#zakurr

[ten-thousand-paper-wasps]

Nells crashes awake with a scream threatening to tear out of his throat. That it emerges closer to a startled yelp is perhaps his greatest achievement.

Blearily, he looks around at the tiny slumbering family he's built for himself. Zakurr is sprawled bonelessly across two couches, snoring deeply. Jaanta and Falk are tangled together in a pile of lanky limbs and affection. Owlsby sleeps huddled beneath the wagon outside, unbothered by the light rain. Morrin is leaned against the wall closest to the door, her monstrous axe at rest in her hands.

She is awake.

Slowly, silently, Nells creeps out from his nest of blankets and pads over to her. He sits beside her and lets his head fall with a soft thunk against her shoulder.

Wordlessly, she reaches one heavy arm around his shoulder and tangles her thick, calloused fingers in his hair. She scratches him idly.

"I suppose you must lack for company indeed, terrible thing, if you're seeking me out," she says quietly, but there's no heat to it.

Nells smiles, pressing a kiss to her arm. "And have your hands, chapped and graceless, such a lack for work that they must twist in my fine hair?"

He's teasing her, but she withdraws her hand immediately. Too close, then, he thinks. He'll give her something obnoxious to distract her from unwanted thoughts.

He slides a hand beneath her chin and tilts her head up, just so, gives her half a second to push him away if she doesn't want it. And then he kisses her, slow and easy and soft.

When she doesn't immediately bluster and shove him off, he takes it further. He slides his other hand along the outside of her mighty thigh, up to her hip, and keeps it there. He opens his mouth against her yielding lips and eases his long tongue in.

She tolerates it for a few minutes, much longer than he thought she would, but then her fist curls in his shirt and Nells finds himself thrown roughly to the floor. Her face is flushed and embarrassed but so, so open.

"That," she spits, giving a glare she doesn't mean, "was uncalled for."

"Was it?" Nells rolls onto his belly, completely relaxed, looking adoringly up at her and wagging his tail. "You looked so deep in thought, I didn't want you to forget about me."

She doesn't reach up to touch her lips, but it's a near thing. Her hand stutters uncertainly at her side. Nells grins at her wolfishly, unrepentant.

"What reason did you have to sit up in your armor and watch us? The inn is safe enough."

She sits back with a sigh. "It's nothing important," she lies.

"Morrin."

"Really, it's not anything. I was up." She's talking a little fast. "What about you?"

Nells pretends to be convinced, for her sake. Just for a moment. "I woke up and realized my Morrin Meter was getting dangerously low. I think I need to be held about it. At the very least."

Morrin snorts.

"It's completely true," he lies cheerfully. "I shall simply expire this very moment if my horrible and beautiful menace doesn't pull me into her lap."

She raises an eyebrow.

"This. Very. Moment," Nells emphasizes.

The eyebrow sits even higher.

He wags his tail again and rolls, tossing his head into Morrin's lap and nuzzling her skirt beneath the chainmail. He plants kisses against the fabric, sighing contentedly.

She rolls her eyes at his antics, but she finally cracks a smile.

"Would it please you to know that I woke in the night?" she finally says. "I felt unsettled. Unmoored."

"Restless?"

She nods quietly. "I wish to confess to you a truth I guard in my heart, though you must speak of it to no one."

Nells agrees easily. At his prompting, she flushes scarlet again and stumbles through the words.

"After that night, in the fortress. When we. When I. It was too much, afterward. It was too much and so I pushed you away even as I saw that you suffered as I did. And when it settled down I felt. Different."

Nells pushes himself up just slightly, so that his arms are resting across her legs and his eyes are level with her generous bosom. He takes a moment to appreciate the view. Just a moment.

"Different?"

"I didn't care about. Things. Before. You know."

Nells did know. And right now, for her sake, he pretended he didn't. "Things?"

Morrin blushed, red as anything, nearly purple. "When we. Met carnally. I never cared before, if anyone did. With you. Never interested. And then. With you. Suddenly I was. Interested."

He felt the tips of his ears darken, flushing with sensitivity. Her calloused fingers fiddled idly with one, rubbing and tugging.

Nells was not wholly convinced she was fondling his ears on purpose. He was even less convinced he wanted her to stop.

"And now I'm thinking about. All of us, in that way. Even at once. And you. I am. You..."

She trailed off, mumbling, so he bit her fingers until she focused again. He'd pay for it later, probably.

"Stop that, you pest! As if you don't know."

Her fingers were still in his mouth. His ear, stiff and proud and standing at attention, was still being played with. Nells found himself, quite abruptly, more aroused than the conversation probably warranted.

He bit her again, this time to focus himself. "You're allowed to want people, Morrin," he manages, heart in his throat.

"It leads to ruin, wanting too much what you can't have."

Her fingers leave his ear to trail across his shoulder and he heaves a breathy sigh of relief.

He almost doesn't hear it when she says, "I'm nearly ruined as it is."

[ten-thousand-paper-wasps]

Morrin could cry. The demon possessing her oldest friend had her right where it wanted her, and they both knew it. If she wasn't sharp, wasn't perfect, Falk would be dead.

"You'll have to come out of Falk eventually," she tried. "Don't you want to get real power? You'll never find it if you're still wearing their skin."

"And what will you do," it taunts, "if I don't? Will you you pin me to the wall and kiss me?" it laughed, a chilling, bone-haunting sound. "Will you run me through? Will you crush me," it howled, "with your faith? With your love?"

Morrin stood frozen on the spot, sick with indecision.

"I would kiss Falk a thousand times, for a hundred lifetimes," she finally said. "Because that's what love is. But you? Do you even know what loving is like?"

"What could you know of love, child?" it asked. "A little girl loses sight of her friend for two hours, so she decides to smother them further on a quest she's got nothing to do with. Tell me, does that sound familiar?"

"It wasn't like that--" she starts, but the demon is already talking over her.

"A elf boy loves his friend so much that he beds her. She loves him so much she forces him to do it. Neither of these people love themselves. Have I made my point, little paladin?"

"Stop it!" Morrin sputters.

"A shapeshifter loves power so much they steal an amulet with a demon trapped inside. They get drunk on magic, have an orgy, and now I'm wearing their skin. Love makes mortals foolish, child, and faith is worse."

She lowered the tip of her sword. The demon was right. But it still had Falk, and she still had a job to do.

"I crave a boon of you, demon," she said, because it hurts less than what its words implied.

"Tell me, child, and I may honor you."

"Let me speak to Falk. Just once. I know they're in there," Morrin begs. "Give me an hour with them. One hour, and I'll take no action against you."

"You are a paladin, my girl. Do you truly expect me to believe I'll not be harmed?" It gave a wide, endless grin, a rictus on Falk's mouth. "Your vow on your magic. If you give me that, you may have your request."

"On my magic, yes, I swear it!" Without her magic, she wouldn't be a paladin anymore. But the only thing that matters is Falk.

The demon laughed, long and low, but it did as she asked. Her Falk was back with her, at least for a time.

For a moment she just stood there, staring at them, afraid to believe Falk was still there, in front of her, alive and safe. But they were. They were there and she had an ashing hour to come up with a way to keep them.

"You're really okay," she breathed. "Falk, I swear it, I'm gonna bring you home. We're gonna get that demon out of you, you'll be safe and fine, you will, just have to figure it out." She was a touch manic, but that was okay, it was fine, really. She would fix this somehow, and then she could bring Falk home.

They just looked at her with warmth and an impossible sadness. "Morrin," they whispered, voice cracking, "you can't. You can't fix it. You know it, you can't."

"No!" Morrin shouts. "We can do this, I'm a paladin, banishing demons is what I do! It's my duty! Saving you, Falk--"

They cut her off. "Morrin, my heart, you know there's only one way to deal with a demon this far in. You can't save me." They lift a hand to her cheek, brushing the tears away. "I love you."

"Falk," she chokes, and she's collapsing in their arms, hands buried in their wild, moss-colored hair. "Falk..."

"A thousand times, for a hundred lifetimes, yeah? I've loved you, all the way I've loved you, and I'll love you even if I never see you again. Morrin, my heart, my hearthfire," Falk whispers, her name is a prayer in a burning church, a waking magic flooding into her skin.

She realizes in a heartbeat what they've done to her, and her heart breaks anew. "A thousand times, for a hundred lifetimes," she echoes. There's power in her, now, hungry and hot. She hates it. She knows what Falk will ask of her, knows she's the only one who can give it. It's a duty, she tells herself. She's allowed to rage and scream and cry and break, but it's still a duty, and it must be done.

"Is this the end, then, my love?" she asks, full and empty all at once.

"Aye," Falk tells her. "Will you kiss me, Morrin? If I never see you again, I want to know you. I want to feel your closeness, if only once."

She leans in and closes the distance between them. Falk's lips taste of honey, of warm bread, of loneliness and love. She loses herself in the kiss, giving and taking. Her tears don't stop.

Falk bites her tongue, urging her to get on with it, to do her duty, to hurry, because they don't have much time. She hates it. She hates them and she loves them and she hates what she’s about to do.

She kisses them harder. She savors the flavor of their love, holding onto it, she'll keep it forever if she can, a hundred lifetimes.

Morrin tells herself that it's a duty. That she is just a body, and Falk is just a body, and then it will be over. It hurts.

She raises her holy blade and plunges it into their chest, holding it there, feeding it with the magic Falk gave her. She doesn't stop kissing them, even when she tastes blood. Even when her heart sputters. Even when she feels Falk die. When she lets up Falk is dead in her arms, but the demon is gone. Her magic is gone. Morrin is half gone, herself.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

The doors to the ritual chamber unlock with a hiss. Nells whips around, whip in his hand, ready to fight whatever comes out. Falk and Morrin were as good as dead in that room, he heard the screams, and Zakurr lays weak on the ground. He'll fight to the death to protect his husband, what family he has left.

Morrin steps out, cradling Falk to her. They're both covered in blood, but the look in Morrin's eyes is haunted.

He runs to her, and she drops her sword, slick with blood and power. "It's over. The demon's dead," she says, and he's ecstatic, relieved beyond measure, until he sees the hole in Falk's chest.

He falls to his knees and weeps.

Writing Prompt #928

“What’re you going to do if I don’t?” A snorted with indignation. “Pin me up against the wall and kiss me?”

B took a step back. “What?”

“What?”

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[ten-thousand-paper-wasps]

"Falk. What, in all of ashing creation, was that?" Zakurr growled.

He waited until morning to demand an explanation. Last night had been too much, too fast. Everyone needed time to calm down.

Falk shifted from side to side. "You're going to be cross."

Zakurr did not tell them he was cross already. Falk had been in a temper as of late, prone to explosions. He had to present his grievances in a calm, constructive manner. He kept it in. He kept it in.

Zakurr sighed. "Will you tell me what you were feeling when you did it?"

Fury, desperation, and panic all rolled across their face before they settled on an answer. "Was mad," they mumbled sheepishly.

"What made you react the way that you did?"

Falk shifted again before they spoke, clearly uncomfortable. "No one gets to touch Morrin like that. No one. He had to die."

Zakurr did agree, at least, that the Earl had been out of line. Morrin did not easily permit touch of any kind. But Falk still had much to answer for. "Do you think killing him was the only option? Do you think that Nells or I or even Morrin herself would not have been able to stop him with our words?"

That made them pause. They looked down, ashamed. "Was I wrong to kill him?" they asked.

If one were only seeing Falk in a fight, devastatingly powerful and sly as a pack of dragons, it was easy to forget how young they were. It was easy to forget that they didn't have enough life experience to know when or even how to hold back.

"Yes, Falk," he says, "it was wrong. I do not blame you," he reassures, "but it was wrong, and Morrin will be cross."

"Cross?" they sputtered, "Some rat bastard ashing hounds her half the sputtering night and she'll be cross with me for getting rid of him? Smoke on the wind, Zakurr, but that's madness!"

He tried to remind himself that smacking Falk a few dozen times, while tempting, would not teach them sense. He was the oldest one here. It was up to him to make sure Falk didn't die of stupidity.

He resigns himself to teaching. "So, today we're going to talk about autonomy, diplomacy, and consent. And then after that, we're going to look at my map, and we're going to talk about bounties and what it means to be an outlaw."

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Morrin sat on the stump and slowly sipped at her tea. The lizardfolk girl was still with them in the morning, and now that they were on the road again, she'd likely be with them for the foreseeable future.

She was very, very pretty, Morrin would give her that. Perhaps Falk had been looking for a bed partner. Or an easy mark on their continued string of utterly distasteful robberies. Or perhaps they simply wanted a girl who wasn't Morrin.

She was not especially fond of that option.

She filled her cup again and looked into the girl's slitted blue eyes. "Tea?" she offered. Whatever the reason for their newest addition, Morrin could at least be polite.

"Oh, please! Thank you," she replied, soft and sweet as morning rain. "I'm Jaanta. We were never formally introduced, last night."

Jaanta was a mottled grey-blue with silky black hair that fell to mid-back. Her eyes were large and her snout was long, and when she smiled she displayed dozens of sharp teeth and a distracting forked tongue. Morrin couldn't keep her eyes off of her. Candlesticks.

"I'm Morrin," she said, instead of Gods you're beautiful. "There's Zakurr, he's the big one. Nells is the fool. You've met Falk, I'm sure," she says dryly. "Owlsby probably won't eat you. Probably."

"Owlsby?" Jaanta looked around, hunting for him. Morrin knew the moment she saw him, because Jaanta gasped and went very, very still. "That's..."

"Big, yes. And a mite smelly. Still, fastest horse you'll ever see, and he eats any bandits. You'll get used to him, if you’re coming with us." Her smile was only a little vicious. One should always be polite, even if one was feeling perhaps a touch jealous.

Then, Jaanta had to go and ruin her victorious mood by bowing to her. "I'm delighted to know you, Morrin. I hope that we can be friends."

Well, she thought, fighting down a blush, perhaps Jaanta wouldn't be so terrible. Perhaps Morrin could be her friend.

And if Falk brought her along for the reasons she suspected...Well, Morrin would deal with it. She's had to deal with Falk's lustful conquests for her entire life. Just because this one was so incredibly lovely was no excuse for poor behavior.

.

Falk could go and sit on a candle, for all she cared. She was beyond cross with them. It wasn't bad enough, lying to her face about their thefts. No, the blasted pile of ash had to kill an Earl. Did they not trust her to handle things herself? Did they think it was the first time a man had tried to cause trouble with her? Armed or no, one squishy human was never a match for her. She felt sick. Sick, and angry, and insulted that her dearest friend would be so presumptuous.

Humans were easily intimidated. All it would have taken was for her to take his dainty little hand in hers and crush it like so much rotten stone. No fuss, no felony charges, and no ashing arson.

She felt humiliated. And on top of this she was trying to befriend Falk's newest darling, like Jaanta actually cared about her, like she wasn't just going to replace her if Falk liked her enough to keep her.

So she was deeply, deeply confused when Falk took a seat in front of her, Zakurr holding her wayward love in place. Nells took a seat beside her and took her hand. He squeezed once, Are you okay? She squeezed back three times. Yes. I think. He pressed his whole body up against her side, soothing and firm. She breathed.

"Morrin," Zakurr huffed, "Falk has something they would like to tell you." He gave them a cold look. "Go ahead, dearheart. Tell her what you told me."

"I'm sorry I stabbed the Earl," they grunted mutinously.

Zakurr took one of their wrists in his giant hand and squeezed. "You can do better."

Falk's face tightened in pain. "I'm sorry," they tried again. "I'm sorry that he touched you, and that he was a bastard." They glared at Zakurr. "Are you ashing happy now?"

His grip tightened and Morrin heard the tiny bones creak in protest. He'd break them, if he wasn't careful. "Remember, dearheart. A proper apology must acknowledge your wrongs and offer reparations. Don't say words you don't mean."

"Falk," she started, "do you know why I'm upset with you?" Nells squeezed her hand again, once. Are you okay? Should I intervene?

She squeezes back gently and leans into him briefly. I'm okay. Thank you for being here.

She tears into them. "You didn’t even ask if I was alright. Or if I wanted help. You didn’t say a word, no attempt to shoo him off or anything. You just spent the evening stealing from people, and then you stabbed a man for no reason other than because you wanted to and you could. You burned down Duke Enerwaeir's ashing house. What in hearth is wrong with you?"

She's crying, her eyes are hot and Falk is staring at her in shock. She's never sworn in front of them before, much less at them.

For a time, no one says anything.

"Morrin, I...I..." Falk tries, before the words fall away and they can't do anything more than cry. "I..."

Jaanta takes her other hand and Morrin is so preoccupied with emotion that she almost forgets to blush over it.

"I'm sorry," Falk manages. "I'm sorry that I lied to you about what we were doing. I'm sorry that I didn't trust you to take care of yourself, and so dishonored you. I'm sorry that I stabbed him without even trying anything else first. I hurt you, and I'm sorry for it, and I won't ever do it again."

Zakurr lets Falk go, a nasty bruise already beginning to form. Morrin gives a brittle smile. "I love you, Falk, more than anything. I always have, and I always will. Thank you for apologizing."

And then she gets up, and she walks away, calling behind her, "I'm going to the river. See you later." If she is very lucky, none of them will follow her. She could really, really use some time alone.

[ten-thousand-paper-wasps]

They were going to rob Duke Enerwaeir blind.

Or, at least, he and Falk were. Morrin was becoming increasingly suspicious of their absences and subsequent newfound wealth, and she couldn't keep a secret, so of course Nells wasn't going to tell her. They all had their roles to play in this gambit. She just happened to be at her most convincing when she wasn't aware she needed to lie.

It was a dress ball, so there was plenty of money to be had, if their hands were quick enough. Naturally, that meant spending an evening looking absolutely delicious.

His immensely gorgeous hunk of Husband was completely slaying it. Zakurr's lustrous, glossy braids were now adorned with tiny, delicate chains. Each of his four horns was buffed to perfection. The length of fur about his waist was shining and soft and it smelled like apples, sweet and spiced.

That wasn’t all, though. Zakurr had put on the boots Nells was ever so fond of. They went all the way up his legs, ending nearly at the top of his thighs. Nells was almost drooling, just thinking about him. Why did he have to go and be all scrumptious?

Nells himself wore a long dress, all dazzling greens and blues. The material shimmered as he moved, with a slit up the side to expose his long, shapely legs. His hair was painstakingly combed out and pinned in place, an elegant waterfall of soft mahogany. He even put on heels.

Falk looked nearly as delectable as Nells did. They wore a tightly fitted top that bared the entirety of their midriff. The center of the chest was cut out, as well, showing off their shape. They also had a pair of expensive burgundy pants that were loose about the hips and tight below the knees. Falk had chosen to keep their regular boots, seeing no reason to forego sensible footwear, opting instead for heavy gold jewelry.

And Morrin! Oh, his beautiful Morrin. She'd granted him a boon, permitted him to fuss over her for an evening. Her fiery, red-gold mane billowed about her like a cloud, sparkling with tiny jewels. Her hands, wide and rough and ravishing, fluttered uncertainly at the hem of her vest, a stately forest green piece of silk and silver. She was dazzling, a diamond in her own right, but ill at ease amongst the upper echelons of nobility.

It made a certain amount of sense, he supposed. Masonaile, where she'd lived all her life, hadn't had much in the way of wealth. Of course she felt out of place here. But, he was pleased to note, she was handling it admirably.

Morrin was shaking hands and trying to dance and blushing up a storm whenever she was complimented. There were pretty people all around her, giving her their attention. He spies Falk moving among them, hands quick and dainty and pockets charmed to be impossibly deep.

Zakurr looks on, using his immense height to keep watch. People buzz around him like mayflies. Two men knock into him on purpose, but one look sends them scrambling.

Then, Falk waltzes, moving from dancer to dancer, to Nells, flushed and panicked. "It's Morrin," they pant. "She's with some ashing young Earl, he's trying to get her alone."

It takes him a moment to process why this is horrible. Ordinarily, Morrin was devastatingly capable. She would have killed him and been done with it. But they were at a ball, and she'd been thoroughly disarmed, spending nearly half an hour pulling out weapon after weapon. There was an entire table just for her things.

She had nothing on her person with which to kill the Earl. Additionally, she was under the impression she mustn't, for reasons of diplomacy. So, he supposed, it was up to their little family to rescue her.

First, Zakurr had to be told.

"Honeybear," Nells commanded. "Get ready crush some skulls. Morrin's got a boy problem."

Smoke on the wind, but she'd let him, too. She would let the Earl do whatever he wanted. Why had they told her they wanted to win favor from the Duke? "Just don’t cause a scene and it'll be fine." She would be terrified of letting them down. She would call it duty.

Harkenship had been a bitter lesson. He could not let her be hurt like that again.

Falk moved the quickest, palming a knife from a serving tray and plunging it into the Earl's kidney, soft and silent. The Earl let out a low gasp and dropped. Morrin's face was a mix of relief and horror.

It was chaos after that. Morrin stomped on the Earl's neck, killing him. His friends moved to kill her, but Nells was faster. His long legs were wrapped around the neck of the biggest one, choking him, while Morrin threw punches hard enough to crack stone and Falk smashed kneecaps with impunity.

The other guests were screaming in terror and outrage, crowding eachother like a swarm of rats. Zakurr took one step toward the fight and they parted before him like a desperate tide.

When he got there, he kicked a Baron to the floor and Falk leapt up for a kiss, drawing Zakurr's strength into themselves and pressing their bag to his bare chest. "Grab our things. I love you."

And Zakurr was off, charging to the low tables to retrieve their weapons. Falk's bag never filled, no matter what he put in it, so he emptied every table in the room before moving on to the Duke's personal valuables. With everyone distracted by the fight, he had plenty of time.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

"Grab our things," Falk told him, already feeling Zakurr's power roiling in their chest. "I love you."

They slammed a palm to the floor and the ground quaked beneath them. Stone erupted through the floor in angry spikes. How dare he. How dare a mortal Earl try to dishonor Falk's oldest friend? For Morrin, Falk would do anything.

Right now, it meant killing a dozen people they'd only intended to steal from for doing her the supreme insult of defending the Earl. He earned his death. He earned it the second he laid eyes on her and made his move.

Falk was angry, and Nells had a feral smile, and Morrin was going to go home after only bloodying her perfect knuckles. She was too precious to them to be hurt.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Owlsby was disguised as an unfortunately deformed carriage horse. He was getting to be too big to hide, so it only made sense to find new ways to take him into town. The extra legs were hidden under a blanket and tucked up out of sight. Nells convinced him to allow Zakurr to hitch him to a stolen cart. In the right lighting, like now, under the half moon, it was very nearly convincing.

Zakurr tossed Falk's bag in the back and hopped into the seat, letting out a sharp whistle. Owlsby roused himself from his nap as Nells came sprinting out of the building, Morrin tucked under one arm and protesting. As soon as they were safely at his side, Zakurr whistled again, louder and sharper. The building caught fire.

Falk appears in his lap with a soft pop, makeup smeared, with a very unsettled lizardfolk in their arms. Her dress was lovely, if shredded and burnt.

"Falk," he warns, "Did you kidnap her? You know we can't take her with us if she doesn't want to come."

The lizardfolk in question blushes and mumbles that she'd love to come, anywhere in the world as long as it isn't here. Zakurr resolves to ignore it for now and question her in the morning, if she's still around. He slaps the reigns gently and Owlsby takes off for the inn. They can pay the fee and collect their packs, but it isn't wise to stay in town. Not after that.

It would be nice, he muses, really nice, if this could just stop happening. Theft was all well and dandy if it kept them fed, and it did, so Zakurr wasn't about to complain. But he would love it if he didn't have to strike entire towns off of their map when Falk and that idiot elf got a little too greedy.

There was no need to rob every noble at the ball. No reason. And then one little human man gets too handsy when Falk can see him, and now he's dead for it.

True, the Earl had definitely been in the wrong, and sure, he could believe Morrin was glad of his death. But it was something that could easily have been resolved without any blood, had Zakurr been the one to reach him first, and Falk's increasing bloodlust as of late concerned him.

That amulet stank of evil and death, but they refused to take it off for any length of time. Zakurr was willing to bet his fifth kidney that it was to blame. Power was a lure Falk had never been able to resist.

He only prayed his dearest Nells did not become so foolish.

[ten-thousand-paper-wasps]

It wasn't the sex, not exactly. Sex for Nells was entirely casual, it hardly meant anything, harmless fun. It was easy.

Morrin wasn't easy, in any sense of the word. She was caustic, irritable and derisive and she made sure he knew exactly how much he displeased her.

He loved her, the way one might love a particularly ruinous cat, or an especially difficult grandmother. She was his darling, furious counterpart.

She carried him home in her arms. He trusted her with his back in a fight, with his life. There were no secrets he would hide from her.

But evidently, the feeling wasn't mutual.

"Make it good for me, pet," she commanded, like a god to its acolytes.

And Nells, in her thrall, fell to worship.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

On the third day, he came awake to the sound of muffled sobbing. Zakurr loomed over him, eyes screwed shut, kneeling in a desperate prayer. Falk sat at his side, their hand on Nells' heart and eyes glowing with power.

The crying had to be Morrin, then.

He reached for their hands. He was okay. He was home.

He was also exceptionally tender, which was absolutely not improved by being crushed by an anxious orc and his massive, beautiful biceps. Oh, how he's missed Zakurr.

When Falk ends the spell and their eyes return to normal, Nells sits up. "Where's Morrin?"

"She went to bed," Falk tells him. "Been a long couple of days, needed some time to herself. You know how she gets."

"Was up all night again, too," Zakurr added. "She's been in a right state since she brought you back."

Falk shoots a glare at Zakurr. "She just needs space," they said. "Nothing wrong with a girl taking time to sort her feelings. Was both of you covered in blood when you got in, of course she's been worried."

"But so have we, dearest," Zakurr rumbles. Worried for both of you, we were. I thought...Nells, I thought I was going to lose you. You wouldn't wake up."

"I'm okay, really," he reassures them. "What about--"

"She told us what happened. It's far from my place to say, mind, but I suspect she's feeling a bit conflicted."

Falk glares at Zakurr again, and Nells resolves to talk to Morrin immediately.

His stomach gurgles. Immediately after breakfast.

"I made soup," says his beautiful, magnificent orc. Nells thinks, for the thirtieth time in a week, that he's in love.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Once they're on the road again, Nells asks her. "Morrin, can we talk?"

"I don't especially want to talk with you, Nells, pleased though I am that you're alive."

"See, I weren't really asking, dearest, I do very much need to speak with you." Owlsby chose that moment to skitter up his body to perch on his shoulder, clicking his mandibles together.

"Seems to be a theme for you," she spits, "asking without asking."

He's taken aback by the accusation behind the words. He'd asked her, absolutely. Made damn sure of it, he had. "I beg your pardon?"

"Oh, don't beg, my pretty pet, not when your mouth can be better put to use. You can call it a duty, if you like."

Falk, just ahead, whipped around. "Morrin, that was uncalled for."

"Perhaps we can all discuss this more constructively?" Zakurr suggested. "If we’re to be together for as long as we will, I'd like no resentment among us."

"Morrin?" he tries again, "Did I dishonor you?" He almost fears the answer.

"It was a duty," she eventually says. "When you have a duty, there is no want or fear, only that it must be done."

"Morrin," he whispers, horrified, "have I sinned against you?"

"It was a duty," she repeats. "I would have done it regardless. It matters not if one wants it, one simply does it."

"I'm not asking about your thrice-damned duty, you stubborn, half-spent candlestick, I'm asking--"

"You did me no dishonor, Nells, but by the flames, I wasn't ready! I needed tenderness! You fucked me, you sputtering ball of wax, you fucked me and I loved it! I loved every minute, even though it meant nothing! It meant nothing, Nells, and that is your dishonor, not that you did it in the first place!"

Morrin had tears in her eyes again, but so did he. Merciful fires of birthing, ash on the hearth, smoke on the wind. He was stupid. He was so, so stupid.

They spend the rest of the afternoon in uneasy silence.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

After dinner, which is a stew made with the rabbits Falk caught earlier in the day, Nells feels ready to try again. He did wrong by her, and he must apologize.

"Morrin? May I speak with you?"

It's another long pause before she answers. "Aye."

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I pushed you, I'm sorry that I didn't consider your feelings. I'm sorry for hurting you the way I did."

She takes a ragged breath, refusing to look at him. Falk's eyes are on them, watchful and wary.

"I'm not upset that you fucked me," she said. "I'm upset with myself. It was just something I had to do, you know? A duty. I can put my feelings away for duty. It doesn't count, not if it's duty. I could do it again, if I had to."

"Look, if we fuck, we fuck. If we don't, we don't. I don't want that from you, not if you don't want it. I don't want it if it's duty."

"Nells, the plan was--"

"Ash on the hearth, damn the plan! I can't do that to you again! Next time, you overinflated gust of wind, we just fight our way out."

Morrin snorted, and he thought he saw the ghost of a smile. "A castle that big? Maybe if you brought your newest husband with you. I'm not sure I have the strength to do it, myself."

"Come now," he laughs, "Zakurr couldn't pull off that level of deception, you've seen how huge he is."

"If he were much bigger, he'd break you in half," she says, a genuine grin on her face.

They were going to be okay. Coals on the sands, they were going to be okay.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

They don't touch anymore after that.

They love eachother the way they always have, but the easiness is gone, a brittle anxiety in its place. If they lean together, they jump apart. They stop hugging. Cuddling. Even sparring together has become too much touch to tolerate.

Zakurr was worried. Falk was agitated. Morrin was skittish. Nells was just lonely and a little lost, yearning for the touch of his vicious paladin. All the molten magma of creation, what he'd give to only hold her hand again!

After three weeks of forced distance, he broke. "Morrin, I can't do this any longer."

She only looked at him, quiet as she's always been, lately.

"This has to stop," Nells insists. "I hurt you, I did harm to your person. You are within your rights to be cross with me. But this, Morrin, this silence, this distance between us, it cannot go on! Carve your price from my back if you will, only be at my side again. Be my shield, my sensibility."

"Are you truly so lost, Nells?" Her voice is rough with disuse.

"Morrin, please, let us end this--"

"Spar with me."

"You want to spar?" he asks, hopeful.

"Dearest," says Zakurr, "are you quite sure this is wise?"

"It's what he needs," she grinds out. She draws her monstrous greataxe and steps toward him, and Nells mirrors her pose with a staff.

"Then you can do it elsewhere, away from my cooking," Zakurr commands. "I'll not have you knocking over dinner in a fit, either of you."

Falk says nothing, absorbed in his stew.

.

Her first strike is fast and brutal, and it's all he can do to keep out of her reach. Her beast of an axe is heavy, sharp, and unforgiving. If this is what she carries every day, it is little wonder she's so strong.

He snaps out of his thoughts as the branch he's perched on snaps in two, crushed by the metal of her weapon. He jumps up, up, out of her reach and she rages on the ground below him.

Morrin is too upset to spar safely. She's out to carve her price from his back, as he'd well offered. Sputtering candlesticks.

He comes in low, moving just slowly enough to get her close, then speeds back up to make her chase him. If she lands a blow like this, he may not survive the night.

He doesn't want to think about the idea that she's planning for it.

His staff strikes her behind the knees, on the shoulder, on the wrist, and she cries out but she does not drop her weapon. She swings again and catches his thigh with the flat of the blade.

Nells grunts in pain and drops. She didn't cut him, but that was going to leave a hell of a bruise later. He leaps back up as she swings the axe again, wincing.

The fight goes on, and on, and on. Nells and Morrin roll, twist, dance around eachother, remembering the shape of their bodies against one another.

After nearly two hours of constant, vicious combat, they stop, too tired to continue. They sit and rest, back to back, and Nells tries to burn the feeling into his memory, the weight of skin on skin.

"I'm sorry," she says, surprising him. "I went too hard." If you were any slower, I might have killed you, she doesn't say, but he hears it anyway.

"I probably had it coming," he tells her, rather than admit his panic. "Are we okay?"

She takes his hand. "I think we're okay," she says, and then she looks at him with such focus, like he's the most captivating thing she's ever seen. "Nells, back in the castle, you--"

"Upon my honor, darling Morrin, I shall never besmirch you in such a way again--"

"When you kissed me, there was, I don't know, it was a feeling, and maybe I'm being sentimental, but--"

"Morrin, I swear it, you're safe with me, let me hold you." And he pulls her to him in a soft, but solid embrace, burying his face in her mane of hair.

When he finally pulls back, she's still looking at him with those beautiful brown eyes. "Nells, it is terribly improper of me to ask this of you, but I need you to kiss me again."

Candlesticks, he really wasn't expecting that. "Er, what?"

"I've been feeling a lot of things, and I need to figure them out. This is the easiest way to do it. Kiss me, please."

"Morrin, are you feeling alright? Do you have a fever? I can fetch Zakurr, just a moment--"

"Please," she whispered. "If only once, but you must, I beg of you."

This was officially the most confusing day of his life. "Alright, dearest," he said, and he kissed her.

It was long and slow and gentle, the most tender he knew how to give. He ran a hand up her back, feeling the way their mouths fit together. Her eyes were closed. He held her more closely to him, the hand on her back pressing in, and then,

She grips his shirt in a fist and opens her mouth to him, tongues pressing together, fighting, dancing. She's taking control, forcefully, and he's letting her.

When they finally break apart, she's blushing like mad. "Did you figure things out?" he asks.

"I did," she sputters. "I figured out that you're a damnably good kisser, but I'm not in love with you, and as enjoyable as it was, I don't think I want to fuck you again." She pauses a moment. "Are we okay?"

"Yeah," Nells chuckles. "We're okay.

[ten-thousand-paper-wasps]

Nells spent hours and days and weeks dreaming of the flavor of her skin.

But she refused him, flat out. So he kept a respectful distance and never let it come between them. He was happy. And if Morrin never wanted him, he could still be happy. The important thing was that she trusted him.

He almost wished he'd never heard of Lord Harkenship.

He knew it had to be done. He knew that fucking his way in and out of the castle was a valid, viable plan. He knew, at the center of his being, that things had gone as well as could reasonably be expected.

He knew this, as much as he also knew he would never forgive himself for what he'd done to her. You either wanted to bed someone, or you didn’t, and Morrin hadn't.

It came down to duty, of all things. She hadn't wanted him, so she told herself she was doing her duty, no matter how awful it felt to do it. That this was just one more unpleasant task, that her feelings didn't matter. That she was just a body, and Nells was just a body, and eventually it would be over.

He felt sick just thinking about it. Now he knew the taste of her, her noises, her scent, the flavor and aroma of her sex, Nells knew, he knew all of it. He loved that knowledge, burned it into memory and kept it like a pet. There was no going back, and no convincing himself that he hadn't loved it, loved the feel of her, loved her.

He did love her. He loved her in their carnal moments, he loved her in the heat of battle, he loved her curled against his back on a cold night. He loved Morrin in her entirety.

But he hadn't wanted it. Not like this. Not pressured, witnessed, watched. Not in duty. Not ever in duty. Nells will never forgive her for making herself do it, just as he will never forgive himself for giving in, for taking, for wanting and loving and needing.

Nells will never forgive himself for his ill-begotten carnal knowledge. Euphoria wasn't worth it. Not like this.

He bit back a whimper that threatened to become a sob. Zakurr held him tightly, squeezing his hips and rocking. He wouldn't ruin this for Zakurr. Zakurr had wanted it. Nells could give him that, at least.

When even the slow, gentle rocking became too much, and Nells clamped down on Zakurr like a vice and his world went white in sharp, shuddering gasps, he saw her in his mind, came to her smile, to the memory of her lips and her tongue and her heat. He felt her kiss like a ghost of pleasure, and he felt dirty, ruinous, drinking in the smoke of a long-dead fire. She hadn't wanted it. She hadn't wanted him.

And then he's crying, and he's clinging to his lover, breaking, wailing. His lips name Zakurr but there's a ghost of a breath behind it, her name, a profanity he dares not speak.

He will never forgive himself.

Zakurr just holds him through the trembling, through the aching emptiness. He holds him and whispers his name like a prayer, like devotion.

When he settles down, when they've finished and cleaned up and lay together under the stars, Nells tells him what happened in a shaky whisper. Zakurr holds his hand. He tries to believe that he’s loved.

[ten-thousand-paper-wasps]

Her mystery pancake fiend had left her some blueberries. Morrin's opinion of them just skyrocketed. Blueberry pancakes. Mmm.

After she ate and washed the dishes(because the pancake vandal never, ever did), Morrin walked out the door to begin her day.

First was the library. Jaanta was there already, pouring over a text in a language Morrin didn't recognize. "What are you reading?" she asked, taking a sip from her tea.

Jaanta broke into a grin upon seeing her. "Good morning, my love! It's a parenting book. I had some sent over from my hometown, since I'm due soon and there isn't a local clan of lizardfolk to help."

Morrin choked on her tea for a moment. "Sent over? Since when does the postal service deliver here? Owlsby keeps scaring them off!"

"He is pretty frightening, isn't he?" Jaanta agrees. "But you remember those singing kobolds in the next bog over?"

"Jaanta," Morrin breathes. "You didn't make those poor souls run all the way to your hometown for you."

"Of course not!" she laughs. "But you know the song. 'Toss a coin to your kobolds, please, the gig economy is awful!' So I'll sometimes send Owlsby to their village with coin and a note, and one of them will go to town and fetch my packages."

Morrin blinked. It hadn't occurred to her to take advantage of the kobolds' eagerness for pay. Hmm. "Do you think they have a weight limit? I have some things back home I'd like to see again."

"You could ask. I'm sure Owlsby could use the exercise; he's getting fatter."

Morrin read in companionable silence with her wife for a few hours, and then it was time for her next errand. She dropped a kiss to Jaanta's cheek and set out for another part of the old castle.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

She found Zakurr in the ruins of a tower that had crumbled in the draw of time. Her largest husband was holding a beam steady while Nells, her most foolish husband, hammered it into place. She tapped Zakurr’s leg, waiting for him to look at her.

“What did you need, dearest?” she asked, when he did so. 

“More stone!” he boomed. Broken glass rattled in in bent frames. “We need this tower to be sound and sturdy when Jaanta delivers. I’ll need to shore up the east side and put in new floors.”

“Then more stone you shall have,” Morrin said. Owlsby needed the exercise anyway; he could haul a cart of stone out of a mountain and through a bog. “Is Falk available today? Their magic would be a boon.”

“Check the roof!” Nells shouted down.

That was another four flights of stairs. Morrin was going to need more tea.

“Falk?” she asked, when she got there, two mugs of steaming tea in hand.

Falk was meditating. They opened their eyes to her, dripping with power. 

“Can you come with me to the mountain today?” She passed them a mug. “Zakurr needs more stone for the tower. He wants to finish before Jaanta lays her eggs.”

The warmth of the mug pressing into Falk’s hands is what finally breaks their concentration. They power down. 

Morrin watches the magic fade from their eyes, leaving behind the familiar bright gold, dancing with stars. She blushed.

Oh, candlesticks.

Falk noticed her staring. “Are you well, my hearthfire?”

She shook her head to clear it. It didn’t do to still be so nervous around her oldest friend, after all the time they’ve had together, and all that’s happened. It didn’t do at all. But there she was.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Can you come to the mountain?”

“Of course, I’ll be down in ten minutes. Where’s the cart?”

“I’ll fetch it,” she said, and then she was down the stairs again, harness in hand, with a third cup of tea.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Owlsby was in a mood today. He struggled with her, fighting the harness and the cart she was trying to hitch him to. “What’s gotten into you?” she demanded. “We do this run every week, and you always tolerate it. Is it because you know you’ll be hauling stone instead of vegetables?”

Owlsby only grunted and growled at her, which was the only answer Morrin was likely to get.

“Be that way, then,” she scoffed, frustrated. “But we’re still going.”

Falk chose that moment to teleport into the cart, setting down a few bags and a book as thick as Morrin’s arm. “Figured we might find some onions along the way,” they explained, holding up one of the bags. 

The distraction was enough for Morrin to muscle their agitated spider into place. She yanked the straps tight and swung up to the bench to drive. It wasn’t easy. Owlsby was getting to be long enough that he kept bumping the cart with his spinnerets and wide enough to knock the poles with his legs. She’d have to ask Zakurr to work on it. Then again, this was a bog. Perhaps a new design altogether would work better.

And then they on the road to the hole Morrin had been digging into the mountain face. 

“Have anything good for breakfast?” Falk asked, after a while.

“Some pancakes,” she said, absentmindedly. 

“Really? How were they?”

“They were nice,” she said. “There were blueberries, and--” she stopped herself. Falk was watching her. Very, very intently.

“IT WAS YOU!” she bellowed, startling several birds. “You’re the lout what keeps breaking into my apartment! Ashes and smoke, Falk!”

Falk gave a grin that could swallow the world. Unrepentant, as always. “Is it really breaking in, my heart? We’ve wed. You don’t even lock your door.”

I ashing well will now, she thought to herself. “Falk,” she hissed, scowling.

“What was I supposed to do?” they fired back. “You stay in there all alone when all your spouses love you and miss you. You won’t eat with us in the mornings. You won’t sleep with us at night. Jaanta’s starting to think you don’t want to raise the eggs with her. What was I supposed to do? Was I meant to just watch you waste away by yourself? No! So I made you some ashing pancakes, like a good spouse, and if you’re going to carry on and tell me I was wrong, I’ve got a long, fat candle you can sit on.”

Falk turned away from her in a huff. Well. She could give it right back.

“Is it a crime, that I have my own space? Smoke on the wind, I do all this running around, hunting, fishing, keeping everyone fed. All my free time, I spend with you. I bring Jaanta tea and I help Zakurr fix the castle and I help Nells learn new words so he doesn’t feel like an idiot with Runis. I help Melundii cook and I mend her childrens’ clothes. Last month, you half-spent knot of wax, I went three towns over to fetch a book because you said you wanted it. So I have my own space in the castle. So I like to have time alone, in this big huge place that I share with ten other people, three of whom are children and one of whom is about to lay.” She took a breath. And then another. Easy. “Thank you for the pancakes. I liked them and they were very thoughtful. But I’m not apologizing for not spending every waking minute with my spouses because I need space and time to myself.”

Falk’s eyes narrowed. Copper sparks fizzled at their fingertips. “Fine,” they spat, and then neither of them said anything.

They worked the rock in silence. Morrin hacked and hammered at the walls and Falk levitated the stone out of the tiny cave and into the cart. Owlsby was still fidgety. Very fidgety. “What’s the problem, then?” they called out. 

“Is he raising a fuss again?” Morrin answered. “He was fighting me before we left. I figured he’d have burned the energy off by now.”

Owlsby had most definitely not burned off the energy. If anything, he was fighting harder, desperate to get out of his harness. “Maybe there’s a deer? I don’t know if he’s been fed today.”

“Could be,” she said. “I’ll let him loose, he’ll come back when he’s ready.” He always did.

Morrin leaned her tools against the wall and walked over. “Hold still, you ashing trollop,” she hissed, tugging his straps loose and then off of his struggling body. She gave his abdomen a swat. “Go on, then. Get the deer.”

Owlsby tore away from her before she could blink, skittering down the mountain and into the woods, disappearing completely. “Bye, then,” she said.

But Morrin had been so focused on Owlsby that she hadn’t noticed the troll behind her, reaching out to crush her.

“Morrin!” Falk screamed.

She turned and stumbled in fright. A troll. A great, huge, enormous, hungry ashing mountain troll. Candles. Wax on a stick. Smoke and ash and piss. A troll.

She wasn't even wearing armor. She didn't even have her axe.

A bolt of lightning shot past her face and grazed the troll. Falk. Ashes and shit on a cold hearth. The troll barely acknowledged the hit. It reached for her again.

"Morrin, move!" Falk screamed. They fired again, hitting the troll in the shoulder. Then they were tearing out of the cave, fire on their fingers and a curse on their lips.

Morrin ran. She shot back down to Falk, ducking behind them. They smiled and threw the biggest fireball she'd ever seen.

The troll kept coming.

Soon enough, Falk was running out of power. Their magic was extremely versatile, but Falk had never been able to generate much of it on their own. And their spells had been draining what little of it their was.

Panting, Morrin took Falk by the hand. She had power to spare. Morrin would never be a master of it, but power, she had.

"I'd grant a boon to you, if you asked it," she whispered. Her chest thrummed with magic at the invocation.

Falk caught on quickly. "I crave such a boon, beloved. Would you lend me your faith? Your love?"

Morrin tasted blood, felt a weight in her hand from a sword she didn't hold, a hundred lifetimes in a blink.

She pressed her lips to Falk's, and let the magic sing. She tastes honey and wine and blood again. The Morrin that could kill her beloved was a Morrin she knew only in dreams and here, now, she felt her.

Falk whispers a spell against her mouth, drawing on her reserves as Jaanta drew a bow. She shut her eyes tight against the sudden light.

And then the troll was gone, soot-blackened earth where it stood.

"I love you," she breathes. She's trembling.

"A hundred lifetimes," Falk recites, looking very far away.

After that, she returns to her task with a vengeance. Falk loads up the stone and they pull up a few vegetables while they wait for Owlsby to come back.

Falk manages to find a flock of wild chickens. Morrin steals several chicks and fills a bag with as many eggs as they can find.

By the time Owlsby returns with a deer over his back and another dangling from his mouth, it's nearing dark. They load up the deer and drive home.

When Morrin wakes up the next morning, there are pancakes on the table. Falk is still in her kitchen, washing dishes. They smile at her. "I love you," Falk says. "I was an ass and I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too. I shouldn't have yelled at you like that."

Falk passes her a mug of her favorite tea and they linger, just barely touching her hands. She kisses them softly.

It was nice.

Prompt #799

Your main character has woken up to the smell of cold pancakes for the past few weeks. It seems as though someone breaks in each day to make them pancakes at unholy hours of the morning.

[ten-thousand-paper-wasps]

Meeting that elf in Entrogten may possibly have been the worst decision of Zakurr's life. Sure, all elves were flighty and a mite too springy. Plenty of them were sexual, too. But Nells? Nells had something that set him apart from every other elf on the continent.

Nells was ashing stupid. The most senseless, inept, bafflingly foolish nincompoop Zakurr had ever had the misfortune to meet.

He deeply regretted telling him where he was headed, because of course Nells just happened to be going the same way, of course it was perfectly sensible to travel together. Zakurr was a fool. A fool.

He could see what the idiot was thinking, so he had to intervene. "We ought to avoid that mountain if we want to live."

"Absolutely not!" Zakurr was going to kill him. "Big guy like you, where's your sense of adventure?"

"Nells," he says, trying to remember how to be patient with idiots, "that mountain is filled with goblins. If we go there, by ourselves, they will eat us. And then we'll never get where we're going."

Nells pouted and huffed and whined. But Zakurr was resolutely not budging. Not that mountain. Zakurr wanted to live long enough to see his family again. He was not dying on some half-rotted mountain in winter because some fool of an elf wanted to pretend at bravery.

Bravery was more than fighting. Zakurr hoped he could live long enough to at least teach him that.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

A few weeks into their travels, and something is skittering around their camp. Great. It's not enough to travel with the most annoyingly clingy elf in existence, but now there's a weasel or a fox or an owlbear looking for an easy meal. Wonderful.

It turns out to be a spider. Probably young, if he had to guess? But it was already the size of his entire head, so he wasn't tolerating it in their camp. No sir. Not chancing it.

"How darling!" exclaimed the increasingly stupid elf, "Honeybear, can we keep it? Please?"

"No."

"Come now, it could be a little pet! We could teach it tricks! I've always wanted to have a pet on the road, it'll be such fun!"

He was not dealing with this. He was not dealing with this. Sure! Keep the blasted thing! It'll only kill them in their sleep or bring a whole ashing horde of spiders on them. Great idea, Nells!

"Darling?" Nells called. "Darling, I was the beastmaster in my hometown. I know what I'm doing."

"Do you? Really?" Zakurr snapped back. "You really want to raise an ashing spider, which will only get bigger, and hungrier, and probably try to kill us."

"Zakurr, it won't be all that hard, you just teach it to respect you and then to trust you, and then to obey."

Then, the bastard little beast bit him. He swatted it with one hand and broke three of its legs. It didn't try again.

He was going to regret this, he just knew it. "Keep it, then. But if it bites, I'll not refrain from killing it. Do you understand that, you daft plume of smoke?"

"I love you," the elf said. "His name will be Owlsby."

The confession left a pit in all three of his stomachs. Zakurr had a family. He was going home to them. He couldn't let himself be distracted by the favor of someone like Nells.

Merciful fires of birthing, if his village's elders even suspected that those feelings might be reciprocated, he could be cast out.

He might never see his wife and children again.

"Save your love for your little beast," he spits, and tries to ignore the shame rising up.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Falk laughed in their mad dash across the town. The amulet they'd stolen glowed softly, the soft, tinkling chime just on the edge of their hearing.

This was the little trinket old Doffelmaest was so worked up about? This old thing?

Cursed amulet of power, Falk's entire backside! It probably didn't even do anything. Oh well. At least it was pretty, and stealing it from Doffelmaest's study meant the old sorcerer would focus on it instead of nagging Falk about their studies. Again.

Falk was so distracted by the possibilities of a few weeks without Doffelmaest breathing down their neck, that they ran directly into Morrin, wearing her armor and a soft scowl.

"He's worried sick about you, you know," she sighed.

"How did you even find me?" Falk sputters. "I can't be magically located, this place is warded to the flames and back, I shifted forms four times on the way here, I made seven detours, I did everything right!"

"You really want to know?" she asks, a laugh in her warm, brown eyes. "I've only known you our entire lives, I know where you go when you're hiding. But also," she added, a touch devious, "that amulet has a tracking spell written on the back, and taking it set off, like, six alarms. Doffelmaest is cross with you, my dear."

"Old Doffelmaest can sit on a candle."

"He may yet, for all that you vex him," Morrin laughs. "Are you ready to go home, or do you want to stay here a little longer? I think I've got another half day before I'm expected to have found you."

"Can you stay with me? I just wanted some time out of his ashing tower, I don't care about the his stupid amulet."

So Falk spent the hours curled up with their oldest friend, the scent of her hair lulling them to sleep.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Falk did not appreciate waking up in a cell. Morrin was going to pay for this, they'd make sure of it. They could already imagine the lecture when Doffelmaest got there to collect them.

"You're grounded," the old fart grumbled. "No magic for a month, and no shapeshifting, either."

"That's totally unfair!" Falk whined. "It's just a stupid amulet, you've got thirty more in a drawer!"

"Falk, you know I take no pleasure in punishing you--"

Falk cuts him off with a snarl. "Eat my ashing cinders, you old bat! You just want to keep me in this tower like a wee pretty trophy to show off to all your weird friends! Oh," they mimic, "look at my little shapeshifter, I taught it to read and everything! Go sit on an ashing candle, you dried up--"

"THAT'S ENOUGH!" Doffelmaest roared. "You've disrespected me, you've disrespected the Guild of Sorcery, I'll not have you be so ill-mannered. If it weren't for me, you'd be on the streets again, do you understand?"

"Oh, sure, you only tell me every other week how ungrateful I am, how every novice in the city would jump at the chance to learn from you. Oh, Falk, you don't know how good you have it! Well you're not my ashing father!"

Falk ran up the stairs to their room, not interested in hearing Doffelmaest lay into them for the next three hours about manners and the importance of respecting one's elders.

The next two weeks pass in near silence, and Falk finds it more maddening every day.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

"I've decided what I'm going to do with you," Doffelmaest tells them over breakfast. "An elf stopped by last night."

An elf? In Troggsydier? Didn't they tend to keep to their cities in the north? To find one so far south was nearly unheard of.

"What did the elf want?" Falk asks carefully.

"A spellcaster. His homeland has been cursed, you're going to go with him and fix it."

"I am?"

"You are. You're going to do it, because if you don't, you're out, do you understand?" Doffelmaest levels them with a glare. "You are replaceable, and I think it's time you understood that your flippant disregard for my orders will no longer be tolerated. Now," he orders, "this elf will come this afternoon to collect you. You are to be on your best behavior. You may pack your things."

And Doffelmaest gets up and leaves the table without another word.

Falk packs everything that isn't bolted down. Their bag is treated to the strongest extension charm Falk knows how to cast, and then they fill it with every book on their shelves, their favorite curios, a padded box of bones, several gems, and a deceptively small, yet heavy, purse of gold. They throw in their clothing, a bedroll, four different amulets of protection, and twelve heavy duty mana batteries, to maintain the extension charm and the feather-light spell they plan to cast when they finish packing.

Sneaking into Doffelmaest's private library is a little harder, but Falk manages to slip past his alarms. They take all the books that look interesting. Thick, heavy volumes on more advanced magic, old, yellowed tomes filled with diagrams in red ink, seven translation guides to other common languages. Twelve more for uncommon ones. A bag of candy. A blank book with loose pages and an assortment of pens. Doffelmaest's purse, even heavier than Falk's.

They were really robbing the old man blind, but it's not as if Falk planned to come back. They hoped the elf was kind. They hoped he wasn't like the sorcerer.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Falk laid and reinforced the final spells on their traveling pack and all its contents. Expansion, to hold everything they'd stuffed in it, protection, to keep everything safe and stop it from breaking, cushioning, to make it more comfortable to carry, and feather-light, so Falk didn't kill themselves trying to heft it. They thumbed the cursed amulet still in their pocket. Doffelmaest can eat cinders. They filed off the tracking spell.

They walked down the mossy steps of the tower for the last time. The elf would be in the lobby.

.

The "elf" was a nine-foot tall mass of muscle and meat, with biceps for days and three swords on his belt. The furs around his waist where decorated with the skulls of what were probably kobolds. He had short, pointed horns at his temples and his hair was a mass of braids and tiny chains and feathers.

"Greetings, youngling," boomed the walking wall of beef, "I am called Zakurr, my companion has sent me to pick up the young sorcerer we are to travel with. Might you know where they can be found?"

Doffelmaest appeared at their side, a hand on Falk's shoulder. The hand squeezed painfully, a warning.

"I greet you gladly, sir Zakurr," Falk says in their Proper Voice. "The Grand Sorcerer, Lord Doffelmaest, is my master, and has bid me travel with you. How may I be at your service?"

"My apprentice is very talented," Doffelmaest assures him. "It can perform many acts of magic. I'm certain you and your companion would find it most helpful."

"We are glad to hear such!" Zakurr rumbles, only slightly less loud than thunder itself. He presses a small purse into Doffelmaest's hand. "What are you called, youngling?"

Doffelmaest leaves and Falk can breathe again. "I am called Falk, sir Zakurr. I can shapeshift. I look forward to meeting your needs."

"You need not be so formal with us, dear Falk. I would have you know us in comfort."

"Your pardon, good sir. My master has taught me it is rudeness to be informal with elves, even one so mighty as yourself." Falk can breathe, they're out of the tower at last, they're free, they're free!

Zakurr laughs, a boundless, thunderous sound. "I am an orc, my dear friend! My companion is the elf, and arguably about as formal as a passel of chickens. Be at ease, I beg you!"

Falk gives a small smile and tries to calm their racing heart. "When shall we leave the city, Zakurr?"

"On the morrow," the orc replies. "We must head to the market first, then back to the inn, and we'll leave in the morning."

"May I visit the guard before we go? I'd like to say my goodbyes."

Zakurr sent them off with a mighty chuckle, saying he'd be at the market whenever Falk was ready. Falk was not expecting him to trust them out of his sight so quickly.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

"You're leaving?" Morrin gasped. "Falk, you can't, I know Doffelmaest is grating, but it's a home, and--"

"Morrin, he sold me to an orc not two hours ago." Falk told her, deadpan.

"He did what? Where the orc? Is he planning to eat you? You can't be thinking of going with him alone, are you? Ash on the hearth, Falk, I'm not anxious for you enough, you've got to go and--"

"He seemed pretty nice. If nothing else, going with him gets me out of the city and out of the old fart's reach. I'm going to be okay. I just wanted you to know." Falk presses a soft kiss to the side of her head. "I'm going back to the inn with him tonight, we'll leave tomorrow. Be good, I love you."

And Falk vanished, leaving Morrin alone with a grief she couldn't name.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Zakurr opened the door and stepped out of the inn, intent on doing his business, only to find himself boxed in by the most furious dwarf he'd ever seen. "Can I help you?" he asked sheepishly.

"You the orc what's taking my Falk?"

Was she the youngling's wife? Sister? Mother? Admittedly, he was not good at guessing the ages of anything that wasn’t an orc.

"And who are you?" he asked, in the softest voice he knew, still several times the normal speaking volume.

"Morrin. Town guard. You know how many times my Falk's been arrested? How troublesome they are? Taking them'll only bring you problems, I swear it."

The insistant fullness of his bladder was beginning to rear its ugly head just as that damnable elf popped out behind him.

"Who's this?" Nells asked, sleep clinging to his voice.

"Town guard," he replied irritably. "You deal with her, I'm off to piss." And he pushed past her to the shrubs behind the inn.

"The hell kind of candlestick elf travels alone with an orc?" she challenged.

"The sort what's about to punt you across the garden, what's it to you?"

"You've got my Falk, is what, I'd have your guarantee of their safety."

"Oh, please, Zakurr wouldn't hurt a fly. He's big, but underneath that beautiful mountain of meat is a soft, sensitive--"

"I'm coming with you."

"Look, darling, you're lovely, but--"

"This isn't up for debate," she huffs. "Where Falk goes, I go, or they'll never stay out of trouble. Do you know how to grapple someone what can shapeshift at will? Can you talk a guard down from executing them on sight? Can you? You ashing well need me."

Zakurr returns from defiling the bushes. "Did you settle things?"

"You're taking me with you," Morrin demands, before Nells can say a word.

[ten-thousand-paper-wasps]

“Have faith,” the old man said, “and you can never be broken.”

It sounded weirdly specific and more than a little cheesy, but since the old priest was letting them stay the night in his church and wasn’t asking questions, Falk wasn’t about to complain.

Falk and their traveling companions had shown up the night before, on the verge of collapse, covered in blood and glowing runes. Their skin tingled with the wild, electric magic and the blood was burning in, stinking up the room. Nells sat in the corner, cleaning his whip and humming, while Morrin and Zakurr worked on a meal.

Owlsby had been left behind in the forest. He was getting big enough now that they couldn’t take him into town, not if they wanted to get out alive. He could fend for himself, and they’d pick him up in the morning. It was hardly his fault he was the size of a dog and quicker than a shadow. Regular spiders didn’t get that big. It was too clear he was a beastling from the Deep. People didn’t like those things. Falk didn’t like those things. Owlsby was terrifying and if they brought him into town they’d all be burned as witches. 

And he was only going to get bigger. Nells was going to have to figure out how to feed his pet monster before he started getting ideas of his own.

“Have faith,” they chuckled to themselves. Morrin was the one who believed that nonsense. Faith was a pretty thought. But it didn’t fill bellies or keep you warm in winter, and Falk knew where their priorities lay.

.

“Have faith,” laughed Nells in the hot zeal of battle. “You think we cannot survive this?”

“Ha!” barked Zakurr. “Perhaps it is the faith that you will survive that causes Falk such distress!” 

Nells danced away from a trio of blades, whirling, twirling, catching the goblin’s wrist in his whip and dragging it close. Zakurr took the opening and swung his axe-hammer down, crushing its skull. It was pure glee on his lips to fight righteously with his comrades, to protect the people that were his. His faith was in the strength of his body and the quickness of his friends. It was unshakable.

.

“Have faith in us, dear heart,” said Morrin, when they stood at the edge of the cliffs, looking out. “We won’t let that demon be the end of you. We won’t, I swear it.”

Falk let Morrin take their hand in hers, turning it over and squeezing it. Have faith. “I’m scared,” they admitted. “I feel it consuming me, taking me apart and shredding my soul. You’ll have to put me down.” There were hot tears in their eyes that threatened to spill over. Falk let them. 

“We won’t do that,” Morrin shushed. “We’re a family, you and us, and we won’t let you die. Have you faith?”

Falk had no faith, but they didn’t say it.

.

Zakurr cleaved through goblin after goblin, hurling his axe-hammer with abandon. Arms as big as mead barrels and legs like tree trunks made the orc a more than formidable opponent. He was deadly. He was family and he was theirs. 

“Have faith, sweetling,” he grunted. There was no need; if Falk had faith in anything, it was Zakurr’s tenacity and might. He would get them through this mountain in safety. Falk could trust him to do so.

.

The goblin war king let loose his battle cry, and the hordes fell on them like jackals. Zakurr fought with all his strength, be he was one against thousands. Nells and Owlsby were liquid, weaving around eachother, slaying goblins left and right. Morrin was throwing spells as fast as she could. It wasn’t enough. It would be minutes, at best, before the goblins killed them all. Falk had to do something. The didn’t have enough magic to keep everyone alive.

But they could get enough magic. Their little family didn’t like when Falk did it, but saving them was saving them, no matter the cost. 

“Do I have your faith?” Falk asked of them. They pulled Zakurr down and claimed his lips, just a moment, a breath, a beat, and felt the magic respond. Zakurr’s strength sung in their body, his stamina, his pride. Falk would need all of it to survive this. 

“Have faith!” shouted Nells, and brought their mouths crashing together. On him, Falk tasted boundless energy, wily as the sea, quick as lightning. Falk tasted Owlsby’s relentless hunger just behind it, a dark lust to see every goblin under the mountain dead and butchered. They felt their teeth get just a bite sharper. 

They turned to Morrin, their closest friend. The one that swore to follow them to the end of the earth, the end of everything, because home wasn’t worth going back to if Falk wasn’t beside her.

“Morrin,” they begged, voice heavy with need, fingers sparking and crackling with unspent power. “I crave a boon of you.”

Morrin looked back, sad and tired, knowing what Falk was asking, knowing she would give it but loathing that Falk would kiss her for power, for sex, but never love, never sentiment, never softness. She fixed them with a scowl. “I give it freely,” she said, broken and desperate and alone.

When they kissed, Morrin gave them love. She gave love and gentleness and the ruthlessness to do what churned their insides but had to be done. She gave hope and power and magic. She gave faith.

Falk gathered all of it within themselves, balling it up and shaping it. They let it surge through their fingertips into a spell devastating enough to end twenty thousand goblins. To save four people and an unnecessarily large spider. To protect this family.

They felt the power dancing through them. With Zakurr’s might and pride and strength, they called lightning and fire and brought it before them. With Owlsby’s hunger and Nells’ fierceness and the cunning of the two together, Falk brought a heavy psionic weight to flatten and crush all who would threaten the people they called home. They took Morrin’s love, her hope and her softness, and drew a circle of protection to keep them safe. They felt the demon welling up inside them and grabbed it by the throat and channeled its power into the spell.

Falk held it inside for a beat longer, and then let it out. A wave of roiling, crackling heat shot out, burning and electrocuting every goblin it touched. They slammed their hands on the stone floor and crushed them into pulpy, fetid liquid. The war king and his forces were dead. Falk took Morrin’s faith, her greatest strength, and brought the mountain down. 

Falk poured everything they had into keeping their family alive, keeping them safe, keeping them from getting crushed by the mountain. Falk gave until they had nothing left to hold them up, nothing to keep back the demon inside. Falk gave until there was nothing left but the faith in their family, and then Falk knew no more.

.

They woke to darkness, to the underside of a great beast. Owlsby. Nells gripped their hands in his sleep. Zakurr kept watch. Morrin was nowhere to be found. They shifted their leg, startling the elf awake.

“Falk?” 

Falk tried to speak, but could only manage a wet gurgle. How long had they been out? Was Morrin dead? When did Owlsby get so huge?

“BABE!” he shouted, and Zakurr hurtled to his side.

“You’ve come back to us, sweetling,” he murmured. “Are you thirsty?” he asked, offering his waterskin. Falk took it, making small, slow sips.

“What happened after we killed all those goblins?” they asked. 

“The mountain crumbled,” said Zakurr. “We all survived,” he said, at Falk’s look of panic. “Morrin and I ran to the closest town for medicine, while Nells and that ungainly monster stayed in the forests and kept you safe.”

“You didn’t take me to town with you?”

“Falk, look at yourself,” Nells said, sternly. “You used too much power. Your glamours fell. You know what humans are like, when they see something they don’t understand.”

Falk looked down. Sallow, ridged, grey-green skin. Claws on their fingers. They felt their face and found long ears and sharp, curved horns. Their gold eyes went wide and without thinking they flicked a long, narrow tongue into the air, tasting it for predators. 

Humans would have gutted them in an instant. “You saw me,” they said, instead of dwelling. “You saw this. You weren’t. Weren’t supposed to.”

Zakurr picked up on the naked fear in Falk’s eyes. “We did,” he said. “We saw that our sweetling brought down a mountain to keep us safe. And you put so much into it that you exhausted yourself. There was nothing left. Even your demon burned away. You did that to keep your family safe.”

“And family stays together,” Nells finished. “It’s been two years, we’ve had time to get used to how ugly you are. Get over it. Have some soup.”

Two years was a long time. Owlsby was unreasonably huge. The jagged cut in Nells’ back was an old scar. Zakurr had broken his nose again. “Where’s Morrin?”

Zakurr looked uncomfortable. “She needed time. To think. Be by herself a while, you know. We passed an old church in a swamp up north, I reckon she hasn’t left.”

“Can we see her?”

“Sure,” said Nells. “We can ride over on Owlsby. I’ll plan the route in the morning.”

And Falk had faith. And if faith could move mountains, it could do anything. Families stayed together.

Faith can move mountains. And truly she does, mostly to confuse humans though.