Just One Wish
BlainexKurt, AU
"Stop whining, boy!"
"But I just—"
"You'll have a taste of rawhide if you don't make that thing eat!"
"I don't think it—!"
"Yeah, we can't have it dying until we get to that old collector. Now git!"
—Sound of a rusty can coming in contact with a thinly clothed back, uproarious laughter—and Blaine was running out of their arm's length, pulling up his shoes that were shot clean with holes and still too big—but it kept his feet warm from the cold ground. He wasn't allowed to come near the campfire. The bigger men had the sanctity of the orange glow to themselves. He shook his head, pushing down his temper. Fighting back was not an option right now.
He ducked out of their sight and let out his breath. He looked down at his tin plate of slop. Nothing more than corn mush and fruit close to spoiling, but when he ran he had spilled it some. He didn't know what it ate, but he was sure no one should be eating this. He pushed down the fact that he was supposed to be eating the same afterward.
He sighed and walked to the old tent, that vast ruin that creaked and threatened to fall with every frozen breeze. It was the only thing at camp that had more holes than his shoes, and it was a blessing to be outside it than in it, for it seemed to sit at the spot furthest away from any friendly glow of warmth.
He peered inside silently.
Instantly, there was movement from the large crate that stood open. The sound of skittering—a body pushing back to the very end of the crude wood planks. He winced at the silent whimper as he imagined the needle-like splinters penetrating flesh.
"You—ah…" he stopped and considered. There was utter silence in the tent. Then he murmured, "I can…pull those splinters out." A pause. "…and I brought you food."
Still silence. Just soft shifting from the crate. Blaine eyed the fat chain that came out of the crate, the weight end of which was buried into the ground with a large stake. He saw fresh scratches on the links. It must have struggled against the bonds on its feet.
Blaine carefully approached, noting every movement from the shadows pierced with moonlight lances from the holes of the tent. The sound of panicked breathing. "I won't hurt you," he said carefully. "You have to eat."
Silence again. He didn't mind. He was used to talking to himself. There was no one to talk to at the caravan anyway—no one who listened. He felt that the sound of his voice might calm it, and he kept a low, even tone.
"I don't know how they caught you, but…I knew they mustn't have been gentle. I'm sorry…no one should have to go through that." He put down the tin tray in a patch of moonlight on the earthen floor, a short way off from the crate opening. More than anything, he wanted to see it. He hadn't seen it until the men had caught it, bragging about their prize, and how the collector would be happy to see it. And even then, it had been in a sack, with only two pure white wounded feet sticking out of the struggling bag.
"There's dinner," he said, picking up an almost rotten half of peach and sitting on the ground from a safe distance. "You've been in there for hours. You should eat. And it doesn't have anything funny in it." He bit into the peach to prove it. He winced. "It's not very good, but…it's better than nothing."
And then Blaine waited. He was good at that. He wouldn't rush that creature out for the world. When he himself had been in that box, they'd dragged him out and force fed him, whipped him when he wouldn't respond. In the end, when the collector didn't want him (he had enough unusual humans), they slammed him in there again and tossed him from market to market. Until he was bought, he would be their servant, the closest thing to the "good life" those thugs would get.
Presently, he began to hum. It was an old song. He had heard it once, when his real family traveled through the wood. His father played it on his pipe around the campfire. It was from so long ago, he hardly knew it all.
The strangest thing happened. He felt calm from inside the wood box the moment he started humming. It was as though it had heard the music. He pretended he didn't notice, and absently continued to hum, carefully watching the box for movement.
Presently, a hand appeared in the spot of light just outside the box. Blaine stared. It was white, and soft, like the hands of the well-tended noblesse. But it was wrapped with the most delicate, silvery vines he'd ever seen, like spidersilk, the leaves almost transparent, glimmering. He almost missed a note, he couldn't help but stare.
And slowly, there came an arm, also wrapped in silk-fine vines, until there was a soft sheen of green leaves, pale skin, and he saw a pair of blue eyes looking warily at him.
Blaine had been staring in silence for a good thirty seconds until he realized exactly what he was having a staring contest with.
A wood nymph.
An honest to the gods wood nymph.
Oh gods. They caught one.
The music had stopped. He took a sudden breath in shock, and the blue eyes fled back into the darkness. "Wait—!" Blaine amended, reaching out a hand. "Wait. It's all right. …it's okay. It's just me… see?" he opened his hands and showed it that his hands were empty of things that could harm him. He reached one hand out.
"Listen…" he whispered. "Just take my hand… It's all right. I won't hurt you. I can help."
Contemplative silence.
"…please trust me."
A rustle. And he saw that white hand gently slip into his, light and warm.
Blaine carefully pulled the nymph out of the crate, into the light. It didn't look particularly frightened after all. But it was wary, as though waiting for a blow. It was bruised and wounded, and he saw it use its free hand to clutch at its shoulder, where the hunters' arrow (tipped with potions, no doubt—they couldn't have caught it without some sorcerous aid) had struck it down.
He had thought all nymphs were maidens. But this one… this one was certainly a male. He had never seen one before. Is that why they had captured this one in particular? Because he was so rare? Or was it because of those eyes…? Those strange, light-filled eyes?
"What's your name?" he asked.
The nymph seemed to look around warily. Blaine wondered if he could understand him, or if he could even speak. "I'm Blaine," he volunteered, waiting for an answer.
Then the nymph seemed to resign himself, sighing quietly. "…Kurt." The hand in his held just that little bit tighter.
What an odd name. But Blaine smiled. "You should have something to eat." He pushed the plate towards him.
Kurt considered the sustenance carefully. He murmured, "You're feeding me…before you kill me?"
"I'm not going to kill you."
"Isn't that what all humans do?" Kurt looked puzzled. "To those like me?"
"…Humans…" Blaine looked up a moment, into the black roof studded with the silvery holes of light. He wondered what the woods were like now—where he first heard his father's song on the pipe. "…tend to…wound those who can be so different, somehow. Like you. …like me."
"You're a human…"
"I have sorcerer blood. I don't know how to use it well yet, but some things happen around me here and there… It makes me different from other humans. They captured me. Just like they did you." He smiled gently at Kurt. "But not all humans are cruel."
The nymph considered him, eyes looking lost but searching. "…you're not cruel."
"I won't hurt you."
"I know you won't." This time Blaine looked at him, puzzled. The nymph smiled, and it was the first time it had seemed like it was genuine emotion. Kurt said, "…you have that kind of music."
Blaine laughed softly to himself.
"…what are they going to do to me?" Kurt asked.
"The collector wants you. Well…would want someone like you. They'll sell you to him."
Those blue eyes grew big. Blaine quickly tightened his hold on the hand that never once let go since he'd held it. "But…I won't let them do that. Do you understand?"
Kurt blinked. "…what…?"
"I won't let them sell you, or do anything to you."
For a moment, the nymph looked speechless. Blaine stared back, wondering if he had finally gone crazy. He had been captive for two years, and never once did he attempt to escape, knowing it was too dangerous—he could be dragged back and whipped to the edge of his life. He'd seen it happen to the others. He knew it would happen to him, and they wouldn't hesitate to kill him, since he didn't prove as profitable as the others.
And yet now…when he saw Kurt…
"I swear…I will get you out of here."
Was it because he knew what the hunters could do? Was it because he knew what the collector could do? He knew all of those things and felt that if someone like Kurt went through all that—Kurt would die. He wasn't made to be captive. He would die trapped like this.
"…how will you do that?" Kurt asked, as though echoing the nagging thought in the back of Blaine's head.
"I don't know yet," Blaine admitted. "But I will."
Two weeks on the cold ground went by. The expanse of the moor felt like it would never end. And at night, it was carpeted with so much cold mist that Blaine abandoned his blanket one the fifth day he found it nothing more than a frozen sheet. He had taken to sleeping near wherever the hunters decided to put Kurt's tent in.
He had begun doing so the night one of the hunters, drunk out of his mind, went into the tent far later than anyone. Blaine had awakened when he heard the slam of wood, and it had been the sound of Kurt slamming the crate lid closed just in time, holding it shut for dear life from the inside, as the drunken hunter tried to pry him out.
"What the—?" The hunter tore out from his belt strap a rawhide switch, the ones he often used when an animal struggled against them in the hunt. He cracked the flog soundly against the fingers that clutched through the slats of the splintering wood. "Hey you! Come out, I want to see you!" He smacked the switch against the fingers again and from inside, Kurt made the smallest hiss of pain he allowed.
The sound of tearing flesh brought Blaine running. "Hey!" he grabbed the back of the hunter's tunic and tried to pull him back with all his strength. "Stop it!"
It took two slugs for Blaine to hit the ground—then the flogging at the hands that held the lid shut continued—but even then he got up, flushed with rage. He wasn't frail, but the hunter was still larger. He hurled himself against the drunk, whose compromised balance sent the juggernaut slamming onto the ground and nearly onto the tent post, which could have brought the whole tent down.
Blaine turned to the box and pressed himself against the lid to keep it tightly shut, peeling Kurt's hands off. "Just stay there!" He turns around just in time to lift an arm over his head against the rawhide switch that slammed down on him. The switch pulled back and struck again and again, tearing through his clothes and striping his arm.
"You sorry piece of filth—! Worthless!" The blows rained down.
"Blaine—what are you doing?" were the only words he understood from the gasp inside the box before the moment Kurt's bleeding fingers clasped his from the slats.
Something connected—pure white heat—Blaine looked up with blazing eyes and grabbed the switch before it could hit him again. Energy rocked out of his hands, up the switch and onto the drunk hunter—a white flash of sorcery—sending the hunter flying backwards a full five feet, tearing through the tent.
Blaine came to his senses, the white rage going out like a candle. He stumbled backwards onto the crate, breathing hard, wondering what had just happened. He looked at the shadows between the planks. "Are you all right?" he panted.
"I'm—"
"Blaine! What's all this?" The other hunters came tearing into the tent. The Eldest looked as though he would be shortly tearing everyone in the tent limb to limb. The drunk one had gotten up, and he was now stumbling back in with rage.
"He's ruined him!" Blaine immediately said, holding up the hand that Kurt had held, knowing that it had the nymph's blood on it. "Look at this! He's whipped him and was planning on—whatever else! He's damaged it!"
If there was one thing the Hunters couldn't stand, it was serious damage to the merchandise before it could really get to the collector for inspection. If Kurt had been thoroughly damaged, they would not get a cent. They beat the drunk one out of the tent, and Blaine as well for impertinence for good measure, but no less serious than any other day. Blaine ignored the blows now. He waited until they, as expected, left him to look after Kurt.
Whatever the hunter had planned, Blaine didn't want to imagine, but that drunk had whipped him and Blaine had to treat those ruined hands until daybreak. They didn't speak to each other then. The hunters had come back during the daylight to jeer and poke sticks at the nymph inside the box to elicit some kind of response, after they learned that he never made a sound or had never even been seen out the box. But Kurt bore all the abuse without a single outcry.
The nymph only emerged and spoke when Blaine would come into the tent alone.
Blaine learned more about him as the days passed. Kurt was surprisingly concentrated on grooming himself. After another fresh round of verbal harassment and poking from the hunters (who may have thought of him as their favorite hornet's nest to stone for the time being) Blaine would find him preening. He would carefully move a hand through his silken tresses and artfully arrange the wealth of silvery-green vines on his body. If he watched carefully he would see the vines growing and arranging themselves around his head in a tasteful fashion. By the time Blaine actually walked in, he would look less frazzled than he might have been earlier.
Blaine didn't want to flatter himself by thinking that the nymph preened for him—and he was correct.
"Those barbarians simply don't have any idea of what cleanliness might be," Kurt would toss offhandedly when he was asked. "Judging from their appearance, their idea of dressing up may mean simply slinging on the skin of a dead carcass."
Blaine tried not to smile and failed. Kurt smiled back, and then seemed to realize something and added, "I don't mean you."
"You don't have to say that," Blaine would laugh. "I know what I look like. I don't like this either you know. Quite frankly…" he laughed and sat next to him. "I could do much better, given the chance, but I must look worse than they do. For someone as finicky as you, I suppose I'm hideous."
Kurt's tinted cheeks and oddly soft murmur of, "No, you are not…" as he turned away ended the conversation.
As it turned out, Kurt was also picky with food. He didn't eat corn mush, but he didn't eat much else other than fruit. One night a little over two weeks since they began crossing the great moor, he picked at his almost rotten figs, discouraged, and finally curled down onto the earth near the spike he was chained to. The moonlight dappled him just right, making him look even more otherworldly than ever. When Blaine was present, he never let go of his hand.
From where he was sitting and leaning against the tent's central post, Blaine watched the supple form curled up on the cold floor beside him. He wondered if Kurt was asleep. Very carefully, he loosened his hold on his hand a fraction. Kurt answered back by holding a bit tighter. Still awake. That was all right. He hummed to himself.
Sometimes, Blaine would hum. Sometimes Kurt hummed with him, surprising him by knowing every song he would attempt to show him. Blaine knew sirens could sing, like that small dark-haired one they had captured before—Rachel, the one whose voice captivated a famous lord, was then bought by him and thus lived a better life than the rest of whatever else the caravan sold—but he didn't know that nymphs sang too. Or maybe that was another reason why Kurt was so unusual.
Kurt was more playful than he imagined. He smiled in a way that made it seem like he knew quite a great deal of things that most humans wouldn't be privy to. When he spoke of his old home, he looked distant. His home didn't sound real when he spoke of it. Kurt made it sound as though the home he was talking about was an idea, and not an actual place.
"It just that place," Kurt would say. "Where everyone was just themselves."
Blaine had held his hand tighter. Then Kurt would change the subject and ask Blaine what his hometown was like. There wasn't much that Blaine could tell him about Dalton, but Kurt seemed to enjoy hearing about the humans there, and how Dalton was full of people from different places.
And he loved to hear about the art in Dalton. He wanted to hear everything about it—the color, the theatre, but most of all, the music. And Blaine would tell him, and even sing to him. Kurt knew the words, and would sing with him on occasion. That rotten old tent became their one sanctuary. No matter how hard Blaine was pushed to pack and do nearly all the work at camp, walking for miles every day, and no matter how many times the hunters jabbed, stabbed and jeered at Kurt from the crate, they would look forward to nightfall and steal to each other's company for solace.
Day after day, Blaine tried to formulate a plan to free the nymph. Each night, he would sit with Kurt and tug at the spike. It would always be driven down too hard and could not be pulled up. Even then, could Kurt run with those chains? He'd have to get the key.
"Blaine…?"
"Yes?"
The hand in his held just a bit tighter. "…you have to stop."
"Stop what?"
"…planning how you're going to let me escape."
Blaine looked at him. Kurt was looking up at him. For the first time, he sensed a real fear—from Kurt, who would never even so much as cry out. "What are you saying?"
Kurt carefully sat up. "If you let me escape…what will happen to you?"
Blaine nearly grinned. "Then I'll have to run like crazy out of here too, right? Probably in the opposite direction from you, because they'll want to really drag me back and beat me after I let you go, and if they chase me you'll have a better chance of getting away."
Instant distress from the nymph. "Drag you back? How do you know? You've tried?"
"I've seen others try. They don't get far. Unless I let you go and make myself bait, you're not going to make it."
"Why are you doing this?" Kurt finally asked.
Silence.
This was a question that Blaine had been contemplating all week. He had seen many other captives just like him, come and go from the caravan. But this was the first time he'd ever wanted to let someone go this badly. He often looked at Kurt's face and easily saw through the cool exterior he held when the hunters came. Kurt was actually afraid. Kurt was afraid and angry about many things, and who could blame him after a fortnight of relentless, hourly torment after being torn away from everything that he knew.
The answer to the question seemed obvious, from Blaine's vantage point. As Kurt was right now, a stifled passion whose blue eyes were the only giveaway, he was beautiful in so many ways. Blaine wanted to see how much more he could be if he was free and happy. He wanted to see what Kurt would actually be like, if he smiled, and sang, and was loved. There was so much more to him to see.
If his nebulous plans went well, he would never actually see Kurt in freedom, but he could finally imagine. And right now, where Kurt was, he couldn't imagine how the nymph could ever smile or be everything he could be when he was shut up in that wooden box.
Blaine smiled, placating him. "So you could go home. Why else?"
"But—!" Kurt was close—very close—and he was in a mesmerizingly close distance. His breath came quick, and there was a flash of panic that crossed them both. Kurt ploughed on. "If they catch you—"
"Then they'll catch me."
"They'll beat you!"
"They've done that before."
"Would you just listen?"
Blaine was startled. At this point, Kurt was clutching tightly onto him, like someone drowning holding on to a raft. Every inch of skin that came into contact felt as though it were on fire. Kurt was shaking. But it wasn't fear. It was anger.
As Kurt shivered, he saw the vines around the nymph's body grow as though fueled by this wrath. The vines snaked from his arm to where their hands linked, and started growing up Blaine's arm. He closed his eyes and willed himself to be calm—and to calm the nymph. "Kurt. Stop."
"No."
"Kurt, you're going to end up tying me to you if you keep this up."
The vines crawled more slowly now. "…I don't care."
"You're being ridiculous…" Blaine smiled. "Don't you want to go?"
Kurt looked up at him. Blaine smiled a bit more. "Right? You want to go, right?"
The nymph's mouth fell open a bit as he tried to answer. Blaine started staring at those lips. It was a terrible, terrible thing to start wanting. Not now—not when he could easily overpower this beautiful creature. He was in a position where he was trusted. And if he kept staring…if he kept wanting…if Kurt knew…
If Kurt knew, he might never touch him again.
Or that is…
"I don't want to go…without you."
Breath fled him. "What? But—"
"You just can't stay here!" Kurt burst out. He was breathing hard and flustered, as though such outbursts were neither dignified nor common to him. "You—if you stay here—"
"I'm one of them, remember?"
"No you are not," the nymph answered with such fervent finality that it was startling. "You are nothing like them. You're…different." He wavered a moment. Then resumed his inflection, "If I leave, you will come with me."
"Kurt, there is no way that we can both—"
"I can grant you a wish!"
That was unexpected. Blaine blinked at him. "What? What are you on about?"
Flustered, Kurt explained, "Just one. I can't…I can't do anything for myself. If I could, I would've left in an instant. But I can grant a human a boon! I can give you something, anything! If you wish to be able to escape, you'll be able to! You can leave with me!"
"Hold on." Blaine took Kurt's hands and held them still; they were shaking. "All right. Calm down. Breathe."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
Kurt winced. "Because if I see them hurt you one more time—"
Blaine was surprised. He hadn't think Kurt had noticed. He did try to interfere when the hunters would harass the nymph from where he was huddled in his box, but he had not imagined that Kurt would have noticed their blows on him as they all but hurled him out of the tent.
The white hands that clutched his clothes were still rough with scars of abuse, and felt cold tonight. Blaine put his hands over the icy ones to warm them, wondering how soft they would be once they healed. He looked at the nymph, whose head was lowered, and was probably wondering that same question, Why am I doing this?
And very carefully, Blaine pulled Kurt against him, wrapping an arm around the nymph body. Kurt leaned against his shoulder, staring off into empty space, and he kept their fingers twined. He shivered like he was cold. Blaine tried to impart all the warmth he could. He hummed a song they both knew, trying to lull him to sleep. For a while, Kurt joined him, and the song trailed away. In the stillness, the smaller body shifted a bit closer.
"Promise you'll at least think about it," Kurt murmured. "The wish, I mean. I can only give it to you once. But…it could be anything. Even freedom."
Blaine said nothing, keeping the nymph close.
Just you.
So gently that it could have barely been felt, he pressed his lips against the soft brown hair that still held the heady fragrance that, as they say, drove men to madness. He closed his eyes. "Kurt…"
No answer. Blaine glanced at the closed lids, Kurt's breathing even and steady. Asleep. Blaine smiled faintly. He would have to put him back in the crate shortly; he was so comfortable he may very easily fall asleep with him, but if they were found together like this, they could forget any hope of survival, much less escape.
But just for this moment…just for a moment…
Blaine hesitated for one terrible moment. Was this betraying him? If it was nothing more than the briefest touch, would it be all right? He leaned down to those mesmerizing lips and pressed his own gently against them. He whispered in the stillness those words that answered every question that asked "why", that answer that could never truly be uttered. Three words, abused by men the world over, that spelled his fate sealed—to let the nymph escape for the price of his own freedom.
No matter how much he wanted him, he was still his only hope.
He wondered what Kurt might've been like, if he was free. The thought warmed him and he fell asleep in spite of himself, still holding the nymph in his arms.
Blue eyes fluttered open. Kurt blinked slowly in the darkness.
He had felt that warmth against his lips, his first in the world, and he had heard those words. He felt tears sting his eyes and tried to hold them back in futile effort. Each dewdrop struck the ground and from there grew a bloom in cruel color of red, saying more than he wanted to admit. He looked up at Blaine, his protector, asleep.
Swiftly, he leaned up and stole a kiss right back from this strange human. Blaine, tired, did not wake and Kurt leaned back against him to try and truly sleep.
Three words sealed Blaine's fate. As Blaine slept, Kurt said them back to him before he closed his eyes.
He couldn't grant his own wishes. But just this once…just this once he begged with all his will for this one to come true.
Just you.
Something was wrong.
Blaine opened his eyes. That movement of shadow behind his eyelids was exactly what he thought it would be. The orange blaze of the sentry lamp was glowing at one side of the dark tent, just from the entrance. It cast two shadows onto the fabric. One was the hulking form of the hunters. The other was one of their trackers.
"…you heard?"
"Loud and clear," the tracker said in a low tone. "That nymph can grant anyone a wish. Anyone! Just one—but I heard him. He offered it to Blaine. They're planning on escaping."
"Is that right…"
By now, Blaine had gathered Kurt up in his arms, heart thudding in his chest. His heart was pounding so hard, he was sure it was what was making Kurt stir. He pressed a finger to the nymph's lips and listened.
"They're asleep now, I just looked in."
"Good. Stay here. I'll get the others—and get a net and lances. Those two will put up a fight. If'd known they were planning this I would've broken Blaine's legs."
Kurt lifted his head blearily, looking up, confused. "Blaine…?"
"Shh…" Blaine said, breath shaky, lifting Kurt as he stood. The tracker stood outside of the tent, holding the torchlight. The hunter had left, presumably to the weapons cart. "We have to go. We have to go now."
"What?" Kurt stared and then cast a furtive glance at his chains.
Blaine glanced at the chains and inwardly cursed. There had to be a way. There just had to be. He remembered what he had done before—when that white fury had lashed out and struck that hunter at full force. Why couldn't he do it now—when it was more desperate? What did he have to do? What was the use of sorcerer blood if he couldn't use it?
He looked at Kurt and Kurt stared back. He knew that Kurt could feel something was wrong, and had an idea of what. If they didn't leave now, they were never going to be able to. It was now or never.
"Kurt…" he said, setting him down again near the crate, "Kurt…you have to trust me now."
"What do you—"
"Shh…" his attempts to calm him were useless when he himself couldn't be. "They know. I'm…I'm going to have to do something. Now." He glanced at the sentry. That particular one wasn't just any sentry—he was the one who held the master key to the chains. "Now…it won't take long before the hunters get up, and get whatever things they need. I'm going to have to take the sentry down. He'll have a key. And then I'll unchain you."
"And then...?"
"And then you run. You understand me? I want you to run, into the mist, as far away from the sound as you can get. I'm going to, uh…stay here and keep them back. Lead them off somewhere else." He took Kurt's hands, holding them tightly. He looked straight into his eyes. "Promise me—you will run."
"I can't leave you here, you idiot!"
"This is not the time for that!" Blaine said angrily. "I wish you would run. I wish you would run and get away from here."
Kurt looked liked he'd been slapped, staring at him.
Blaine repeated, "That's what I wish now, Kurt. You wanted my wish, and now you have it. I wish that you will run—and never look back. If you can grant any wish—grant me that one."
There was the sound of metal outside. Time was running out. Blaine pried himself away from Kurt, whose hands rent at his worn cloak. He headed for the sentry at the tent, fists clenched.
He was never going to see that nymph again—but every moment of the past two weeks with him was worth it.
He hurled himself onto the sentry, knocking him to the ground. There was a flurry of blows and struggling, turf getting torn—howls of pain and wrath issued from the scuffle—the blaze of torch lights on the lances of the hunters as they came nearer—
Blaine slammed the less agile tracker down to the ground, cracked his fist on his face twice before tearing the key from the leather cord around his neck. He punctuated it with one more slug to the tracker's face. Without waiting for another moment, Blaine pushed himself up and ran into the tent.
"Kurt!" he came skidding next to him and grabbed at the cuffs of the nymph's chains. There was the sound of feet trampling the earth outside. The mass of hunters had come, called by the sound of the fight outside the tent. Blaine thrust the key into the locks and turned it—the cuffs opened with a loud clank. He looked up to see Kurt's horrified face, his hand pointing outside the tent. That mass of furious Neanderthals were now almost at them.
Blaine grabbed Kurt's hand the instant the first two hunters burst in, he made a powerful kick that snapped the main pole in half, and the entire wretched tent collapsed upon the lot of them. Pandemonium reigned as the hunters roared in rage, struggling to free themselves from the cloth. Blaine clutched at Kurt's hand tightly and led him right out the mess, plunging out into the cold air to see the untrapped hunters hurling lances at them. He pushed Kurt's head down, shielding him from their range as they ran.
They plunged onto the fog. The hunters came after them in a mass of muscle and metal. Blaine led the run, moving so fast that he might've been flying over the turf if Kurt hadn't been his payload. They had no direction, and almost no vision. The hunters were still too close—Blaine couldn't afford to separate from Kurt yet. Further they ran into the thickness of the fog, without even being sure where to go.
Kurt clasped at Blaine's arm. "This way!" he gasped, pulling them to another direction. "The woods are this way!"
"How would you know that?" Blaine asked, as they had been two weeks into walking the moor and had yet to see any sign of real forest.
"I just do—come on!" Kurt took the lead this time, pulling Blaine along.
"I can hear them!" came the yell from behind them, that alien mass of men and metal. "They're this way! Follow after them and get back the nymph!"
"Set the dogs on them!" As soon as the command was uttered, there was a great clanking of cages and vicious snarls started thudding behind them. Gnashing of teeth and massive paws, no less than a dozen animals must be almost at their heels now through the fog, following their scent through the mist.
Blaine started running faster, outrunning Kurt so he was now in the lead again. Kurt panted, "Dogs? What dogs?"
"He means wolves!" Blaine yelled back.
Kurt suddenly started to slow down. "Wait—wait—! We're close enough!"
"To what?"
"To do this!" Kurt turned around and slammed his hands onto the ground. In a sudden jolt, huge, thorny vines came ripping out of the ground and stretched to a full ten feet to either direction; it created a wall of thorns that jutted through the mist. Blaine stared, gaping, before Kurt started running again. "Go! Go!"
There was the sound of growling and whimpers as some of the dogs smashed into the thorns. The sounds started fading for a moment as the pair gained some distance.
"What was that?" Blaine demanded.
"We're close—enough to the woods—for me to do that sort of thing!" Kurt panted. "If we were in the middle of that—that wasteland—" stifled cursing as Kurt must've stepped on a sharp rock, "—with no wood within miles—couldn't have done it!"
Blaine wasn't sure about whether Kurt should have done it at all. Already, he looked a bit diminished. The thorns may have deterred the dogs somewhat, but the larger ones simply broke through the foliage, braving the spines. The sound of hacking meant that the hunters were clearing the way for others. As long as they had the dogs, they would find the twosome in the mist.
Kurt kept stopping and growing thorny vines—one wall after another—and even Blaine could see that with each blast, the walls got smaller. Kurt was running slower, and he was breathing harder. He couldn't keep this up, and the entire hunting party would be gaining on them now.
Blaine looked at the hand of the nymph that was desperately clinging to his. He looked at Kurt's face, and how exhausted he was getting.
This is far enough.
Blaine stopped and Kurt nearly fell all over him, quaking in exhaustion. He turned to him and held him tightly. "Kurt…" he closed his eyes. "Which way is the wood?"
Kurt, gulping and panting, pointed shakily to one deep direction into the mist. Blaine looked, and nodded. "You'll be safe there, right? You'll be okay?"
Confused, the blue eyes looked at him blearily. "Yes…"
"All right. I want you to get up, and run to there." Kurt's grip started to tighten around his shoulders. Blaine kept going, ignoring the look of panic on Kurt's face. "No—no, don't look at me like that. You said you would do it, Kurt. You have to."
"No!"
"Kurt!" Blaine shook him and looked firmly at him. Kurt stared at him. Blaine said, "You are going to die if you don't run now. So run—with everything you've got left—and don't stop until you get to the wood!"
"Blaine…" Kurt looked like he was going to cry.
"You heard my wish." Blaine said desperately. "Now go grant me it!"
"That wasn't what you wished for!" Kurt cried. "I heard you!"
There was the sound of the hunting party approaching. The dogs were sniffing for their scent. They would be running to them in an instant. The fog could only cloak them for so long.
Blaine turned back to Kurt, who was still fighting the idea. "Blaine…" Kurt begged, and Blaine turned away, not wanting to see that look on his face. "Please…"
"If you really heard me…you know why I'm asking you to do this."
Kurt wept even so much as without changing expression. He certainly must not have wanted to cry, but it was happening anyway. Those tears hit the ground and turned to scarlet flowers. They had that same scent that drove men mad.
Blaine finally looked up. "…and if you really meant what you said back…you will do what I'm asking you to."
A powerful howl sounded, too close, making them both jump. Roaring and snarling came rushing at breakneck speed. Blaine looked up and pried Kurt's hands off. "Go! Run, Kurt—run!" He pushed the nymph into the gray. "Run!"
Kurt was gone—he could hear him running. Blaine tore the flowers off the ground and stood still just long enough for the dogs to think that he still had the nymph with him because of the scent of the flowers. He glanced down at them. They were the kind of flowers that little girls liked to rip to shreds petal by petal.
He loves me, he loves me not…
Blaine smiled bitterly to himself. He didn't have to tear these to know the answer. Just their existence was the answer. They smelled like lunacy. But isn't that what all wood nymphs do to men who were captivated by them…? He was the one who had wanted to see him anyway… He was the one who made the first look—and from there, nothing else mattered.
As he heard jaws snap less than a yard away, he broke into a sprint, racing in the opposite direction—leading them away from where Kurt went. Even if it was the last thing he did, he decided, as the dogs came closer, the hunters not too far behind, he would lead them away from that nymph that drove him to madness.
He ran without thought. Everything he had was left in running. He could barely feel—it was so cold in the fog, and his shoes were long gone. All that was left was that icy turf. Dawn was still a long way off.
Blaine decided—
—he plunged into the gray broken only by the scarlet of the flowers and abruptly he stopped running. He turned around and willed the same white heat that he'd felt not long ago to come to his hands. It had cost him that time, and it would cost him now, as the dogs leapt and tore at his shoulders, as the hunters threw their razor-tipped lances that hissed by his ears—
—that if he could have just one wish right now, it would be to see Kurt standing free and smiling at him in a dappled glade, before he disappeared like all wood nymphs do.
Epilogue
Dalton was beautiful, Kurt decided, as he looked up around it, the moment he entered the town proper. It was nothing like Kinley Wood, where he had lived. The city was everything he said it would be. It was full of light. Sunlight was gold and pouring all over Dalton's walls. And to his delight, color was pouring from the windows and the shop fronts. They were celebrating here now, bearing boughs of blooms and throwing grain into the sky.
But these clothes… He tugged on his new acquisitions with some distaste. How so many humans could be so content to wear such drab, shapeless clothing was beyond comprehension. Can't they see the beauty in a cut and the curve, like the curling of the vine and glimmer of the leaf? He had seen other humans were more flattering things, but for the moment, these were all he could get.
Oh well…
Music filled the streets and Kurt was warmed by all of it as he moved through all this art. He could see people from all walks here. He recognized the finned forearms of the Mermen, the elegant ears of the Elves, and the exquisite eyes of the humans. They were running in all directions, crying out in joy, so exuberantly that the nymph was bewildered. There was so much wonder that he couldn't help for an instant, to remember far back into the gray past, and think: …I wish…that he could've seen this.
"Please," he said, stopping a child that was passing by. "What is happening here?"
The child merely grinned and pointed.
Down the street a splendid parade was coming. A marching band led the way, knights waving bannerettes, and riding horseback. Nobles walked down the streets, throwing coins. They were singing beautifully. Kurt ran up to a nearby shelter of trees, unseen, trying to get a better look. He knew their song. It was one of those that had been sung to him when they were far off from all this beauty.
Kurt smiled as the glittering coterie came down the street, spreading wealth and music. He saw them sharing loaves of bread to the other people, and remembered that he too would need to eat, and he would like to see if the cuisine in Dalton was as good as he was told.
He slipped down from the trees…
…and into a pair of warm arms.
"You should be careful. You could hurt yourself."
Kurt stood staring, mouth open. A pair of warm green eyes—the same green eyes that reminded him of his home in a time where everything was cold and gray—were looking at him, filled with light.
"You…"
"I…?" Blaine prompted with a smile, "…love you?"
Kurt all but shoved him away, flushing to his pretty ears and staring aghast. "You—!"
"I'm sorry," Blaine laughed. He was dressed immaculately—far more immaculately than most of the humans in the crowd, and certainly far more than Kurt was at the moment. "I didn't mean to startle you."
"But—I thought—"
"Well, that was just lucky." Blaine shrugged rather elegantly. "I suppose I have you to thank…" he glanced to the pretty sight of the crowd before turning back to Kurt. "I didn't know that it takes someone else's magic to trigger mine."
"—the fog—and the wolves—! And—!"
"You rather saved my life," Blaine continued, smiling. "If you hadn't used so much magic around me…I couldn't have used my own to get away when I did. There was a whole lot of wood around there after all, did you know? I lost them in there after the first two highly painful sorcery bursts I could do. I was hoping I'd run into you—"
"Would you be quiet?" Kurt finally shouted, trying to wrap his head around the idea that after over two full months of thinking that Blaine had died amidst a whole lot of barbaric wrath back in the moor—here he was standing in front of him looking like…
"Like…" Kurt murmured, looking at him. "…a sorcerer."
"I'm an apprentice," Blaine corrected with a smile. "I'm also of noble blood. I suppose this means that if I wished, I could perhaps marry you without very much contestation."
"You left quite a bit of that part out the last time we spoke," Kurt bristled.
"The last time we spoke was very haphazard."
Kurt put a hand to his head and tried to collect his wits. Blaine smiled and instead took his hand. When he did, everything suddenly felt all right again. Kurt raised his eyes to Blaine's. They stared like that, mesmerized by each other in the sun, for quite a long time.
Finally, all Kurt could say was, "What do you mean…marry?"
Blaine laughed. And Kurt remembered that laugh and smiled. Blaine said, "I was joking. I haven't even properly told you that I lo—"
Kurt silenced him with a kiss. Blaine took it and returned it without complaint. When they parted, they laughed, feeling as though they both looked ridiculous. Blaine took Kurt's hand again and pulled him to the direction of the crowd. "Come on. Let's get you out of those clothes and into something more suitable. I know how you are."
"Thank goodness that you do," Kurt smiled.