Awake my Child

[Philomel]

Set between Hunter and Hunted and What You Asked For.

The room was a good size, and generously decorated. A desk, with numerous drawers, tucked into one corner on the far side from the door. A huge bed, with rich satin covers, in a crimson colour, was placed by it in another. It's huge headboard looked of another age - a heavy expensive metal beauty of criss-crossing lines and twisting painted in a light cream. A fireplace, lit and hot poured light and heat into the room, baring a centerpiece position. Before it spread the rest of the room - a large hearth rug, a cushioned sofa, and a mighty chest of drawers. There was also a chaise lounge, and an armchair by the bed, and it was in this armchair that Philomel van der Aart sat, leaning back and face creased with worry, waiting for her daughter, who was in the bed, to wake up.

In her hand she had a large brass tankard, that was full of a good stout beer, a brew now proudly perfected over the past five years of the ladies of the Gilded Lily fortress. Her eyes never left Celandine's sleeping body, and they had not for a long period of time since she had begun breathing once more. Once Vaeron had come in, offering the beer and saying that the Huntsman, who had saved her daughter's life, had gone. The same man that Philomel had dragged from his home country of Alerar as her prisoner all because she did not care that he had let a serum be placed in his body. A serum that was not of nature, but of science, which Philomel now feared more than hated.

How much she had learnt in the past few days. Closing her eyes briefly she rubbed her temples, remembering how it had been he would had created the potion to bring her back alive. In Vaeron's quiet words:

“Princess, what is the difference when it comes down to it between herbalism and what he did. There was more heat, more solutions and more equipment with things that could only be explained by foreign words, but what is that? It is just another tongue that still saved your daughter.”

“Our daughter,” Philomel had whispered in reply, but Vaeron had winced before walking out. She could now hear him talking in a low voice to the only other male person who was a permanent member of the fortress population. Tarrimar, an elf of Raiaera. The two had a lot in common and Philomel highly suspected something stronger was forming between them.

Willingly she had given up her bedroom for her daughter - who would not when she had recently been turned to stone? Now the young child lay, gently breathing in a way that had eased over the last four hours. And still Philomel had not moved from her seat, only drunk slowly. Food she had been offered but not touched lay on a table nearby, Veridian himself, her ever loving companion for life and literal soul partner, lay snoozing at the end of the bed, a good foot away from the petite faun. His small fox form was not a distraction for her today however.

A shudder ran through the girl and the faun gasped before leaning forwards, eyes wide as she bent over the bed. Softly Celandine's lips moved and she let out a quiet wail as she shifted over onto her side.

Philomel was then up from the seat she had not moved. Her body tense she replied on the strength of her will and her legs to hold her as she stared at the form that began to moan. Slowly moving this way at that, a shiver here and a shiver there, a grunt. A mumble and stumble.

The older faun gripped the sheets of the bed and looked on with wide eyes. She whispered a prayer under her breath as the form shook one last time - then fell still. Then suddenly it gasped, air rushing into its lungs, shoulders moving back and arching the back so the torso was sent thrust into the air.

Gasp!

It lasted four, long, decisive seconds.

Then it wafted out of her and she was left there, flat body, breathing regularly and her heartbeat - thud, thud, confident and loud filling the room. Constant. Heavy. Real.

Alive.

[Celandine]

“Mother …” she gasped, eyes flickering open.

Letting out a cry, Philomel threw herself forwards and wrapped her arms around the small faun. Blinking with large, confused eyes, Celandine gazed up at her mother before letting out a small smile.

“Lady told me you would come to rescue me!” she whispered, amazed. “And you did!”

Her mother began to cry, big wet tears that fell down her face. Celandine did not like to see her mother cry so she stuck out arms to her, knowing the word and concept of 'empathy’ from recent reading. It was a good word and meant things like 'being nice and understanding of feelings’.

Philomel threw her own arms up and bent to slide them around the girl. Pulling her towards her she hugged Celandine tight, a breath of relief escaping from between lips.

“Thank you mother.”

Kissing her lightly on the head Philomel held onto Celandine, and the younger faun felt the cold heavy drops of tears fall onto her head. She drew back, placing a hand on mother's cheek.

“I'm okay,” she said, looking at her in the eyes. “I knew I would be okay.”

But the faun mother could not help crying. She pulled Celandine back into a hold, hugging her tightly to her. Celandine had to smile and let it happen. After all she had had the vision, not mother. It was her who knew about all these things, not mother. The lady in the green dress gave her the dream. That single dream that, though it could not make the fear of the beast go away, it could give Celandine hope that she was not going to die. The pain of the stone stare still might happen. Thus, when the animal had come lunging for her she had screamed, “Mother,” knowing that Philomel had to be close by.

Philomel cried for a few further minutes, until Celandine grew a little annoyed. She squirmed and Philomel nodded, letting go and sniffing, her smile great. “Sorry, sorry,” she apologised. Celandine wriggled back on the bed, bringing up the blanket to her chin. She made room for Philomel, who smiled and moved fully onto it. The older faun arranged herself around by her daughter, taking some of the blanket for herself.

“Mother.”

“Yes dear,” Philomel said softly, her voice still a little sniffy.

“I love you.”

[Vaeron]

Currently he was on a sofa in the living room that was the private room that connected to his, what was still being converted into Celandine's, Philomel and Gosling's bedrooms. Beside him sat the silent and timid form of Tarrimar the elf, who had his hands on his knees and was biting his lip. Vaeron did not move, his own eyes baring forwards into the fire, waiting for the other man to reply. The only other man who lived in the fortress of the Gilded Lily, and whom was now considering the offer just given to him.

Tarrimar finally let out a small noise like a sigh and looked over to Vaeron. Immediately the mage's eyes snapped up, gazing right at the elf. For a moment Tarrimar was lost in the ocean blue depths before he swallowed and spoke.

“Wou-would it be … long term?”

Vaeron nodded once, formally. “If you wanted, yes. That is what I want.”

Tarrimar blinked a few times, looking down shyly as he pushed a hand through his hair. “I-I see.” He went silent for a moment longer and this time Vaeron kept his eyes on him.

“And yo-you are sure that it is me you want to ask? There are not any others?”

“Tarrimar, I have had never had a feeling in my chest as strong as this one,” the unsmiling man said. “I am very sure. Obviously you will live far longer than me but if you are wanting this then we can make the most of the time.”

The elf nibbled on the corner of his mouth. He let out a thinking huff as his eyes bore contemplating holes in the floor before him. He let out a few “hmms” and “erms”. He blinked, considered, then looked back up to Vaeron.

He nodded.

“I accept, Rameses Vaeron. I will be yours.”

For a moment the two men just stared into each others eyes. Vaeron smiled in his, and a small twitch at his immensely scarred cheek spoke of the attempt he was making to smile. For Tarrimar, however, it was the eyes that mattered and the elf felt his heart leap with joy and admiration. Slowly he leant in, and Vaeron did the same. Their eyes closed and their lips met, man to man, a relationship beginning.

The kiss continued for some time. It was Vaeron who broke it with a most satisfied sigh. “Thank you, Tarrimar,” he said quietly. “I know my situation is not the easiest but you have made me happy today.”

“Lady Philomel will be my Matriarch for as long as she will have me,” Tarrimar said, preparing to speak longer than he usually ever did. “But you - you will be my love. The fact you are the father of her child, and thus my future Matriarch, makes no difference in my decision. I agreed to this not for personal power, but because I genuinely think we could be happy together. Yes, at times it will be complicated, but that is fine. I am happy.”

Vaeron raised a hand and cupped his partner's face. “I am yours Tarrimar, for as long as you want me.”

“And I am yours,” the elf replied.

[Philomel]

She walked in to see them sitting, hand in hand and gazing into each other's eyes. Poised in indecision at the doorway she hesitated for a moment. Then she began to retreat back, but not before Vaeron suddenly looked right at her.

“Princess. Please,” he said. Beside him Tarrimar gasped, then suddenly went his usual, shy self. His cheeks went pink and he curled inwards a little.

Her brows shot up and she blinked. “I do not want to disturb anything.”

Vaeron raised a hand and invited her further in. “It is fine. We were just discussing future plans.”

“Future … plans?” She asked as took a small step forwards, her gaze flickering between the men. Tarrimar’s face was now red and he was looking at the floor as he clutched onto Vaeron's hand tightly.

“Yes,” Vaeron said matter-of-factly. “Tarrimar has accepted my request to be in a relationship.”

Philomel blinked and looked honestly surprised. Her mouth made a small 'oh’ and she paused for a moment as she flustered. “Well … congratulations are in order I guess.”

The scarred human nodded his thanks as Tarrimar began to speak hurriedly.

“My lady, this will not get in the way of my duties. I promise that-”

Immediately Philomel put up her hands. “Tarrimar,” she said with a degree of absolute firmness. “You are allowed to have what relationships you want. I know you will still work well, as will Vaeron. As will I. I guess I should say 'welcome to the family’ or something.” She paused. “Welcome.”

Vaeron grunted a note of what equated from him as laughter. Tarrimar went even more red as he gulped huge breaths and Philomel found herself grinning with his reaction.

“Anyway ...” she said through her smile. “Celandine …”

“Ah yes of course. You are up and not staring at her worriedly so … she is awake?” Vaeron asked, sitting up straighter.

Philomel nodded. “She is. I will not disturb you further, however, she wants to see you but that can wait.”

Vaeron paused, but then shook his head, grunted and swung himself up to his feet. “I may as well come now, Princess.”

[Celandine]

She liked having her family together at the table for a meal. That apparently included tonight Tarrimar the elf. Him and Vaeron, also known as dad-but-never-call-him-that, seemed to have some secret and they kept looking at one another. It made Celandine very interested but no one was telling her anything. Instead mother was speaking, talking about how her friend called Mr Hunter was right about some sort of prejudice thing.

“Princess,” Vaeron was saying. “What was done was done. I've seen you conquer other things worse than this. Your perspective has been changed over one man. Well done.”

Philomel frowned at him, “Vaeron never before have I dragged someone from their home, and took them halfway across the known world.”

There was a small cough. Celandine saw her mother look up to see Tarrimar elf man with his eyes on her. He seemed a little agitated. “My lady,” he said quietly. “Would it be better if I left?”

Philomel for a while looked at him before she shook her head. “No, Tarrimar, it is fine. If I wanted you to go, I would say so. Besides-”

“Hello,” Celandine said with a small voice. “How was your day?”

Silence fell in the room. Several blinks and all eyes turned towards the small faun sitting at the end of the table. She was swinging her legs and gazing at her mother. A smile was on her face as she practised the words she had heard her previous guardian, Etna, say to her brother-lover Ennis. The ones that made them seem like a normal family.

“My day was nice.”

Mother let out a soft sigh. “Sorry, dear one,” she said after a while. “Of course. You are back. It is very nice to see you well. How are you feeling now?”

“Mother, can we go sparring tomorrow please?” Celandine asked.

There was a pause, and the older faun looked to Vaeron father-not-father-in-name, who grunted.

“If … darling there are things that I need to sort out. Mr Hunter, my friend, he-”

“He saved me, I know,” Celandine said with a nod, as she rested her cutlery on her plate. “As did you and Vaeron.”

A look of pain washed over Philomel's face. “Dearest, I should have been here. I should have been able to do it myself. I was not able to bring you back from the stone spell. That was … I had to rely on Mr Hunter for his-”

“Special magic,” Celandine said, “The magic that is not magic.”

Mother's eyes dropped down, and she sucked in a breath. “Dear one …”

“Why don't I take you out sparring tomorrow?” came a grunt.

Both fauns looked over to see Vaeron, placing a fork with meat into his mouth, but with his eyes on them. Beside him Tarrimar was being quiet, focusing on his food and nothing more. Celandine let out a little gasp.

“Yes please!” she said excitedly. “Yes please!”

The man nodded and then went back to concentrating on his meal. He said little else, and there was little else to be said for that meal

[Vaeron]

Their swords met like two shards of pain that lanced across the courtyard. The resulting metallic ring sounded out across the stonework, awakening the attention of several eyes and ears. Some smiled as they saw the darling of their world - the Matriach’s daughter, Celandine - fighting against her biological body, but one smiled just for him. Tarrimar, leaning against the wall, with his legs crossed, eyes filled with stars.

Celandine had certainly gotten better in the few months she had now been living with them. Every footstep was placed carefully, following as close as possible his own. Her eager eyes kept on his movements, attacking when he did and ducking, though sometimes a second after if it meant she would not be hit. Together they danced, father and daughter, she showing him so many basic techniques learnt from teachers, books and from simple watching.

And he was proud of her. He bore his long deep blue knife against her half-size scimitar. They kicked and flicked and parried together, the five year old against the fifty something (even he was not sure anymore). It went on for some time before Celandine's little body gave up. She was smaller than him, had less energy and she had to eventually stick her hands up.

Then slumped backwards on the ground onto her tiny backside. She looked up to him with big eyes and a even bigger, though tired, smile. Her chest heaved and she dropped down her scimitar to let out a sigh.

“That was good, Mr Vaeron,” she said with a light breathlessness “Fun.”

The man looked at her a moment before nodding and sliding his dagger, also known as the Kraken, into its sheath at his belt.

“You're getting better,” he told her.

She nodded. “I learn fast and Lady in the dreams helps.”

Vaeron paused and raised a brow, as he observed her. “... Lady?”

The little faun nodded, reaching and pointing at a waterskin. Someone, who knew who but it was not Vaeron or Tarrimar, probably a devoted fan, got it for her. Celandine took a long drink.

“Lady my my dreams. In the green dress. She tells me things, they come true.”

Vaeron blinked. Then he sighed a little. Running a hand through his hair he looked down, knowing then that it was true. He had suspected for some time, heard the rumours. But never once had he brought it up with Philomel and never once had he heard Celandine talk about it. The idea of a prophetic gift in one so young was astounding, and confusing and practically unheard of. Vaeron had been so cautious about it that he had put off asking anyone until …

Well. Until now that he heard it from her own lips.

“I see,” he said, and he watched her drink thirstily, before she took a moment and got back to her feet.

“Again!” she suddenly said, newly bursting with life. She grabbed her scimitar. “Again!”

“But we just went. You have received energy back again?”

Celandine blinked and looked down at herself. Then she shrugged and nodded. “Yes,” was her answer.

She gave no more description before she lunged at him again.

[Philomel]

“Right,” he said, finally dropping down into the seat opposite her. Sweat was at his brow still, beaded into little iridescent pearls. The scars of his face stood out more vividly than usual, strong and remarkable, plucked out by the sun. His body also shook with exhaustion, as if he had pushed it further than it really should go. “Right, that kid … is learning far faster than she really should be.”

Philomel slowly looked up from the book she had in her lap to eye the man who had, five years and more ago, persuaded her drunkenly that to have a daughter with him would be ideal. Now, though primarily Gosling raised her, they were both involved with the young fauns life, something that he had sworn he would stay away from - because he wanted to. But now … well he had been the one to offer to spar with her.

“She's blessed by a goddess,” Philomel shrugged. “I told you about the vision I had. Celandine is a supposed to be.”

“You know about her prophetic gift?”

The faun blinked, and nodded. “Of course I do, Vaeron. I'm the first one she told.”

“But did she ever tell you about the lady who tells her those things?”

Philomel took a moment, slowly closing the book in her hands. It was entitled, 'A history of magic in Alerar’. Vaeron knew it was her attempt to learn from scholars what she had been told by her mother, her community and the Huntsman. For most of her life she had had a base hatred for those people who practiced and the science of Alerar. It was her opinion that science was attempt to remake the power of the gods, but without their permission. For her it went against nature, it went against many things that she stood for, was a priestess for. Indeed, her goddess Drys had never explicitly said any of these things herself, but rather just requested the worship of nature the priority, and Philomel had never fully completed a plan to do anything about her prejudices.

Until now. And what a mess that had landed her in. With a resounding guilt complex and an understanding that at least the Huntsman was not a monster, she was entirely emotionally unhinged. One of her most basic understandings she had stood for her entire life had been shaken.

And what was more she had needed him to save her daughter's life.

“Princess?”

“Hmm?” she looked up at him, seeing his raised brows.

“You're not even paying attention to what I am saying, are you?” he folded his arms. “You're thinking about the drow.”

Philomel scowled at him as she tightened her hands around the book. “He has a name, Vaeron. Or at least, a name he gives himself. And he is not just a drow, he saved our daughter's life”

“And you are still beating yourself up over it?” he stared at her, eyes filled with disbelief. “Honestly, Princess, he's just a man.”

“Who I dragged from homeland, and whose character I mistook-”

“By the way you told it to me, you understood that you respected him as soon as he offered his life. After that, Princess, you acted on instinct, longing to talk to him, educate him, but rather he educated you,” he shrugged. “That is all there is to it.”

She glared at him.

“Anyway, back to my original question, do you know that your daughter calls the woman of her dreams 'the one in the green dress’?”

[Celandine]

“Darling?”

The bright eyes looked up from where they were watching the sunset. Sitting on the battlements literally with the thousand metres of cliff beneath her tiny legs that dangled. She seemed not affected at all by the height but rather had a great smile on her face.

“Mother.”

Softly Philomel - Mother - smiled back as she came to stand by her child. She briefly looked with wary eyes over the side. There was a pause before Mother put herself into a position where she was could sweep out an arm just in case of a minor slip.

The blue eyes looked back at her, mainly because Celandine had noticed her mother's change. She rolled her eyes a little, and leant back towards her.

“You came out to see me for a reason?”

Celandine was not an idiot. After the past few days she had learnt that her mother loved her … a great deal. She had put aside her own strong feelings for Celandine's sake, she had sacrificed some of her being. And of course the young faun appreciated it, she just though wished her mother would stop being so upset about it.

“I was … I came to see if you wanted to find another tera'k dearest.”

Celandine pulled in her breath and turned her face away. Her eyes darkened a little and suddenly she looked more like a young woman than anything. She stiffened, breathing accelerating as she shook her head once.

“I don't want another one,” she said quietly, but firmly.

Mother frowned. She placed a hand on her daughter's shoulder. “Dearest-”

Celandine turned to her suddenly and fixed her with a stern, angry stare. “I don't want another one!” she yelled, and pushed the hand away. Her mother was left to stand there, shocked and confused as the younger faun glared with so much fury.

The truth of the matter was that Celandine did not want to be reminded of what she had lost that day. Erik had been the beginning of her legacy, the child of her own mother's old tera'k, a creature that she had taken into her heart … and whom she had only had for a matter of two months. He had died, saving her and desperately Celandine had tried to not think about him over the past days, tried not to remember the fear in the creature's eyes as he took the bite of the Gorgon for her, turning into stone instead of her. Her sorrow had become sheer fury, at the fact it had to be him and not her, or that he had even been able to go. She was furious that she had only been able to see one thing - her life being saved and not his possible sacrifice.

For a while she scowled at her mother before standing up right on the wall and matching forwards. She jumped down and sauntered off, leaving Mother speechless … and having not actually talked to her daughter about what she had meant to.

Never mind. Never mind. That could … wait.

[Vaeron]

“So … you did not actually mention the woman in the green dress with her?” he asked as he stood in the doorway to her room.

Philomel rolled her eyes, but continued what she was doing and had been doing this short time of the current conversation - this time writing at her elegant chestnut wood desk.

“To confirm, again, no. The situation was not right, and I do not want to overwhelm her right now. She has enough going on right now to know that she is personally visited by a goddess every night.”

Vaeron raised his brows but grunted. “Point granted, Princess, but she will need to know some time.”

The faun nodded. “And she will. But until a time as I think is right, this stays between us.” She paused and looked up at him, her grey eyes staring. “Not even Tarrimar.”

A small spark of happiness came into Vaeron's eyes as he thought about his new boyfriend - only the second one he had had in his entire life - and he nodded.

“Agreed. He knows there are some things we need to keep secret.”

Philomel went on. “As for confirming it … next time Drys is gracious enough to appear to me, I will ask her. She likely already knows the question is there, but her timing is above my own.”

The unsmiling man grunted, “That sounds right.”

As a former spiritual mage himself, he knew the need to be patient when working with the gods. He had, for most of his life, been a mage of Earlon, a Raiaeran star god of the sea. It had been what had let him to take up the life of a sailor-mage for some time, before he met Philomel. Now he had respectfully left Earlon’s worship to more capable hands, and begun a healthy dedication to Drys. It had changed his powers somewhat and made him far closer to his horse Megladon than he ever knew was possible, but it had been wise to adapt to the society in which he lived.

“It is the best way,” Philomel confirmed. “Drys will hopefully talk to me. Let me talk, I mean, she has done before.”

Vaeron leaned off the wall, coming more into the room. “Still not appeared to me.”

“You're not her priestess,” Philomel shrugged as she leaned to dip the end of her quill in ink. “I am.”

The comment made Vaeron smile. “I know you are. What, the only one, you said, outside of Paradisia?” He spoke of the faun homeland, which was a hidden world somewhere within the Jagged Peaks. Somewhere Philomel still had never been.

She nodded. “Yes. That is true.”

He walked further in, mostly meandering over slowly, his eyes on the paper and wondering what exactly could be distracting her so. He paused and picked up the book she had been reading before, 'A History of Magic in Alerar,’ as it sat on a coffee table. Briefly he bent over to flip over the first page and look at the table of contents that divided the timeline into the main ages of Alerar. Philomel was still silent, so he looked back up to her.

She was still writing.

[Philomel]

“Is there a reason you are still here, Vaeron?” she asked as she pushed the paper to the side, and then grabbed another.

The first was was married, covered with scrubbed out lines. Vaeron caught sight of the words, ‘To make amends,’ before the next piece of paper covered it mostly. Her hands began to work more furiously, but still using a gorgeous, calligraphic hand. Clearly she was intent on scribing this document.

She glanced over to where Vaeron was eyeing at the book. He had left the door open, and a soft draught was coming through. Though her bottom half was covered in fur her top half had flesh exposed, and she was finding herself now shivering under an ugly cold. When she saw him peer at her, but his hand still on the book's cover she scowled.

“Vaeron.”

“Princess, you have been my friend for a long time now. Many would fear to say what I need to say to you know out of respect for you but you need to stop. This is getting out of hand. You need to stop thinking about this man and get on with your duties.”

“I am getting on with them,” she argued back, “I went to talk to Celandine-”

“There are other duties than doing a singular motherly act,” he said back, and his voice was calm unlike hers. “You have an army of women beholden to you and they have not seen your here for a long time. First the incident with Osiris, then the journey to and from Alerar. Now this … obsession-”

“I'm not obsessing over anything, Vaeron,” she shouted, though her thoughts were still, admittedly, on the Huntsman. Her hand still wrote. “There is just a matter to sort out, a delicate one, a-”

But he was by her side already, the book closed some time ago. He had taken advantage of her distraction and, with a swift hand, tugged away the paper. The letter she was writing. She cried out but he was already taking steps back and reading it.

“The Huntsman,” it read. “My life is a complicated one. I have lived and seen death many times in my life. I have fought wars and have led too many funerals. My daughter's near death was too close though this time.
Our association began ill, and I wish to make amends. If you would come back with the person who delivered this letter to you, I would be grateful. If you do not wish to come, that is entirely up to …”

He looked at her, disappointment in his eyes.
“Princess.”

She cleared the space between them in a matter of seconds and snatched it back out of his hands. Her eyes were daggers. “Don't you dare to do that again, Rameses Vaeron,” she hissed. “This is my problem, my life, and I can do whatever the hell I want with it.”

He let her take the paper, but he was reluctant. His fingers stayed on it for just a second to rip a small corner from the page. Turning her back to him she marched back over to the desk and got a clean sheet to begin writing again.

He breathed in. “Princess-”

“Just go, Vaeron,” she growled. “And let me deal with my torment on my own.”