Venla’s heart tightened at the sight of his tears. She shifted a little closer and rested her hand lightly on his arm, warm and steady. When he rose, her hand fell back down to her lap.

“I care for you still.” she murmured. “I… I don’t want to hurt you, Willard. Not in the least.” She took a deep breath and let her hand rest lightly on her lap, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeve. But sometimes a thing has to be done, even if it feels like a wrong turn, even if it pinches the heart. "But I can’t keep feeling like I’m standin’ here all on my own, like… like... I’ve tried to make sense of it, tried to forgive it in my heart, because I know you have your duties, your calling, and your orders to tend to.”

She took another breath, trying to steady herself. A sad smile brushed her lips. “It’s not that I don’t want to be with you.. But I can’t ..." She could not be the woman who endlessly waited for him. It made her feel small, like a pebble tucked beneath the roots of an old oak. Present, yet unnoticed and alone. What she longed for was a heart that ran to meet her, not one that retreated, leaving her with nothing but the quiet ache of unanswered questions. "And… I’m real sorry, I am, because I know you didn’t mean to hurt me." But you did.

Her hand twitched as if to reach for him but stayed where it was, a gentle pause. She gave a faint shrug, a small smile curling at her lips, almost wistful. “We’ll never know what might have been, not if things keep going like they were." How long were he going to hide himself away? And leave her wondering where she stood? Probably even longer than she could have guessed, now with rumors of peasant rebellion. Would he have left without even talking to her first?
 
Last edited:
Willard listened, quiet as a field mouse, and nigh as vulnerable. 'What would you have of me, then, Venla?' He asked once she had finished saying her piece. 'I would ask you to come with me, if it did not put you in harm's way, or else expose you to the Order's problems.' The Road was an uncertain place to find oneself at the best of times; dangerous and dark, full of twists and turns that boggled and vexed.

Not the place for her, even with her magic, thought the dawnling, pacing, feet treading the pool's edge, as if tempting fate.

'I didn't mean to hurt you. But I did. And for that I'm sorry.' Too little, too late. Perhaps. Still, better to say a thing than leave it unsaid. To own a mistake was to acknowledge one's flaws, and by doing so one could strive to become a better person. Usually, that began with fixing what was broken.

'I am many things, Venla. But the last thing I wanted to become was a burden to you,' he said, unable to meet her gaze, the shame and sorrow of days past lingering in his periphery like twin shadows, waiting for just the right moment to return. Willard did his best not to look lest they manifest in reality. Stranger things had happened.

'I do regret not being there for you, though.' Blinking, he turned his attention skywards. 'From the outside looking in, all of this must seem so strange, so... foreign. As to the matter of your magic, well, I imagine it must be eating you up inside. The fear, the gnawing worry of what's yet to come.' Fighting down his own growing unease, the knight lowered his head, turned to face Venla. Sad, ashamed, but here with her, even though he hadn't been when it mattered most. His eyes found hers.

'Is it?'
 
Venla didn’t answer at once. Her eyes followed the ripple of the water where his pacing disturbed the pond’s edge. Her lips pressed into a thin line as she considered him. It was hard looking at him, seeing that half-hope in his eyes that she might say something she couldn’t. What would you have of me, then?

“I s’pose… you’ve already asked your own question, haven’t you?” she said softly. Venla’s gaze softened, and she let out a quiet sigh. Her words careful, but honest. The weight of the thought had settled on her shoulders like dew on a meadow.

“Perhaps… perhaps you’re meant to be with someone who walks beside you in the Order. Someone who knows the steps you take and the burdens you carry. Someone who can fight at your side, without you having to watch over them all the time. Someone who can keep pace with the life you’ve chosen… in ways I just can’t.” She said gently, almost to herself, letting the words drift like dandelion seeds on a summer breeze.

She paused, giving a small, rueful shrug, her eyes soft with kindness. "I… I’ll always care for you.” Her magic was not what had been eating her up inside. It was how quickly he went from ‘let’s see where the road leads’… to not being seen at all.

Venla let her gaze drift from him to the shimmer of the pond at his feet. “I try not to think about it too much. It’s the sort of thing that’ll gnaw at your mind if you let it.” she admitted. “But I hope,” she added, looking back at him, “Well… that when the masters at the Sanctums can spare a moment, they’ll give me a word or two of advice." Something to help her understand it better, before it becomes something she can’t hold. “Though I know… with all the talk of unrest among the smallfolk… I understand they are busy, and I’ll wait my turn.”
 
'Perhaps I already found who I want to walk beside me,' the dawnling replied, steadfast in his beliefs, if not his actions of late. 'You know me better than most, Venla. I'm not asking you to fight my battles or share my burdens. I like you just the way you are.' Honest, understanding, and far too forgiving, if their conversation so far was any indication.

Really, not even a "fuck you, Willard!" or a "why the fuck didn't you come see me?"

Just bitter memories and sadness; pain and sorrow, and words left unspoken for the sake of a relationship already frayed at the seams. It was a shame the world-weavers hadn't manage to figure out time manipulation. Had they been so capable, he most likely would've turned the clock back a few ticks, tried again. 'I realise I'm not the first person to let you down,' he went on, resisting the urge to start pacing again. Damned nerves.

'You've been hurt before. I can see it in your face, the way you seem to stare through me, sometimes,' he paused, head down, arms hugged tight to his chest. 'Fuckin' creepy that, by the way. You been practising?' A shitty attempt at humour, granted. He carried on before Venla could bring him up on it. 'Nevermind. I guess what I'm trying to say is... I'd be grateful... if you would give me another chance. To redeem myself.'

Standing straighter, the knight took a step closer, forcing himself to remember how to breathe.

'Slap me, if you want. Throw my arse in the pond, if it makes you feel better. Just, please, don't give up on us. At least not yet.'
 
She felt the sting of his words, innocent, perhaps, or meant as a joke, but they stung all the same. My eyes… do they give me away so easily, do they? But he didn’t really know the half of it, how often she had bent herself to the needs of others or how easy it was for her to set aside her own heart. But perhaps without meaning to, he had discovered these soft spots.

Willard kept asking things of her without knowing what he was asking. He was a masterful fighter, precise and unyielding. So, as in any other duel, he found the little gaps in her defenses. He was quick, clever with his strikes. It wasn’t that he wanted to hurt her, no, not at all, right? But he kept pressing where she was tender. Grinding her down without even meaning to, worn thin the soft hope she’d wrapped around the idea of them.

The blithesome part of her that carried joy like a lantern for others, the corner of her heart that tucked herself aside so no one would feel a shadow where she had stood. The spot who believed in second chances, in the goodness of people, in the small hope that a wrong could be mended. The parts of her that wanted to bring joy, to ease sorrow, to lift hearts. He found the pieces of her that never wished to hurt anyone. That part of her, the one that loved so easily, just wanted him to smile again. To breathe easy. To be alright. It hurt her more to see him in pain than it did to carry her own. He found her unselfish heart and pressed upon it, and a pressure settled deep in her chest.

The armor she wore wasn’t of steel, but of kindness, of hope, of a gentle insistence that the world could be better if one only tried hard enough.

So she told herself he hadn’t truly done anything cruel. No, it wasn’t that. Whatever responsibilities had pulled him away, his duties, his causes, the needs of the Order, were heavier, larger than a single woman, larger than her. Larger than any single hope or want she carried. That was the truth she reminded herself of, again and again. She would not stand in the way of the world, nor impede the good work he had committed to, nor tether him to her own needs when the realm required his strength elsewhere. She wasn't selfish.

Venla let the quiet stretch a moment longer, her thumb brushing absently over a seam on her skirt. The evening air smelled of damp earth and honeysuckle, sweet and aching. The hush between them filled by the distant sound of crickets and the soft swish of summer leaves.

Venla took a deep breath, her chest rising. "I know folk make mistakes," she said softly. “Even the good people do. And I reckon if I turned my back on everyone who let me down once or twice, well… I’d be an awfully lonely soul." She turned her to look at him then, his eyes red-rimmed, his hands fidgeting like he didn’t quite know where to place them. Then, she pushed herself from the bench.

'Slap me, if you want. Throw my arse in the pond, if it makes you feel better. Just, please, don't give up on us. At least not yet.'

She placed a hand lightly on his crossed arms, feeling the tension there, the way he had folded himself in on himself like he could hold all the hurt away. Gently, she urged his arms open, peeling them from his chest. She stepped closer and wrapped her own arms around him. “All right,” she murmured against his shoulder. “One more chance… to see if we can make it right."
 
Last edited:
“One more chance… to see if we can make it right."

Relief flooded Willard's chest as Venla wrapped her arms around him. A balm to his soul, her words reinforced the hope that all would be alright, come the end. 'Thank you.' Slowly, as if stuck in a dream, the dawnling made to return the hug, afraid to hold on too tight lest he end up breaking something fragile, something precious.

A small smile blossomed on Willard's face as he held fast, weathering the moment, for as long as Venla bade it last. Like taking a step back from a very high ledge, he thought, rocking gently from side to side, all too aware of how lucky he was to have and to hold, and to be held in turn by a woman he cared for deeply. Even if I do have a funny way of showing it. Mistakes made, lessons learned. Best to move on before the past poisons the present, thought Willard, knowing in his heart that it was already too late.

Planting a kiss atop Venla's head, Willard drew her in closer, lifted her as easily as one might a feather. Spinning her about, the young dawnling grinned, growing solemn as he revelled in a beauty that yet remained his. By the time he set her down, he was grinning again, as if hoping to share his happiness with her, so that she might make it her own.

'So,' he said, testing the waters. 'Does this mean I'm not going in the pond?'
 
The warmth of him settled around her like the comfort of a heavy quilt on a cold morning. Her hands stayed where they were, one resting lightly between his shoulder blades, one curling into the fabric of his tunic. Something in her softened as she felt the rise and fall of his breath beneath her palm.

He spun her, and she didn’t protest. Just let him, eyes closing for a moment as if to seal away everything else, if only for the span of a heartbeat. The weight of the last few days didn’t vanish, but it lightened a little, less like a storm overhead, more like the distant press of grey clouds waiting their turn.

She tilted her head, looking up at him. Gently, she brought her hands up to either side of his face, palms warm against the lines of his cheeks. Her thumbs brushed beneath his eyes, soft as breath, where the tears had been. And then, she leaned in and kissed him. Her hands slid down, slow and sure. Over his shoulders, down his chest, and then... Venla pulled back just a little, eyes meeting his. There was a flicker in her eyes, of a gentler kind of justice.

“I reckon some things need balancing out.”

She shoved.
 
Last edited:
Not all questions required answers. Not everything needed saying. Tempting fate, pushing until you got pushed back, that was starting to become something of a habit of his, Willard realised.

The kiss was as much a distraction as it was a sign of forgiveness. The shove, when it came, surprised him, a small gasp escaping his lungs as he tottered on the edge, a finger breadth away from falling.

Water lapped at his heels. The ducks quit their quacking. Basic human instinct had the dawnling reaching for something to anchor himself to, anything that might keep him from disturbing the koi circling beneath the glimmering surface.

His hands found Venla's wrists as he toppled backwards into the murky depths. The last thing he saw before the darkness closed in on him was the look of surprise on the redhead's face.

Cold drove right through him as he went under. The pond's silver-scaled occupants scattered, even as the knight coughed and laughed and coughed some more.

'Fu-ck, Venla! I'm so sor-... Fuck!'

The pond rippled as he managed to get his feet beneath him, mud and small fry kicking up a fuss as he scooped Venla up, his damp tunic thoroughly drenched. Much like the rest of him.

'Are you alright?' He asked, water running down his face and neck, getting in his eyes. 'Didn't hurt you, did I?'
 
Her eyes went wide, a sharp cry escaping her lips as the unexpected strength of his hold dragged her forward. “Wait...!” she began.

SPLASH.

Cold water licked her face. Water exploded in a wide arc, lily pads bobbing wildly and ducks fled in panic. She felt the shock of the chill surge through her as her dress soaked instantly. Water rushed into her mouth and stung her eyes.

Venla surfaced in a violent cough, sputtering, wiping water from her eyes. Her skirts clung heavily around her legs. She blinked rapidly, gasping, the smell of reed and pondwater filling her nose. Cheeks flushed and mouth parted from breathless coughing. Mud clung to her calves, her hair plastered to her neck and collarbones like riverweed.

“You...!” she coughed again, sputtering. Water still dripping from her hair and eyelashes. She blinked up at him, wide-eyed. “You...you muddle of a man!” she gasped, a hiccupping laugh that was half exasperation, half delight. Pressing a hand gently to his chest to steady herself.

Her hands found his damp shoulders, gripping lightly. "I’m alright, truly,” she said, shaking her head, letting a tiny laugh flutter out. “Just… maybe a bit wetter than I’d hoped to be this evening.” Her hand rose, gentle as ever, fingers brushing through Willard’s soaked hair, trying to smooth it away from his face.

Eyes searching his with fondness, her thumb brushing away a droplet of mud that clung to his brow. “You alright, love?"
 
'You alright, love?'

'I am now.' Willard reassured her, smiling faintly. Despite the chill, he could feel his face growing warm as her eyes searched his. Cupping her cheek, he took a moment to drink her in, the sight of her drenched to the skin as amusing as it was enchanting. No doubt we look quite the pair, he mused, smirking, his thumb tracing scars long since faded.

'Love,' he repeated the word, turned it over in his head, as if afraid he might forget its meaning. 'I could get used to hearing you call me that, love.'

Taking Venla's hands in his, Willard guided the redhead back to shore. Stars twinkled overhead. Fireflies swam in the black between. Lit torches lined the path back to civilisation. 'We should probably go get cleaned up and dried off,' the young knight smiled as he helped Venla climb out of the pond. 'This was all part of an elaborate plan to get you out of your clothes, see,' he winked, blinked as water ran into his other eye. 'And I'd hate for you to catch a cold.'
 
'I could get used to hearing you call me that, love.'

“Mm.” she hummed, squeezing his hand gently as he led her toward the shore, skirts dragging through the shallows.

Venla squelched her way up onto the grass, boots and dress heavy as bricks. The wet linen dress clinging to her legs. She huffed, half-laughing, half-shivering, and gave Willard a look.

With a small grunt, she bent to tug off one boot, tipping it upside down. A stream of pond water poured out with a glorp, followed by a stray leaf and what might have been a very confused beetle. She repeated the process with the other.

Venla let out a breathy little scoff, a crooked smile tugging at her lips as she wrung out her hair. “Oh, was it now?" Her eyes drifted toward Willard, and the smile that curled her lips was gentle, tired, and fond.

She gave her skirts a firm twist, wringing them out with both hands until the water ran down in little rivulets onto the grass. Before she stepped closer to him and gave his tunic a quick wring too, teasingly. her cold fingers slipped under the hem of his tunic, tracing lightly over the warmth of his skin.

“You owe me warm tea. And a fire. And maybe a blanket or five.”
 
'Anything else, Your Ladyship?' Willard shivered at her touch, before growing still. No doubt he looked like a drowned rat. A bit of preening might just be what he needed to appear human again. Though, a soft towel and a dry set of clothes wouldn't go amiss.

'Come on, I'll escort you back to your room.'

It wasn't far. A hop, squish and a splat away from the gardens. Still, the guest wing may as well have been on the other side of the Mheara, for all the good it would do them. 'I'd offer you my cloak, but I think the frogs nabbed it,' he whispered quietly in Venla's ear as they walked the winding path. Back. 'Hope we don't run into anyone,' the dawnling grinned. 'Likely scare 'em to death. Me, not you.'

Slowly, Willard slipped his arm through hers, brought Venla close as lights and voices appeared up ahead, shifting with the breeze.

'You're gorgeous, even with half a nest stuck in your hair.'
 
“Best be careful, or folk might start thinking we went swimming together on purpose.” She gave him a playful nudge with her shoulder, entirely unconcerned about whether anyone saw them or not. Damp and muddy footprints trailing behind them. Her boots squelched with each step.

“Half a nest?” She shook her head, brushing damp strands of hair from her face, then shot him a glance. Willard’s arm through hers was steady, and she leaned lightly against him, letting his warmth seep to her. “You're quite a sight too." Her eyes flicking to Willard as he trudged along beside her, water dripping from his hair and his tunic clinging to his frame.

As they rounded the final curve toward the guest wing, the warm glow of lanterns welcomed them, lantern-lit windows peeking like friendly eyes. “Safe at last,” she murmured at the sight of the dormitories.
 
She pressed against him, skin flushed and warm beneath the layers of her not-quite-ruined dress. 'It's not easy, being this handsome,' he concurred, positively glowing as the shadows gave way to light and warmth. 'Or did you mean I'm a horror to behold?' Like some sludge monster, perhaps, risen from the depths to reek havoc upon the landbound.

Their journey nearing its end, Willard could but nod and smile at Venla's words, eyes cast about as they walked together towards the dorms. Rooms allocated to the Order's myriad guests as well as its knights and squires.

Venla's door was the last on the right. Lantern light painted the hallway behind them in soft hues as she fumbled a key into the lock, cold fingers making a meal of such a simple task. His fault.

'I'll get a fire going,' the dawnling said, pausing at the threshold, suddenly uncertain. 'Unless... you'd rather be alone?'
 
Venla paused with her hand still resting on the door, just after unlocking it, and turned to look at him properly. One brow rose. Not unkindly, but with a quiet disbelief. This was the same man who had held her in the pond not moments agoa and before that who had looked her in the eye and asked her not to give up on them. And now here he was, suddenly hesitant on the threshold like a boy unsure of his welcome. He did not have the confident certainty of a man seasoned by years.

“Willard, you can stop fussing over whether or not you’re wanted.” she said softly, tucking damp hair away from her cheeks. “You are.”

She simply stepped inside and gave a small nod toward the hearth. “It’s cold. We both are.” she said, gently.There was nothing sharp in her voice, but there was a tired warmth.

As he knelt to coax the flame to life, she turned away and began to unlace the sides of her wet dress. Linen pulled away slowly, and she shivered when it slipped from her shoulders. The damp linen clung and peeled like wet leaves. Venla let out a soft, almost imperceptible sigh as she tugged at the sodden linen.

The soaked fabric slid off her, pooling around her feet with a wet, slapping sound on the floorboards. Her boots, likewise heavy with water, she kicked off. Lastly she wrapped a blanket around her shoulders.

Venla lifted a towel from the basket by the door, the fabric smelling faintly of lavender and hearth smoke. She gave it a small shake, letting it flutter like a bird’s wing, and padded over to Willard.

"Here" a smile tugging at her lips as she held the towel toward him. “Would you like to borrow a dry dress of mine? Might feel a bit odd, mind, but better than shivering and looking like a drowned rat, eh?”
 
You must log in or register to reply here.
Back
Top Bottom