, nor could he ignore the stabbing chest pain. “It’s all junk ‘n shit in 'is bag!” the bandit who had been leafing through the satchel shouted angrily to Gabe, lifting out a small sack of nuts and dried fruit. “Got some food in here, but everything else is junk.”

Gabe leaned down and took Fenn's chin in his hands, forcing the boy to stare into his cruel, compassionless gaze. The man’s hot, rank breath puffed in his face. “Take it anyway. Take all of 'is stuff. No reason to leave it behind fer anyone else to 'ave. Search the bag more later, after we get the wench ta fix 'im up. What’dya think a Fae’d sell fer? Definitely, it'd be a pretty penny.” Fenn trembled as the man let go. “Well, 'e ain’t gonna escape all 'urt like that, and 'e ain’t gonna walk either. Jack, carry him back with us.”

There was nothing he could do but disbelievingly close his eyes to the world as he was picked up and carried off with the marching band of bandits. The frustrated tears that leaked from under his lashes froze solid to his face. This was not how Fenn had imagined his morning would go.

[Mari]

Amari lost count of how long she had been with the bandits for; of how many days and nights she spent curled up on a pile of rags in the corner of a cold room; leaching whatever heat she could from the ovens. Of how accustomed she got to their rowdy behaviour. Amari had picked up many mannerisms from them, her once delicate and soft features seemingly set in frustrated frowns. Her speech turned rough; having the noble politeness literally beaten from her.

What was perhaps worse? How their actions had become so commonplace to her now, that she had grown used to them, how she barely took note of the possessions they stole; of the few people who came in to partake in shady dealings. Amari simply existed. Kept alive solely to be their cook, keeper, and general servant. Why? Because her father refused to pay her ransom. Amari knew her father hated her; but she never would have thought both he, and her brother would abandon her so. That, killed her more than any physical violence Gabe inflicted upon her.

She was unwanted cast aside from her own flesh and blood.

Now?

Now she stood in a small kitchen, basting a large turkey for the men to enjoy upon their return from who knows where doing god knows what. She had been locked inside the large food hall; but had been given free roam of the place. When left alone she had tried multiple times to escape; but the windows were sealed shut; and the basement doors chained shut.

Amari’s stomach growled as she shut the oven; the men ate well; she only managed to survive off whatever scraps were given to her; aside from the rare meal Thom or Jack were able to sneak her. The two were the saving grace of the gang.

There was a sudden and loud bang from the larger of the rooms; followed by cheering and shouting. They had returned. Amari barely took notice, instead shifting to the pot of stew on the stove, lifting the large metallic lid with cloth in hand, she stirred its contents.

It wasn’t till she was called out that she sighed, wiped her hands clean on the cloth and headed into the next room.

It was vast, and well lit; various lanterns dotted the walls and sat upon the small. Circular wooden tables that were scattered in the hall. In the centre, sat one larger Dining table. It was there that Amari had already placed all the cutlery out neatly; and it was there, that Gabe had seemingly had someone sling a small, crying child onto.

“What the fuck?” Amari retorted, pushing one of the sniggering bandits to the side, “The hell did you bring someone here for? A kid no less?” She muttered - shoving another to the side so she was able to lean over the child.

He looked no more than 7, 10 at most. His form shivered. His hands were bound behind him and his feet together by rough rope. Amari let the back of her hand gently wipe the blonde tendrils of hair from his face. She could feel the warmth of her breath against her skin. He lived.

Amari shifted her emerald eyes from the kid to Gabe; “This is too far.”

“Yer don’t make tha rules, wench. I do.” He hissed back at her, grabbing Amari by the arm he pulled her close. Wrapping his other arm around her waist forcing her lithe form against him. “Yer lucky we can’t play wid ya, since yer’ cursed ‘n all that.” He whispered hotly against her skin. Amari fidgeted, attempting to push him away.

Gabe twisted her arm and Amari howled in pain. “Yer still ‘aven’t learned yer place, slave.” He pushed Amari to the floor and gave her a swift kick to the side. “Now, get us a round, clean the brat up - tend to ‘is wounds. Tis a fae kid, he’ll sell good on the black market.”

Amari coughed in response to his attack; rolling onto her side she struggled to push herself up, his blow had winded her and she struggled to breath. Still, with great effort, she stood. Glared at Gabe and headed toward the kid. She tenderly wrapped her arms around his form and picked him up. He wasn’t heavy, but it was still a struggle to carry him.

She ignored the insults and jeers that came her way as she carried the child back to the kitchen. There wasn’t much comfort to be had here, but she placed him on the pile of rags the called a bed. She turned her back to him and grabbed a small knife from her preparation area. It had been dulled; and proved difficult to cut and prepare food, but it was a necessity. Last time the bandits gave her sharp implements she had tried to attack them with it to escape. She cursed herself for her foolish endeavour as she turned and tried to cut the rope that bound his hands and feet. She set the knife to the side, next to the two of them and carefully wiped the frozen tears from his face.

“Hey.” She spoke gently, as though her words could break him. “Where does it hurt?” He didn’t speak at first, but his shivering hands clutched at his side.

Amari shooed his hands away, as a mother would a child, a large bruise had began to form. She frowned, it apeared that they weren’t gentle with him. “Just a child…” Amari mumbled, her fingers dancing along his bruised side. Her eyes travelled up to his face. It wasn’t fair. Why had they decided to take him? The bandits were cruel, but they had never chosen to take a living, sentient being before, so why now?

As Amari watched his face, she failed to notice her own, natural talents at work. Thin golden tendrils of light danced behind her fingers, sinking into the Fae childs flesh, ensaring the sinew of his bruised meat and filling the cracks of his broken ribs. Soaking his form in a comforting warmth. Her Ar’Tuel magic, unbeknownst to her; had healed the severity of his wound.

Her touch healed him, but it bought her greater pain and discomfort. The magic unpractised, and unrefined- causing her to take on the pain he had once felt. Amari drew her hand away. Stilling her breath. “Ah shit…” She muttered. It was in the same area Gabe had kicked her, so she assumed his blow had flared up.

“He really did a number on us, eh kid?” She attempted to joke, forcing a laugh through clenched teeth.

[FennWenn]

By the time they got back to the bandit’s abode, Fenn was simply loopy with pain. The voices of the men blurred together. His side ached with every breath and twinged with every footstep, and the bindings twisting and securing his hands behind his back weren't helping matters. A door slammed behind him with a tremendous bang.

When he next cracked opened his eyes, they were in a vast room as bright inside as the world was outside. Someone set him down on a rough wooden table with an array of utensils set out upon it. Not sure as to what the metal was, Fenn quivered and painstakingly inched himself away from a dangerously near fork. A couple of the men laughed among themselves. Gabe began shouting over them, calling for someone. A girl, no, a young woman came reluctantly into the room at his command.

When she spoke, her words blurred together too. Through his tears, Fenn watched her stalk over indignantly toward his table. There was a blistering anger searing her voice, and burning through her green eyes. He cowered a little, afraid it was directed at him, but a gentle touch to his forehead, flicking back his limp blonde locks suggested otherwise.
She seemed… protective. Of him, at the moment. Normally, Fenn would deem such a thing as “gullible” on the girl’s part, but under the circumstances, he just felt sorry for her.

He stared breathlessly as the woman was harassed by Gabe, eventually knocked down and given a swift kick in the side just like Fenn had recieved. Sniffles wracked the Fae, and he winced sympathetically as she was thrown to the floor.

But it seemed that the woman was made of stronger stuff than Fenn was. Unlike him, she got back to her feet and headed back over to the boy. She gently swept him off of the table and struggled to carry him away from the raucous bandits, holding him as if his bones were toothpicks. They might as well be, he thought with annoyance, as that was how easily they seemed to snap. He lamented his fragile nature.
Touching her was… strange. Most people elicited no extrasensory reaction from Fenn, but he sensed something bright pulsing under her skin. That was the only way he knew how to describe the feeling of potent magic. There was more to her than the eye told.

Once in the kitchen Fenn found himself set down in a mess of cloth rags. The fraying fabric served as a bed of sorts, and he relaxed in it, glad to be away from the noisy men and their antics. As soon as his hands were freed from their bindings, they went instinctively to his side, cradling his injury. His breath was still harsh with pain.
The woman wiped the frozen tears away from his cheeks. Her gesture reminded Fenn achingly of an old friend, whose concern for him had been endless. He stared up at her with his wide, pupil-less eyes and leaned into the touch, wondering semi-lucidly if she noticed the frost and the chill on his skin.
“Just a child,” she murmured, and her hands pulled his away from his broken rib. He gritted his teeth against her light touch, twinging the wound in a new way and turned away. An odd warmth spreading from her fingers surprised him. For once, it was the heat and not the chill that comforted him. His breathing loosened. A grin of sweet relief spread across his face.

On the other hand, the kindly woman drew away from him, her breathing troubled as Fenn’s had been. Fenn covered his mouth with his hands, uncertain of how to comfort her. Despite his general track record of leaving others to their own misery, he liked this person, and felt bad that she was the one hurting now.

“He really did a number on us, eh kid?” she said with a laugh that rang as forced on the Fae’s ears.

He certainly did, Fenn wanted to reply. The boy huffed and nodded weakly, thinking about the pain in his side, which was-
Wait. He poked his side repeatedly, his mouth gaping open in surprise. The pain was gone. Fenn clamped down on a sudden excitement that trembled in his chest. Did he have some sort of healing magic he didn't know about?
His excitement faltered a little when he realized it probably wasn't him. Duh. As often as he got into scrapes, he probably would have noticed a healing ability long ago. Upon giving it a little more thought, he snuck a sly look at the bright-feeling woman who was being so gentle with him. It had probably been her.

He had many questions. So, so many questions. Fenn gave the girl a thin smile and reached out with one hand to pat her as reassuringly on the noggin as he could. It was a familiar gesture of affection many used to console him, so he hoped it would console her. The touch left crystals of frost in her hair.
His other hand he laid across the floor nearest to him. Frost curled across the stone and licked at the rag “bed”. Painstakingly, Fenn dragged his finger in it, spelling out his thoughts. It was a urgent, rambling string of shaky words.
AM FENN. YOUR NAME? HOW DID YOU MAGIC THAT? CAN I HELP YOU? WHY SO NICE? THIS PLACE IS WHERE? HOW DO I LEAVE?

He paused, fright realizing across his delicate features. His ears pressed flat to his head as he finished his message.
HOW DO I LEAVE? he repeated, WHAT WILL THEY DO TO ME? TO YOU?

The heat from the kitchen oven would soon melt the message, but hopefully the bright woman would understand.

[Mari]

In response to her joke the kid slowly and gingerly sat up, covering his mouth in a small gasp. A look of concern upon his cherub face. It was only now, Amari really noticed his eyes. Like hers they were strangely coloured, but unlike hers, they didn’t hold a myriad of colours. Only a single swirling shade of green. Deep pools that drew you in and almost gave Amari the illusion of an aged soul beyond that of the child before her.

Amari watched as Fenn poked at his side. Her eyes widened and she reached out, ready to grasp his hand and pull it away from him. Amari never had a mother, she never had any real parental figure for that matter, but instincts kicked in, and she was acting quite maternal toward the boy. “No, don’t do that you’ll only instigate th-ahh..” As she extended her torso the pain ebbed and caused Amari to double over again.

“Shit.”

The pain was slowly subsiding, but movement still instigated it. Amari hadn’t realised he had kicked her so hard, it almost felt as though he cracked something rather than just bruising her flesh. “Fuckin’ Gabe.” She muttered.

Amari felt movement, and then an odd sensation - one that she recalled from her youth. A gentle, albeit cold pat on her head. The woman lifted her head, and offered the boy a reassuring smile. “It’s ok, this happens sometimes.” She straightened herself, the initial jarring pain she felt was already subsiding into the low drooling pain she was used to. The residual pained side effects of her healing fading. “See? Ok.” She reached out and offered him the same in turn, ruffling his hair. Again, she noted how cool to the touch he was.

The touching moment was short lived as the boy urged Amari’s attention toward his other hand. Warbled writing written in frost appeared on the floor, Amari leaned over with intrigue, “Ah. So it wasn’t my imagination.” She mused quietly. She struggled to read them, even at the best of times reading was difficult for her. Her father had disallowed her tuition, and any skills she developed were from her brother.

“Fenn?” She asked, “Is that your name?” She gestured to herself. “I’m Amari. But Fenn…” She glanced down at his words, already melting. “I’m sorry - I wasn’t really taught to read. I struggle greatly with Salvan, and am hopeless at other dialects.” Her fingers glanced over the word ‘magic’ or what was left of it, now it was just a puddle of water. “Nejik? I’m not sure what that is.” She paused, watching his facial features.

His ears flat against his head, lips parted from shaken breaths. She knew that look. Fear. Amari reached out, wrapped her arms around his tiny form and pressed him against her. His head between her chest, one arm around his back the other let consoling fingers drag through his hair. She didn’t mind the bite of the cold, and the only sign of her discomfort was a twitch of her body as frost licked at her exposed skin.

There was a loud clash, the breaking of glass from another room; and an obnoxious voice called out; “WENCH, DRINKS!”

“It’s ok Fenn. When I’m around I won’t let them do anything to you. I’ll get you out of here somehow.” She pulled away and dusted the frost off her shoulders. Amari pressed her forehead against his. Her Emerald eyes, alit with flecks of golden stared into his deep pools of green. “Stay here, and don’t let them win.” She whispered before standing.

Amari turned to the door, cracked it open and shouted in response. Her tone changing drastically. From nurturing to crass, “I’LL GET YER FUCKIN’ DRINKS HOLD UP.” She sighed, padding to the other side of the room where a large barrel sat, dripping an amber liquid. She started filling up several steins and placed them on a silver platter, her motions practised; she filled up two large platters and balanced them on the palm of her hands. With a flick of her foot she wrenched the door open. As she passed through her side clipped it and she winced, still clearly in pain.

Amari left Fenn in the back room, the kitchen, her bedroom, and her prison. She was greeted with cheers and jeers as she started wading through the small crowd of bandits. Some grabbed their beers, others offered her a slap on her ass, in which Amari responded with a glare or stomp of her foot upon theirs. Despite their cruel treatment of her, many of the bandits liked Amari. She had quickly adapted, picked up their mannerisms and had a fierey spirit. She was a wildfire that couldn’t be tamed, nor touched. Akin to a forbidden fruit. Her meals were hearty and delicious; and she kept the tavern turned base in good condition. No longer were there fetid foods or rotting flesh. No piles of vomit or blood. She cleaned it all.

Amari set the last stein in front of Gabe, it landed heavily on the wooden table, sloshing its contents out the sides. “You’re a fuckin’ ass.” She muttered to him.

“Girl.” He grabbed her wrist as Amari turned to leave. She jerked, quick to respond. “Unless you want burnt bread, and dry duck you’ll let me go.”

Gabe’s grip tightened around her tiny wrist. “Feed the boy what you feed us. Bathe him, see if you can find any clothes that fit him. In 3 days we are taking him, and selling him. Fae are worth a lot.” His eyes glanced up at her.

“You get your usual hovel.”

He let her go and Amari, furious, went to hit him across the side of the face with the metal tray. Gabe caught it, and in swift response returned her action. A loud metallic clang rang over the cheerful banter, and Amari was sent toppling to the floor. Forehead bleeding. Gabe threw the platter to her and it clattered on the ground.

“You never learn.” He offered her a sneer, “I think you enjoy my punishment. Slave.” He turned his back to her, the conversation was done. Amari picked up the platter and stormed back into the back kitchen.

Amari didn’t consider Fenn, nor his reaction as she slammed open the door to the kitchen then slammed it closed. She heaved the platter to the side of the room and it bounced off the keg of beer. Her forehead throbbed and bled, the wound was shallow but - as with all head wounds blood flowed consistently from it, down the side of her face and dripping into her cleavage, staining the flimsy white top she wore. “Three days? Three fucking days?” She muttered, heading over to the oven, wrenching it open. “Fuck him.” She wrapped her hands in cloth and pulled out the giant, cooked bird. Then two trays of bread rolls. The myriad of aromas filled the room. The spices and juices of the meat, and the smell of the bread. It caused her stomach to growl.

“Kid, I got 3 days to figure out how to get you outta here before they attempt to sell you.” She sounded furious, she turned to face him - and he jumped, startled. Amari blinked. Realizing what must be going through his head. She instantly went into damage control.

Heaving a heavy sigh, she approached him, and rested her hand upon his head. “I won’t let that happen ok? You’ll be perfectly safe. No one will lay a finger on you.” She leaned down, and pressed her lips to his forehead. Offering him a comforting kiss.

“I promise.”

She turned back to the food, and sighed heavily. “You’ll be getting a good portion of this, I hope yer’ hungry.”

She pulled out a plate, and started cutting meat off the bird, offering Fenn a drumstick, and stuffing. She gave him a few roast potatoes, carrots and bread; which she had drenched thickly in melted butter. She handed him the plate. “Sorry, no cutlery. I’ll bathe you later though, so don’t worry about getting messy.” Amari offered him a smile and a joke, in hopes to ligthen his mood.

“Those men out there, most of them are more like babies than anything else, the amount of vomit and shit I’ve cleaned. You’re like a lil’ godsend.”

Amari readied a second plate for herself, but it wasn’t fresh bread she placed upon it. Amari headed toward a small wooden crate, and pulled out bread that looked to be 2-3 days old. It’s crust stale and hard, a spot of green upon its side. Amari dug it out with her finger and placed it upon her plate. She granted herself a single slice of roast carrot, and drizzled some of the meat stock onto the bread, aiming for the hole she just dug. Then, she prepared the rest of the food and took it out toward the cheering men.

When all was said and done, Amari returned to the back room, and grabbed her piss poor plate of food and sat amongst the pile of rags beside Fenn.

“I’m sorry.” she said, pausing to take a difficult bite of the bread. She chewed with great gusto, swallowed and continued. “We didn’t get a chance to talk earlier. Fenn right? Where are your parents? Do you live in Salvar?”

[FennWenn]

She couldn’t understand his writing.
Damn.

Fenn palmed his forehead and ground his teeth together, concealing his frustration as Amari wrapped her arms around him in a reassuring hug. This was going to make this already unpalatable situation even more bitter. If she didn't understand words, Fenn would have to give her pictures. He sighed and closed his eyes, allowing himself to be squeezed in her tight hug; his head laid on her chest, feeling her hand ruffle through his hair comfortingly.

He felt a little bashful about the closeness; he knew he was making her cold, as she twitched a little at first.

Shouting and shattering from outside the kitchen broke their embrace. Fenn lightly protested her pulling away from him, hanging his head and drooping his ears. “It’s ok, Fenn. When I’m around I won’t let them do anything to you. I’ll get you out of here somehow.” He put on a faint smile as she pressed her forehead against his. “Stay here, and don’t let them win,” she whispered, and then was off, shouting back at the brutish men as she expertly prepared their drinks.

He didn’t really like the idea of being left alone in this place, but he didn’t think following her would do either of them any good. While Amari was out serving the bandits, Fenn decided to distract himself; to calm down a little, he re-frosted the puddle of the floor and drew funny things in it. He wasn't very good at drawing, the boy had to admit to himself.

Still, he enjoyed sliding his fingertips through the frost and just creating without fear. It took his mind off of the fact that he was now, apparently, an object to be bought and sold at the whim of the bandits who had nabbed him.

A crude caricature of Gabe was the first picture to go down. To give it that creative flair, he added a mustache and ugly buggy eyes. GABE THE SMELLY, Fenn scrawled underneath it, recalling the man’s hot, gross breath. It was with great joy that he watched that drawing slowly melt away into nothingness.
He got carried away making his caricatures. It took his mind off of his current status as merchandise. There was a little blobby-looking one that was an attempt at Mari, a couple of squirrels and harecats, and some random swirly shapes.

Once he heard Mari’s light footsteps outside the door, Fenn leapt to his feet, eager to show off his mediocre scribbles and maybe cheer her up a little. Instead, he was met by a slammed door. He stopped short of greeting her, watching the blood trickle from a new wound on her head. The drawings melted at his feet as he faltered in enthusiasm. His heart sank, and he sank back into the pile of rags with it.

As soon as she stepped inside the kitchen and busied about with her kitchen work, Amari kept muttering herself about only having three days. It wasn't hard for him to guess what happened at the end of those days, even before she bothered mention it aloud. Emotional vertigo overtook him. Three days, he marveled, nauseous. Three days until he was sold off. Fenn wrapped his arms around tightly himself and stared at the floor.
No more freedom, no more wandering. The only way he could envision a life as a slave was a life in agony, facing too much work for his brittle body to handle, and iron shackles. He didn’t know if that would be the reality, but it probably wouldn’t be much better than that. Or, then again, he might be sold into a slavery where he was like Amari; something between a pretty thing to play with and a servant for his masters...

So caught up in his own twisting thoughts and fears, that he barely even noticed how good the meal Amari was cooking smelled. It took her swerving furiously towards him to bring him back to his senses.
Fenn startled to his feet and leapt back, throwing his hands over his head in defensive expectation of more angry words and violence. He quivered as she blinked, her gaze softening. Again, he realized, she was angry at their captors and not at him. She walked over to him and leaned down so that their eyes met. “I won’t let that happen ok? You’ll be perfectly safe. No one will lay a finger on you,” she promised with a comforting kiss to the forehead.

But what about you? he thought, his brow still furrowed with worry as she started to dish out the food. He had wilted back into the rag bed when Amari presented him with a plate of food. “Sorry, no cutlery. I’ll bathe you later though, so don’t worry about getting messy,” she said in jest.

He returned her smile threefold. It was less because of her joking, and more because he was getting fed. You could never give him enough food. Fenn licked his lips and took the plate from her, his mouth watering at the smell. Turkey, roast potatoes, carrots, and bread drizzled with copious amount of thick butter. A hearty meal if he had ever seen one.
Amari gestured back towards the kitchen door. “Those men out there, most of them are more like babies than anything else, the amount of vomit and shit I’ve cleaned. You’re like a lil’ godsend.”

Fenn beamed back and shrugged bashfully, chowing down as soon as she had left the room to go serve the bandits their food. Something, something, they always needed something from her, didn't they.

By the time Amari was back with her own meal, Fenn has already gone through half his plate with much gusto. The boy licked the remaining meat grease and bread crumbs off of his hands, surprisingly clean for someone who didn’t have a fork. He was used to eating without the funny tools humans insisted on using - they were more trouble for him than they were worth. You never could tell whether that shiny silvery shit was iron or not.
Stupid humans, with their preference for smelting everything out of iron, and dying so quickly, and now this thing with kidnapping. Fenn was as much a thief as the bandits were, but at least he knew the difference between stealing people and nabbing shinies.

A glance down at Amari’s food made Fenn frown skeptically. All she had on her plate was a crusty greenish chunk of bread, with a roasted carrot stuck in it. Compared to what she had served him, it was utterly and undeniably pitiable.

“Fenn, right?" she inquired, not saying anything about her awful meal. "Do you have parents? Do you live in Salvar?”

The mention of parents made him think immediately of Raster. Yes, he thought, Raster had more or less been his father. It made Fenn lose his appetite a little. He set his remaining food down with unsteady hands and began drawing again. This time, the picture was of a man with a pleasant face and far, far too many rings in his nose. Fenn grinned down at it nostalgically. He pointed to the picture and pointed at himself. Then, he drew a crude sword, his grin fading. Uneasily, he slashed at the picture of the man, straight through the stomach.
Amari probably got the point. Fenn wiped it away and renewed the frost with a dull look in his eyes.

As for the second question, well, Fenn hoped that she at least knew what a map looked like. There wasn’t any better way to get his point across. He scrawled a rough depiction of what he knew Althanas looked like, and jabbed a finger in the rough direction of Corone. Home, it seemed, was very far away.

It was time for a change of topic, he thought as he limply wiped away the map. With her questions answered, Fenn nudged Amari’s shoulder in a concerned way and picked up his plate. Shyly, he held it out towards her; it still had some meat and potato left on it. There was a stubborn finality in the way he set it on her lap. He tucked his legs into his chest with a smug turn of his head, preemptively refusing any attempts to give it back to him.

[Mari]

Amari thoughtfully chewed the stale bread as she watched him begin to draw. Slowly, it dawned on her. The young boy was mute. The woman felt a little guilty, asking him so many questions, but he didn’t seem to be bothered by it. Amari decided it’d be rude to draw attention to it. Instead she watched him work. Tiny little fingers etched out an older looking man covered in piercings - only to strike a line through his chest.


Dead.

Amari’s intrigue sank along with her heart. Someone so young had no family, no father or mother. She could relate, she grew up without a mother, and her father didn’t treat her as a daughter. The image brought up bitter memories.


Amari sighed, fiddling with her bread. “It hurts.” she muttered, “Seeing how much death and violence runs rampant on this land. I was so sheltered at home. I never saw any of it.” She shook her head slowly, her musings were not for the young. Nor was it fair for her to push her own worries onto him “Sorry.”


She watched as he started drawing again. Her eyes lit up with recognition: at least she understood this, a map. “Oh.” She watched him point to a place on the map. “Corone? You’re from Corone?” She asked in surprise. “You’re….a frost elf? Frost Fae?” She asked, trying to clarify. “I would have assumed you would hail from Salvar.” Amari glanced at the small window above the oven, too small for her to squeeze through; and two to three iron bars barred it. They were old, and rusted, but until now Amari never bothered with them. Why would she? She’d barely fit her bust through the hole. Frost stuck to the glass pane. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a day where snow doesn’t litter the ground and -”


Amari paused, startled at his sudden and insistent action. She stared as he placed the remainders of his food in her lap. “You...didn’t like it?” She asked, disappoint in her tone of voice. Amari wasn’t very good at alot of things, but cooking? It was one of the few things she felt she excelled at. Fenn furiously shook his head, then insistently tapped the side of the plate, before gesturing to her mouth.


“Oh!” Amari exclaimed, feeling stupid. “You want me to eat this?” He gave her a dumbfounded look, as if he were asking her ‘how are you not getting this?’


Amari poked at the meat and potato, her stomach growling, she was rather hungry...Amari picked up the potato and carefully placed it in her mouth, a satisfied moan fell from her lips as she rolled the fluffy texture around in her mouth. Oh how she had missed the taste of real food. She ate the remaining food on the plate, unlike FEnn she took her time, savouring each and every bite. Amari, once done, set the plate to the side.

“Right...Fenn...I don’t know how old you are, but selling children...regardless...is wrong…” She shifted so she was closer to the boy, and wrapped an arm around his frostbitten skin. Forcing his tiny form to lean against her side. Offering him more consolation. “I won’t have it.”

Before she continued, the moment was shattered.


“ANOTHER ROUND!” A boisterous cry was heard from the other side of the door. Amari sighed, pushing herself up off the rags she called a bed. “Excuse me.” She said, heading back to the large barrel of golden liquer. Amari once again, poured two silver platters of drinks and left Fenn in the kitchen.

Amari placed the drinks around the tables, and collected the empty glasses. One bandit, giddy, cheeks rosy with intoxication laughed as he poured his drink straight over Amari. Drenching her hair and white blouse in the sickly golden drink. The material stuck to her form, and left nothing to the imagination. “You fucker!” Amari hissed, ripping the drink from his hand. “Don’t expect any more.” She hissed. The man didn’t seem too plussed. He was already well beyond plastered.

Amari stormed back to the kitchen, placing the empty glass steins into the sink, she’d wash both herself, and them later. Right now, there were more important topics than beer ladden shirts and dirty glassware.

She sighed, going straight to the issue at hand, as she attempted to wring out her shirt above the sink. “If they are keeping you with me, you will be locked in this mess hall. The windows all have iron bars, and the doors are dead bolted and locked from the outside. The only thing I can think of; is that. I’m too big to fit through, but I reckon you can.”


She pointed to the small window above the oven. “If we’re careful, we can slowly try and pry the bars off; and you can escape.” Before he could react she leaned down and squeezed his small hands. “Don’t worry about me.”

[FennWenn]

Fenn stretched and settled down in the rags comfortably as Mari got around to eating what he had obstinately offered her. Her cooking was the only good thing about this place, and she certainly took her time eating it. Though he felt bad that he couldn't do more for her, a fear that manifested itself in twitchy nail-biting, at least he did that much. He spat a couple of nails into his palms and flicked them away.

It was a relief that Amari accepted the food, and it was a relief that she actually comprehended his childish scrawlings this time. As mean as it felt to admit it, she was not the sharpest of icicles.

But, he was reminded, kindness seemed to go well with a lack of intelligence. At least Fenn could breath easy with her around to protect him. “I don’t know how old you are, but selling children… regardless… is wrong…” she murmured to him, bringing her arm over his shoulders to lean his fragile form against her. Ironically, Fenn realized that he was being given far more affection in this one day than he normally got in a month. “I won’t have it.”

An explosive calamity sounded outside the door as the men roared for more to drink. Fenn’s hands dug into and clawed resentfully into the fabric “bed” underneath him. Hadn't they had enough already? “Excuse me,” she said, looking rather unhappy. Still, she fixed fresh drinks without complaint and headed off to serve the men.

Fenn internally groaned in annoyance and prayed that Amari would come back unharmed this time. The initial fear that had consumed him upon being stolen away was finally wearing off. It was replaced by a fluttering frustration at being trapped as he was. He flopped down in the bed and waited in silence until Amari came back. To explore the kitchen was a tempting thought, but he didn't want to risk messing the place up and getting her into trouble.

The minutes passed, sticky and slow, like time was a delicious syrup that refused to fall fast enough onto his pancakes.

Finally the door banged open, and Amari stamped in, looking very displeased and exceptionally wet. Specifically, her shirt was drenched. He could see all.
Fenn’s cheeks turned ruddy with a flustered flush, and he stood up and looked away with a little flounce, afraid his gaze would make her uncomfortable. He didn't want to stare. People got so weird about being seen in any state of undress. His feisty old comrade Concordia tended to throw things at Fenn when he accidentally walked in on her without knocking, and he was not eager to make Amari that mad.

Gaze lowered and head down, Fenn followed Amari to the sink, where she fruitlessly wrung the foamy beer from her shirt. A huff escaped Fenn’s lips. Those bandits certainly were a rough crowd. For a moment, he lost himself in a rash fantasy of freezing the ruffians into pretty little ice statues right where they sat at the table. Wouldn't that be a funny change? For once, they would be still, quiet, and undemanding.

As Amari worked to dry herself, Fenn stood by and listened as she described the security measures around the place. Locks, deadbolts, bars. Nothing fancy, but still quite intimidating if you didn't have the resources to deal with it.

If only he had his satchel! Fenn’s rather large collection of pins and bits of varied non-iron wires made excellent picklocking tools. Not that it would help, he supposed with a frustrated stamp of his foot, since there were also the deadbolts to worry about.

His satchel, his cloak. He needed to tell Amari about them later; they were not something he would leave behind if he could help it.
A sorrowful pang went through Fenn’s heart and he sniffled. The satchel’s absence made him anxious. Raster had given him that bag, and he hadn't gone a damn night without it at his side. He was going to have troubled sleep tonight.

Amari’s plan was what needed his focus at the moment thought. The small window hanging above the oven seemed promising, as she had said, but...

It was the iron bars that worried him. Fenn peered up at the windows, gnawing at his lip with worry. Were they really iron? If they were, squeezing through them might be painful even if they were pried open far as they could go.

The boy easily climbed his way up on top of the oven, his bare feet providing a buffer against the hot surface with a constant effusion of frost that quickly melted and steamed up the room. He took care not to step directly on the iron coils. Oh, the window really was too small for Amari - it was barely big enough for him. If only she could escape too, he wished, guilt flickering across his face.
Worse, if it those bars were what she said they were, he wasn't sure how even he himself would even get through. Well, he knew, there was only one way to check.

Closing his eyes and steeling his nerves for what would probably come after, Fenn reached forward and lightly touched a finger to a rusty iron bar.

Instantly, a wave of stinging heat seared his hand in reprimand. His eyes watered as red blisters spread across his fingertip. He pulled it away immediately, but it wasn't soon enough; the burn darkened around the edges, and tarry black blood seeped out from under his skin. Fenn sucked in a teary breath and crouched down on the oven to hold his hand up for Amari to see, showing her what it did to him. His nonchalance about this was striking; it was obvious that this sort of thing happened to him often.
IRON, the frost spelled out at his feet. IRON BAD. Hopefully, she understood that one sentence.

Again, he thought, stupid humans made so much stupid stuff out of stupid iron.

[Mari]

Amari watched as he started to climb, first up onto the oven. She reached out to stop him. What kind of idiotic creature would willingly shove bare feet onto hot coils? Fenn. That’s who.


Steam quickly filled the room and Amari, alarmed - thought it was from searing flesh - she waved it away from her face and tried to lift Fenn away from the oven, it was when she noticed that a thin layer of frost constantly spurred forth from his feet.

Of course.

He was a bloody Frost Fae. The brieftest of thoughts wandered through her mind, on how she could sit him atop a pile of heated rocks in the makeshift bathroom downstairs. Perchance she’d enjoy the luxury of a sauna. The L’Olfsden family had one in their estate, although the women of the househould were barred from it.

Amari shook her head, such a thought was cruel and borderline sadistic. It’d be both uncomfortable and humiliating for the kid.

Fenn reached out and touched the iron bars that blocked the window. He pulled away as though he touched something burning, quite ironic considering he was standing on a goddamn burning oven.

“Fenn….” Amari sighed, exasperated. Dealing with rowdy drunk men and an overly inquisitive child was more than what she wanted to handle right now. Her eyes fell to his finger. “You’re allergic to the bars? No...that’s stupid, the iron?” He nodded holding his injured finger out to her expectantly.

Amari wasn’t sure what he wanted her to do. It wasn’t like she had any sort of healing powers or salves. “I’ll get a bandage.” She mused, turning from him, she headed toward a pantry, and to a small wicca basket which sat on the floor. In it, were an assortment of items, pins, needles for sewing, bandages, dried flowers. Small artifacts Amari managed to nab from the bandits before they junked them. She pulled out a fresh bandage and headed over to Fenn. She grabbed his hand, being careful not to touch his injured finger and wrapped the bandage taught around his finger and hand.

Amari thought she had done a decent job, but he still stared at her with his glassy orbs, expectantly, and almost with a look of disappointment. As though he expected her to click her fingers and heal him. “I don’t know what else you want me to do, Fenn. Magic is banned in Salvar. I’m no magic healer. You exhibiting your…” she paused. Trying to think of the right words, not wanting to offend him. “Natural talents...in front of the wrong people - could get you in trouble.”


She hadn’t seen the sentence at his feet, she was too busy trying to clean and dress the wound, but the message was uneeded. It was obvious what happened. “Right.” Amari said, wrapping two arms around his waist to lift him up off the oven.

“C’mon.” She said, setting him down on the floor - and in one swift motion ripping off her wet shirt. She discarded it over the sink. “I’ve had a bath warming for a while now. I really need one, and -” She paused, glancing down at him. “I don’t suppose you bathe in hot water? Cold water?” She glanced away, feeling stupid. She knew nothing of other races, nor their needs. For all she knew, all frost Fae were allergic to Iron and mute.


“Here..” Instead of dwelling on the matter, she lead Fenn downstairs. “They won’t bother us here, Thom and Jack - keep those names in mind. They’re pretty helpful. If you ask them for anything they’ll probably do their best to get it for you.”

At the bottom of the stairs was the basement, another oven, sat to the side, unused. THe other side hung a variety of clothes, drying. In the centre sat alarge, wooden tub - from it steam rose. Behind Fenn was the muffled sound of material shifting and dropping to the floor. Amari, having little to no sense of shame - especially in front of an innocent kid had fully undressed and dipped herself into the water. She winced as her bruised side hit the steamy depths.

“Damn…” She picked up the wash cloth that had been draped over the side of the tub, and dipped it into the water before dabbing her head. Wincing. “Tomorrow. I’ll look at dislodging those bars for you. The sooner you escape the better. Right?”

[FennWenn]

Still crouching on the oven, the frost under his feet still hissing and steaming up the room, Fenn waited with what patience he had for Amari to figure out what was going on with his new burn.
Had he done something wrong? The woman seemed a little exasperated with him, a little overwhelmed. It showed mostly in her voice. Even though she hadn't seen his words before they melted on the oven’s coils, she was able to figure out what had happened. “You’re allergic to the bars?” the woman ventured hesitantly. “No… that’s stupid, the iron?”

Took the words right from his mouth. Fenn nodded curtly, cradling his burned finger. He tried not to drip blood everywhere, as he didn't want to give Amari something new to clean up. If you thought red blood made stains...

“I’ll get a bandage,” she said to his surprise, and began rummaging around in a pantry. From an impressive smorgasbord of bits and bobs - the sort of thing he'd love to check out later, provided he had the time - Amari pulled out a soft strip of bandaging cloth.
Why didn't she just do her healy-magic thing again and fix him right up, he wondered, when it had worked so well last time? Didn't she know she could do that? It wouldn't surprise him if she didn't; again, Amari didn't appear to be particularly observant. She didn't even seem aware of her inner brightness. He waited, disappointed, as she fixed the bandage to his finger.

“I don’t know what else you want me to do, Fenn,” she replied to his wordless disbelief. “Magic is banned in Salvar. I’m no magic healer. You exhibiting your…” She hesitated a moment, mulling over her response. “Natural talents… in front of the wrong people - could get you in trouble.”

Fenn crossed his arms together, resisting a mean-spirited urge to roll his eyes at her. He knew that. It was just, well, he didn't think his ice attunement would be all that noticeable in a place that was leg-deep in the damn stuff. But there wasn't an easy way to tell her that. Instead, he laxly shrugged and allowed her to lift him off of the oven. The steam swirling about the room began to thin out.

She set him on the floor, and Fenn turned to look back up at her inquisitively. His jaw dropped a little as Amari casually slipped her shirt over her head and tossed it into the sink, revealing her pale torso to him. As it seemed, she was not as bashful about nudity as most women Fenn met were (namely, Concordia). Meeting a human so apathetic about it was interesting.
Still… He bit his lip and looked elsewhere anyway. The habit of not-incurring-female-wrath was too ingrained.
Her words, inquiring about how he took his bath, faintly registered to his ear. Hot bath, he wanted to reply. Otherwise, the water froze on top, which was fairly inconvenient. A hot bath would be fine.

Before he knew it, Amari had taken him by the hand and lifted him back to his feet, leading him down the back stairway. “Here,” she said, showing him to a basement that seemed to also serve as a laundry room and a washing room. “They won’t bother us here, Thom and Jack - keep those names in mind. They’re pretty helpful. If you ask them for anything they’ll probably do their best to get it for you.”

How funny. Fenn recognized those names, especially Thom’s; that was the bandit who hadn't liked Gabe kicking him.

After letting go of Fenn's hand, Amari quickly stripped herself of her remaining clothes. Oh dear. Slow with uncertainty, Fenn backed into the basement doorway in order to stealthily wait for her to get done with her bathing. Amari swore as she took a worn washcloth hung over the side of the tub and dipped it in the water. She winced when she dabbed at the gash on her head, blotting off crusty flakes of blood. It was weird how human blood turned brown when it dried. “Tomorrow, I’ll look at dislodging those bars for you. The sooner you escape, the better. Right?”

Right, Fenn thought. He nodded amicably from the doorway of the room, staring at his feet. The sooner he was out of this prison, the better.

Amari took quick note of his skulking. “Well? What are you waiting for?” she asked him tiredly, leaning over the edge of the tub. The little Fae realized with embarrassment that the bath was for him too. “How am I going to get you cleaned up if you don't hop in?”

A frown soured Fenn’s expression. What was he? A baby? He had been bathing himself for damn near twenty-five years, and he refused to feel any more helpless than he already did given his situation. Chilly displeasure glittered in his eyes as he made his way over with awkward, irked strides.

Fenn clambered over the side of the tub, not even bothering to take off his breeches. He skirted around Amari, scooting into the farthest corner from her. The water around him chilled considerably. It felt good to his burned finger; he hoped it was okay to get the wrappings wet. With exaggerated, petulant movements, Fenn picked up a damp washcloth of his own and began scrubbing at his face.

It seemed he was lodging some sort of protest.


((I bunnied a little myself this time to try and make something interesting for you to respond to. Let me know if it needs any sort of fixing!))

[Mari]

Fenn seemed awfully shy for a kid. Embarrassed easily? “I don’t bite.” Amari mused, lifting an arm and wiping the cloth over its length. Generally, children leapt at the chance for a hot bath, he did not. The water may not have been pristine, it was once snow from outside - but to a beer drenched Amari, it was a world of difference.


Amari had almost finished bathing herself. The heated rocks that sat at the bottom of the bath would have to be soon replaced if the water were to maintan a hot temperature. Her skin took on a pinkish red hue, the bath had been very hot - but Amari liked it that way. It made her body ache, it made her feel alive, and it sapped the numbing cold from her sore, tired muscles and joints.

Fenn still had yet to move. Amari twisted her form, leaning over the bath. “Well? What are you waiting for?” she asked him tiredly, giving a small yawn. “How am I going to get you cleaned up if you don't hop in?”

She gave an amused laugh as his expression soured, and his ears fell flat against his head. He stormed over to her and clambered into the bath, clothes and all. “Hey, that’s not….” Amari tried to reach out to him but he scooted away from her. Sitting in the farthest corner of the tub. It wasn’t exactly big. All Amari had to do was lean forward and she’d be able to clasp onto him. Amari didn’t, instead she watched with a bemused smile as he insisted on cleaning himself. “Alright, alright.” She gave a shiver. The water had dropped in temperature.

“I’ll leave you be, Fenn.” Amari pulled herself out of the bath. Dripping wet she padded over to the clothes rack and grabbed an oversized shirt, she draped it over herself. She then found a pair of oversized pants and trench coat. Amari noted the odd look Fenn gave her. “Belonged to Thom. He gave them to me so I could sleep somewhat comfortably.” She tighted the drawstring on the slacks and headed over toward the oven. SHe pulled out a large tray filled with polished black stones. “Right.”

Amari approached the tub, and carefully poured them into the water. They fizzled and hissed as they broke the surface, landing on the bottom, the waters temperature began to rise again - combatting Fenn’s ability.


Amari genuinally laughed again, it felt good to be able to laugh. “You know,” Amari said, clearly still amused as she toussled his hair. “I don’t think I’ve laughed in years-I don’t mean to but that look.” She shook her head, cupping her hands into the water and bringing them up to his head, pouring the water over his hair. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were a jaded middle aged man.”

She dried her hands on her clothing, “I’ll be upstairs. If you need me find me.” She pointed to a towel, which she had failed to fully dry herself with. “Use that, and change out of your wet clothes. You’ll- she paused. “Huh. I suppose the cold wouldn’t bother you.” She shrugged. “I will need to change your bandage before bed. I don’t want it getting infected.”

Leaning forward she pressed her lips to his forehead. “I’ll see you soon, FEnn.”