And the next...

Chapter Twenty Five

Silence echoed queerly about the forest, as it always seemed to. He paid it no mind—he was too used to the various regions of the woods, with their changeable levels of magic, twisting, varying paths. Muir, beneath him, was equally unconcerned, having made this journey several times. Neither horse nor man started when the White Stag joined them—seemingly materializing out of the bushes to pace beside them as Dórainn navigated landmarks and magic patterns with the skill of a consummate traveler. The quiet seemed almost bleak, some more-than sound moving restlessly, waiting for something that would never come. He knew the feeling of waiting for nothing, knew the restless hopelessness of it. Wasn't it that that had driven him to travel these last three and a half months, searching for some ease that simply did not exist—save for in one highly forbidden place?

Why did it make it worse, knowing that in some strange way, he had been justified in his actions? She didn't know why, but it did. To be regulated the status of object, a prize to be claimed. Her father—Da—had stolen from him. And not just once. Twice, though he hadn't been so lucky the second time. Certainly, Da should have been made to pay him. But had she really meant so little to her father that he would sell her away in return for plants, before she had even left the womb?

The tumble of thoughts and emotions roiled within her, until she couldn't tell if she hated or loved her parents, who had allowed such a thing, or the mage—why had he taken her? Had he been so desperate (desperate for what?) that he would take a child in payment?—nor what she could ever say again to any of them.

She went to the horses' pasture, looked blindly at the two that stood companionably in the clearing, grazing head to hindquarters as horses did. The pony raised her head briefly at her approach, then dropped it again when she saw no sign that her mistress was ready to go. Muir, distracted by his new companion's movement, looked up as well, and whickered quietly. He seemed to decide the girl needed his company more than his fellow equine, for he left off grazing and ambled over. The fence was low enough that, had he truly wanted to, the big black could be over it and away, low enough that his big head swung over it easily to nudge her shoulder with his velvety muzzle.

"Hello," she murmured to the horse, reaching up to stroke his soft cheek. He huffed softly in response.

There was something eminently soothing about talking to a horse. They offered no advice, said no 'I told you sos'. There were only highly intelligent, liquid brown eyes, and a large warm body to lean against. There was a sense of endless listening, of interest in what one said. So she talked, and rubbed his face until the turmoil within was less likely to explode out of her.

When at last she felt she could face the mage again, she patted the horse in farewell and turned back to the cottage. Rapunzel was angry now. No towering rage, but a steady burn of anger, summoned to consume the pain. So far, it seemed to be working.

He was sitting where she'd left him, in a chair by the table, considering the opposite wall with intense concentration. He didn't look up when she entered, but sipped again from his mug. There was a bottle on the table, sitting innocently by the teapot. She blinked at it, startled, noting that the liquid inside was already more than half-gone.

"Whiskey?" She glanced at the window, gauging hours of sunlight.

"Mmn," he agreed grimly, and nodded to it in invitation. She declined and sat in the other available chair. "We had a contract, your father and I," he began again. His grey eyes weren't just lidded now, but completely closed. It was nearly amazing that his voice wasn't slurring yet, judging by the amount of liquor he seemed to have consumed in so short a time. He opened them again before continuing to speak.

"They were to have you until your first birthday—to wean you, and insure you didn't become ill. There were other considerations, as well, but those were the important ones. After that, I was to come, and they would give you over to me until you had reached your majority or left of your own volition." The strange little half-smirk tugged at his lips, but there was no humor in it, just a great deal of weariness. "They agreed, I agreed, and the deal was bound, properly."

He paused, sipped the concoction that was more whiskey than tea from his mug. It wasn't helping, he found. The barrier was too flimsy to hold against the pain. Instead of pretending it was doing any more than disgusting her, he set it down on the table, pushed it away.

But, and he thought this strange, guilt had yet to rip into him. Regrets, pain, yearning, yes, but no guilt. Maybe it was gone forever, paid for in full during ten years of deceit and following pain. Rapunzel, meanwhile, watched him, her blue eyes revealing next to nothing. She was angry with him, he knew that much, and knew he deserved the anger, and anything else she threw at him as well.

"The year passed. I went to your parents' home, only to find it empty." At this, his eyes finally glanced up to her face, guardedly. He saw where her mouth, beautiful and bow-shaped, had tightened at the corners, where her eyes had widened slightly in disbelief.

Not twice, she thought with growing pain, three times. Three times her parents had stolen from him.

"Unfortunately for them, we had made a contract. It needed to be appeased—the right words said, the binding removed. Until that happened, I was bound to follow, to search, and to try to claim you.

"Seven years it went on—that is why your family never stayed long in any one place, Rapunzel. They were running from me, and trying to fight the contract." He heaved what seemed a silent sigh, and dropped his gaze again to study the expanse of table between them. "When you were seven, I overtook your family. Your mother escaped the house with you, rushed into the forest, while your father and grandfather stayed to guard your brother and sister. I followed your mother, and you, into the woods."

"You sent demons after me?" there was an inflection to her voice, a slight ache hiding beneath horror, as she remembered the wolf who'd frightened her so very badly.

A muscle in his cheek twitched slightly, and he closed his eyes tightly enough for his dark eyebrows to draw together in a paroxysm of pain. "Yes. You could say that."

She narrowed her eyes on him, and when she spoke again her voice was cool. "I 'could say that'? That is an evasion if ever I've heard one. Why did you use demons?"

"Besides their being a good deal more trustworthy than most humans?" the mage inquired in return, a touch of acerbity in his slow, even tone. A slight widening of her eyes showed his words had struck home.

Irritation, or whatever it was that flashed warningly in his eyes, brought them up to pin her to her chair. "Because they can travel a great deal of distance far more quickly than I, even on Muir, can, and unlike a summoned imp, they can survive without my having to expend my own power to keep them alive. Because they frighten people into doing foolish things, like leaving their daughters in a thicket of briars in a forest infested with predators." He watched her, eyes as sharp and unreadable as hers. "Why enter a debate of ethics with a mage, Rapunzel? You'll always win on merit, true, but the expedient will always win out with one of us."

"Oh?" she said, in a tone that matched his for acerbity. "Building a tower of rare white stone for a child that was no more than a prize was expedient?"

He blinked slowly at her, not even having the grace to acknowledge the thought. "Did you want the full of the tale, or did you come to point out the many and varied mistakes I've made throughout my career?"

"You said you would answer my questions."

"I didn't," he corrected. "I answered them, yes, but I didn't say I would." He took a deep breath, released it slowly, leashing tightly the tendril of temper that had escaped his hold. A long moment of silence hung between them. "No."

"No?" There was genuine puzzlement now, in her voice, in her eyes. "No, what?"

"No, it wasn't particularly expedient to build the tower. But it was worth it." Oh yes, it had been worth it. Even now, looking back, it was worth it. It was a haven, a standard of respectability to live up to, their private microcosm of a family. A retreat from the world, a place where the outside couldn't intrude unless he let it, and wasn't needed.

That seemed to give her pause, and brought a new light of vulnerability to her eyes. He wasn't sure if he should worry about that vulnerability or not—was it a softening of mistrust towards him? Or remembered pain? Dórainn couldn't be sure.

She shook herself visibly, eyes growing unreadable again, and returned to the earlier subject. "The wolf demon was yours, then. I was never in any danger, was I?"

"The wolf demon was mine. No, you were never in danger," he agreed starkly.

"Why did you decide to keep me, after you—"

"Kidnapped you?" he provided. She nodded, discomforted. "I offered your parents an opportunity to retrieve you." The words were slow, almost apologetic.

"When you left." Rapunzel's eyes had grown wide, and pained, her face paled. "They never came," she whispered.

"No," Dórainn said flatly. "They never did. I had hoped, for your sake, that they would."

Silence ruled in the cottage for a long, seemingly endless period as she absorbed the blow, and he ached to pull her close against him. But she did, and he didn't, and they remained in the frozen tableau that was his kitchen, sitting room, and library all in one. Kier, finally irritated by the humans' back and forth exchange, jumped down from the shelf with a solid thud, making her flinch from the sound, and stalked to a window that was open a crack. With another leap that defied his girth, he was up to the casement and pushing his way out within a moment, off to stalk some poor unwary creature.

"And for you?" She inquired bravely, fighting past the pain of abandonment. "What did you hope they would do?"

He watched her, wondering if she could see straight through him to the core of fear and uncertainty that was within. If she could, could she see the love that lay there as well, and who the love was for, if only she would take it? "I had hoped they would never come."

Was he telling the truth? She considered the possibility. It was difficult to see behind the flatness of his eyes, and nearly impossible to discern telling notes from his voice when he didn't want to show anything. But then, why would he lie about such things? Could he…

Could he have deeper feelings, too? Or was all of this tension really only that, the awkwardness of a unique, highly uncomfortable situation? Or, or—or was it something completely different, independent of their history together?

"But it matters little now, I suppose," he added quietly. He studied her for a moment as they floundered in unease and embarrassment, and finally offered, "You look well, Rapunzel." Beautiful, insisted a voice in his mind that sounded strangely like his mage master—charming, capable of being complimentary without looking a fool—but without the distinct feel of Roarke's mindspeech. Soft, lovely, desirable.

Taken aback by the compliment, she blushed. "Th-thank you? You, ah, you look well, too."

The bizarre little smile that could express everything from cold malice to amusement quirked the corner of his mouth, but his eyes were veiled, and gave no clue what he thought of the returned praise. "Thank you, Rapunzel."

Silence once again prevailed, a strange mockery of the silent ease with one another they had once possessed. Dark had fallen outside—they had talked for hours, and said nearly nothing, he thought sadly.

"There is a bed here you may use," he said quietly to the table. "There is no inn in town."

"Thank you," she replied, equally subdued. "But I can find somewhere else to sleep, or sleep outside. I don't mean to be a burden."

Another frisson of pain flickered through his heart, harsher than the bittersweet twinge love usually tugged with. "It is no burden. Please, take the bed."

There was an expression of doubt on her face. "Where will you sleep?"

"My chair," he gestured to the single stuffed armchair that stood stalwartly by the hearth, "will serve my purposes adequately. It has before, and I have no doubt it will do so again."

The uncertainty still hadn't faded from Rapunzel's face entirely. "If you're sure…?"

Dórainn nodded, a dip of his head that was unconsciously regal. "I am sure." I would not have you sleep outside more nights than you must, love, nor suffer any harm I could spare you, he thought, and nearly said aloud, before he caught the words and reeled them back. Knowing that she had slept beneath the stars, had slept in a room surrounded by rooms filled with members of Rìoghainn's Court, amongst the myriad of predators—demon, animal, or human—was enough to clench his stomach into knots. Those knots only grew tighter, for an entirely different reason, knowing she would again sleep beneath his roof.

She rose, graceful as a willow. "Good night, then." Still, her glance flickered with uncertainty.

"Good night."

A/N: Muhahaha, the reunion continues in the next chapter! Did you think it could be resolved so easily? Thank you for all who commented!