Disclaimer: I own nothing of Strange Magic. All belongs to George Lucas and the affiliated parties.

I only claim the storyline and OCs.

Chapter 15

His nerves were roiling in his stomach. He felt light-headed and he wanted to throw up. Well, he did not want to throw up, but he felt like it might happen. Which only made him more nervous because with everything going on right now, he did not want to add that into the mix.

Sunny wrang his hands together as he paced at the head of the hall leading to Dagda's office. He was entirely sure that he had no reason to be this damn nervous about asking this particular series of questions. It was only logical. After all, with everything his majesty had shared, it was a natural conclusion to make. Preparations were not out of the question, were they?

He groaned quietly. "Well, you won't know if you don't ask!" he hissed at himself.

"Why don't you?"

"WHAAHAA!" Sunny jumped, springing into the air as if he had meant an acrobatic move. He turned about-face to see Rex leaning against the wall, looking down at him with a smirk, hazel eyes sparkling in amusement. "WHY did you do that?" Sunny shot out on impulse, running his hands up his face.

Rex let out a chuckle. "I didn't intend to scare you," he commented, stroking his goatee.

Sunny groaned and shook his head under his hands. "I'm sure. Sorry, Captain, I'm just a little on edge right now."

"No apologies necessary, Sir Sunny," Rex said amiably, smile in his voice.

He took a deep breath and dropped his hands. "How long have you been standing there?"

Rex looked to the side in thought. "Oh… maybe ten minutes."

Sunny flinched. "Ah."

Rex let out another laugh. "But I've noticed you here pacing for at least the last twenty."

He grimaced and looked to the side, holding his hands tightly in front of him. "Oh."

"Maaaybe you should come on in and talk to Dagda now," Rex prodded with an understanding smile.

Sunny looked to the taller man as he took a deep breath. "You told him I'm out here."

"Yup." Rex winked.

He huffed out the breath as his shoulders slumped.

Rex stood from the wall and reached down to pat his shoulder. "Come along, Sir Sunny. No use in wearing out the floor out here." He guided Sunny towards the office with gentle pressure. "The floor of his office is far more suited to a beating," he chided.

Sunny snickered, the older man's calm demeanor doing wonders for his nerves. "Is that so?" he questioned with a raised brow.

"Oh yes. You have no idea," he said cryptically, giving no explanation despite the smile on his face.

Sunny nodded, his previously calming nerves suddenly doing a backflip at that statement. "Oh, and, by the way, uh…" he glanced to the side, as if the smooth rock of the wall had suddenly become so much more interesting.

"Yes?" Rex responded with all the silkiness of a Cheshire.

"You, uh… I mean, you don't have to call me Sir Sunny," he said sheepishly, fiddling with his fingers behind his back.

Rex chuckled at that. "Oh, yes I do." He held his hand up before Sunny could retort. "You, sir, are a noble consort. So, the title must be acknowledged."

Sunny took a deep breath, trying to fight his own insecurity at that statement. "Well, I mean, I'm not noble-"

"Noble isn't all about bloodlines, boy," Rex said, crossing his arms as he turned face Sunny, standing in front of the office door.

Sunny swallowed none-too-quietly. "I… uuuh-"

Rex suddenly crouched, resting his elbows to his knees as he came eyelevel.

Sunny froze.

Rex's face was set with a mask of severity as he eyed Sunny. "Tell me."

"Yes," Sunny squeaked.

Rex remained quiet for a moment. "Do you love the girl?"

Sunny felt his eyes go even wider if that were possible. "YES!" He slapped his hands over his mouth. Where the indignation had come from, he had no idea, but as per usual, his body was faster than his self-control.

Rex merely stared.

And continued to stare.

Sunny stared back, hands still over his mouth, anxiety building higher and higher at the attention.

Then, Rex grinned. "Good!" he piped, standing up with a jolt.

Sunny blinked, feeling rather dumb from the exchange. What just happened? "Eh?" he let out.

Rex had already turned and gripped the handle of the office door. He looked back, that smirk ever-present on his face somehow holding an affectionate quality to it. "You deserve the title of Noble Consort, Sir Sunny."

He felt his face flush, though why he could not be sure. He did not have time to think about it, however, as Rex was already opening the door.

"In you get," he said playfully, gesturing inward with his free arm.

Sunny jumped and headed in. As he passed the captain, he did manage a sheepish glance his direction. "Thank you," he whispered.

Rex smiled warmly. "For what?" With that, he closed the door behind him.

Sunny swallowed his nerves as he looked to the door before he balled his fists and shook himself. Okay. I can do this, he pepped to himself. He looked up to Dagda's desk. His eyes went wide again as his mouth promptly dropped open.

Dagda was sitting at his desk, nearly obscured from view as he had stacks of papers, towers of books and bundles of scrolls of varying sizes crowding the surface. Clearly researching something, he was currently bent over a few unrolled scrolls, seeming to be looking through all three at the same time.

Sunny blinked dumbly, wondering if he should just back away and try again later.

"Sorry, Sunny, just checking these last few lines," Dagda mumbled, leaning up and scanning one of the scrolls more closely.

"Oh! Uh, n-no need to apologize for anything, your majesty! I mean, I am coming unannounced-"

"You say that like it's a problem," Dagda cut in, smile briefly flickering along his face. He then sighed, clearly unhappy with the papers in front of him. "I think I need a distraction anyway." He stood, running his fingers into his eyes as he walked around the desk.

Sunny bit the inside of his lip, concern flooding him once again. He knew what the king had told them, but he felt perhaps they had not been given the whole story as to his mysterious weight loss. That, coupled with the surrealism of seeing him walking around in the open now, without making a point to hide the fact was grating on the mind. And while he did not want to press his luck by actually saying anything aloud, he felt perhaps the stress of the current situation was very much not helping matters.

"What did you want to talk about, Sunny?" Dagda asked, sitting at one of the coffee table chairs and gesturing a hand to the one across from him.

Sunny started slightly, heading for the chair. I guess I also never considered I'd be able to just sit down and talk to his majesty so personally either, he thought randomly. Despite his longtime friendship with Dawn, he had been rather distant from her father, the king. Never was he disrespectful, always cheery, kind, and courteous, but he had always felt so underwhelming in the face of someone like him. Even with the rumors surrounding the king over the last decade. Not that he had ever found enough courage to even ask Dawn about the rumors. Never-the-less, even his wildest daydreams had never seen him sitting one-on-one in the man's private office, about to ask him about very official things that he had never really put thought towards before.

He hopped onto the seat and shuffled a smidge, trying to make himself more physically comfortable. He saw Dagda's hand move and looked to see him tap on a tray sitting atop the coffee table, somehow oblivious to its presence until the king had pointed it out.

"The carafes have both coffee and tea," Dagda mentioned before a slight smile quirked his lips. "I'd advise tea, since you look so nervous you might pass out."

Sunny laughed reflexively, but he could hear the ever-persistent nerves in his own voice. His laughter died down with a sigh. "I'm so obvious," he muttered.

It was Dagda's turn to chuckle. "If it's any consolation, your time with the council and around people of state seems to help. You're keeping a straight face when directly addressed, so that's good."

Sunny looked to him in surprise, momentarily stunned by the partial compliment as he watched Dagda pour himself some coffee. "Well… I… Thank you," was all he could manage.

Dagda shook his head, that light smile still in place. "None needed. Now, what did you want to talk about?" He took a sip of his coffee, having forgone the usual nectar and cream.

Sunny was once again struck by how strange it was to see him as he was, the king currently sitting in a very unkingly fashion, hunched over in the chair, elbows rested on his knees with his coffee held almost protectively close to his face – something he would not have been able to do only three months ago with the giant belly in the way. How did he even lose it that fast? I mean, I know Dawn can eat like a horse, but she races around like one, too. He then blinked and looked down, closing his lips in a tight line. Enough about that now. I do have something important to talk about, that's why I'm here, he goaded himself. Taking a deep breath, Sunny sat up straight and fisted his hands in his lap. "Okay. So. Your majesty…" he glanced to Dagda. The king was giving him his full attention. Brow raised, but none-the-less watching him intently. Sunny took another breath to speak when a sudden observation derailed his thoughts. "Where's your crown?" he blurted.

Dagda blinked. He then sat up straight and lifted a hand to his forehead before looking back to his desk. "Eh…" a wary expression overcame him, "probably over there."

"Huh," Sunny shook his head. He was not sure he had ever actually seen the king without the crown atop his head. Despite how long it had taken him to notice, its absence it was now hard to ignore. Same as the other changes, he thought distractedly.

"But I'm sure you didn't come all this way and pace for twenty minutes outside just to make small talk," Dagda then said, resuming his previous position to sip his coffee. He looked at Sunny expectantly.

Sunny swallowed his nerves again. "Right. No, that's right." He glanced away. "I, um… I've been wondering, kind of since you asked Dawn and I to scout the border for you… a-about… um."

"Clasp your hands."

Sunny's soft brown eyes shot like lightning to bright emerald. "What?"

Dagda nodded, glancing to Sunny's fists still balled in his lap. "Clasp your hands."

Sunny looked down, as if seeing his own hands for the first time. "Uh… okay." He did as told, interlacing his fingers and squeezing them tightly together.

"Now sit up straight again and square your shoulders."

He again did as told, eyes still aimed at his lap.

"Look at me."

Sunny did so, having to put in a great effort not to bite his lip.

Dagda looked at him with that same intensity, coffee cup now balanced between his hands as he rested his forearms against his knees. "Now when you talk, if you aren't sure what to say, don't substitute with a noise like 'um' or 'uh', simply pause to give yourself a moment to gather your next words. Try to think of what you'll say before you say it, that way you can avoid the pauses, but also to avoid any stuttering. Though, stuttering can be because of nervousness so that will take more time to condition."

Sunny blinked. He then nodded slowly. "Y-yessir." He winced.

Dagda smiled once more, a small, almost rueful smile. "You are a noble consort, Sunny. While between us etiquette doesn't matter so much, you don't want anyone on the outside looking in to think you aren't up to the task." He looked into his coffee cup. "If you have trouble talking to me alone in the privacy of the office, you can't expect to perform any better in front of officials from other kingdoms." He looked back up. "And I don't want you to suffer that feeling."

Sunny felt an immediate and unexpected welling of affection at Dagda's words. "Thank you, your majesty," he said softly.

Dagda simply quirked that small smile a bit more, taking another sip of his coffee. "Now. What did you want to speak to me about?" he asked again, eyes on the dark liquid in his cup.

Sunny took a deep breath, nodding lightly. Okay. Words, he thought to himself. "Okay," he said aloud. "I… I wanted to talk about… the severity of the situation… Sir." Not bad, right?

"In what regard?" Dagda asked without skipping a beat.

Okay, I didn't think I'd get this far! Sunny took another deep breath, trying to maintain an outer calm to contrast his inner anxiety. "So… You've basically let us know that… you don't know, for certain, what is going on in Misty Rivers."

"Yes," Dagda affirmed.

"And we know now, for sure, that there is danger to Bog- the Bog King of the Dark Forest," he said, wincing as he rushed the last words of his sentence.

"Yes, we do," Dagda said with a nod.

"And all we can really be certain of… is that we aren't certain how dangerous the situation really is overall." Sunny squeezed his hands tightly, feeling mild relief at the King's mentioning of clasping them.

Dagda nodded once more. "That is correct."

Sunny nodded as well. He took another deep breath. "So…" he glanced to the coffee table, eyes trailing the cups and implements as if they were foreign objects. "So, I… I have been thinking. Perhaps, I should tell the… spread the word." He swallowed. "Perhaps I should spread word to the elves and brownies to… to prepare. Not for war! But, eh…" He paused, closing his eyes for a moment. "To be prepared for the possibility of a serious situation… maybe even dangerous." He opened his eyes but did not look up. "I think, with the… uncertainty that we have right now that it would be best to have the villages on alert to every possibility."

Silence met his words.

Sunny swallowed nervously once again and dared a glance up.

Dagda was staring into his coffee, seeming deep in contemplation.

Sunny had to fight to keep from biting his lip. "I… I know it might be soo-"

"That is a fantastic idea, Sunny."

"What?" Sunny stared wide-eyed.

Dagda sat up straight, resting his cup to his knee. "You beat me to it. We really don't know what is going on and I don't want anyone to be caught unawares. It's been decades since we've had to worry about any conflict on our own soil, but that only means we're potentially overdue." He glanced to the side, his face taking on a more somber expression. "Even if it comes from the direction of an ally."

Sunny squeezed his lips together at that. "I hope it's not… not what we think."

Dagda looked his way, quirking a rueful expression. "So do I." He then stood, placing his coffee cup on the table. "But to your point, all we can do now is prepare." He crossed his arms and started pacing. "Like you already mentioned, I don't want you to say the word 'war' in any way. You want to make sure to let them know that we are only wanting to be cautious of potential danger, no matter what form it may take. Also," he pointed to Sunny as he turned, "for the outlying villages and farms, and the cottages closer to the Misty Rivers border, if you would mention the importance of all of them keeping their eyes open and letting the patrols know of any strange activity or sightings. You can also let everyone know the patrol is going to be on a more frequent rotation. We're going every thirty minutes instead of every hour, and we're pairing them up instead of sending lone scouts."

Sunny nodded, sitting up straighter. "Yessir."

"And another thing," Dagda paused for a moment, both in his words and movements. He stood still, eyes on the floor, wings twitching lightly as he rested the fingers of one hand to his beard.

Sunny waited patiently, but the look on the king's face coupled with the sudden stop was not doing his anxiety any favors.

"Take Dawn with you, would you?"

He blinked in surprise. "Oh?" He managed, his voice moving faster than his brain.

"I think it would be good if you two did this together."

"Ah… yeah, no that sounds great- I mean, not great- I mean- mmph." Sunny slapped a hand to his face. Dagda's warm chuckle helped ease the embarrassment.

"And maybe after, you two can spend some time together at the stables. Try not to let this get too worrisome."

Suspicion made its way into his mind and Sunny lowered his hand, looking to the king curiously. Dagda's emerald eyes met his. A slight lowering of his head, a quirk of a silvery brow, and the meaning behind the words was confirmed.

The dragonfly stables his family owned were connected to the family home, built as an offshoot in more recent decades. His mother, father, brother and his wife, and two sisters and their spouses and all the kids lived there in the large, hollowed out oak stump and multi-level mushroom structure together. In other words, a lot of hearty, trustworthy people around. And he was well aware that his childhood home was one of those furthest south.

If anything were to happen, he, Dawn and his family could make a quick getaway.

Quite suddenly, resolve welled into his tiny chest. Sunny wanted to be more involved, this was true. He did want to prove himself worthy, this was also true. But he was no fighter. He knew his limitations. And he knew Dawn's as well. She was trying, she really was. But she was sweet, gentle, kind and loving. She had inherited most of her late mother's characteristics, including being a near spitting image of the woman. That was not a bad thing. It was simply a fact.

And Dagda had lost her once already.

He was painfully aware of those circumstances and how, being that he was sitting here having a face-to-face discussion with one of the two kings he had crossed like an idiot, the situation had resolved in the best way it could have. Clearly, this new situation was far more problematic, and Dagda was not about to take chances.

So, he would not either.

"Of course, your majesty," he answered, his anxiety miraculously gone from his insides. "I think that would be a great idea. Dawn's been kinda… well, fresh air would be good," he said with a smile.

Dagda nodded. "I'm sure it will be."

"Are you going to be sending a guard, too?" he asked.

"Not yet," Dagda answered, stepping to the table to pick his coffee back up. "Though, the patrol will be keeping their eyes alert for the two of you as they make their rounds."

Sunny tilted his head as Dagda took a sip. The two of us? He knew he was horrible with words, but King Dagda was not. As fast as his mind had gone to protecting Dawn, he suddenly felt a jarring realization hit him. But before he could say anything about it, Dagda beat him to it.

"Yes, Sunny, the both of you."

He started lightly, though he was unsurprised that his thoughts were so externally obvious. However, the endearing expression that met his gaze when he refocused on the king was a surprise.

"Stop undervaluing yourself, Sunny. You do yourself a great disservice, you know that?"

For a moment, he did nothing but stare, his eyes wide and impossibly round. When he felt the sting working its way around his eyelids, he was not sure if he wanted to hit himself or hide. Instead, he did neither, and when he felt the liquid escaping he lowered his head to bring his hands to his face. He heard the heavy steps of the older man closing the distance. He felt the warmth of the strong hand at his shoulder.

"You're doing good, my boy. You're doing good," Dagda whispered.

Sunny only nodded, not yet trusting his voice.

He sat there, digging his butts of his hands in to his eyes, trying to somewhat elegantly wipe away his tears. While he knew he was failing, he was immensely grateful for the supportive pressure at his shoulder.

"Thank you, Sir," he managed, his hushed voice barely audible. A soft chuckle met his ears.

"No, Sunny. Thank you."

xXx

"Mmmmm…"

"I know you're capable of words."

"Mmmm- don't wanna."

"Pff-"

"Ouch! Why'd ye do tha'?"

"Because you're being silly."

"What, I'm not allowed to be silly e're now and then?" Bog questioned, grin adorning his face as he tilted his head to look up at Marianne.

She smiled from her vantage point above him, straddling his back as she was and massaging his neck and shoulders. It was entirely her idea, and while he had been a bit skittish of the thought at first, Marianne had been rather adamant. He thought perhaps some of it was her feeling guilty over what happened. He really was not about to blame her for it, though. He found it amusing really, now that it was all over.

He had woken from his blackout to a pleasant tingling coursing through his body. After a few moments he had determined it was somehow originating from his temples. While his eyes were still closed, he could feel that someone had their fingers pressed to the sides of his head. He remembered thinking it was Marianne, but at the same time thinking that did not seem right. While still not sure what to think, he had opened his eyes to see bright, green orbs framed in a statuesque face ringed in gold fringe.

Needless to say, the deeply worried expression Roland had worn had not stopped his instincts from jolting his body into action as he landed a fist to the blond's cheekbone.

Despite the instant reaction, however, he had been hard pressed to do anything else. His body had been tight and achy, his back, wings and head sore from having hit the ground falling backwards away from Marianne. He had managed to lift himself up on one elbow, looking to see Marianne also on the ground resting in Chae's arms, a cloak wrapped around her unconscious form. Roland, true to his need to talk while no one was listening, had actually managed to give useful information while holding the side of his face.

Marianne had been surging mental energy through her body, mostly her arms and hands, in her attempt to use the scrying mirror. Whenever a fairy was in the process of manipulating anything physical with mental energy it was dangerous to make direct contact, meaning skin-to-skin contact. This was also true when a fae was trying to establish a mind-link with another, needing physical contact to make the connection – so long as it was a temporary mind-link anyway. Roland had shivered at that, refusing to go into further detail. He had continued on to say that Bog's contact with Marianne had created a pathway for her energy to travel down, going directly into his body as a result. Bog, wholly unprepared for such a situation, regardless of heritage or mental capability, had suffered as expected.

As annoyed as he was to hear Roland's voice, the explanation was more than appreciated. Though, he would never have admitted he had been going through great effort to keep from panicking at the sudden event.

Then Dagda had spoken up.

All three of them had managed a foot of air without flight, Marianne coming awake as Chae reflexively squeezed her in a protective embrace.

The older king had been none-too-pleased as he had looked through the scrying mirror at them, giving Marianne a distinctively stern look only a parent could give. He had gone on to confirm what Roland had said and had mentioned that Marianne should have given Bog ample warning not to touch her during her attempt. Marianne had managed a sheepish side-glance from her position still in Chae's arms.

After they had recovered enough to move from the floor, they had managed to relay to Dagda all they had determined thus far: They had yet to identify the culprits or find the missing forest folk, no attack had happened or been prevented from happening, and the strange circumstances of the forest and villages and the surrounding areas. Dagda had seemed most interested in the overall situation in the forest. He had asked several questions, all quickly answered thanks to Chae's accumulated knowledge. He had fallen into thought at this, growing quiet for a time. While that had been worrisome on its own, it was his next series of questions that had brought about an odd chill to Bog's insides.

Were any animals present within the silent area, and if so, what kind? Were there any animal parts or bodies found within or near the silent area? Were there any strange smells, and if there were, could they be identified?

Bog had gone utterly still at the question of the smell, though, no one in the room seemed to have noticed, Chae herself simply continuing to answer the questions. Then, Dagda had looked right at him.

"What is it, Bog?"

No pretense, no deflection, no easing into it. Dagda had been straight and to the point, evidently seeing right through Bog's clearly forced mask of stoicism. While he had been hesitant, he had finally decided it best to mention Plum's words to him.

He had felt the apprehension radiate from the others in the room at the mention of black magick. And Dagda's reaction had not eased his mind any. Once again, the older king had gone quiet. He had remained so just long enough for Bog's nerves to start splitting.

"I need to look into some things."

With that, emerald eyes had leveled an unquestionable gaze to the room. "Make sure to keep your patrols on high alert. Have them tell you of any change at all that they notice and please let me know as well. Also," Dagda's expression had taken on a strange edge at that moment, "please wait to leave the castle, no matter the reason, until I get back to you on this."

Bog had stared down his peer and had wanted oh-so-badly to launch all of his now burning questions at the older king. But something in those eyes stopped him. He had not been able to identify the expression on Dagda's face or the feeling it created in his chest. But whatever it was, it had stayed his words. So, he had simply nodded, knowing the moments he had taken before doing so had stretched too long to be comfortable.

Dagda had nodded back in response. "I'll contact you as soon as I can."

You mean as soon as you confirm your suspicion.

He remembered having that thought, and the cold it had brought to his bones. He had hoped then and still hoped now that whatever Dagda feared was going on in his forest was just that: a fear.

And nothing more.

"You alright down there?"

He felt a smile crack his lips at Marianne's playful tone. The distraction was more than welcome. "Mmmm, just enjoying the treatment," he rumbled. He smiled wider as he felt her giggle above him, her nimble, strong fingers still working their magic at the plates of his shoulders and neck. "When did you learn to do this?"

"Hmmm… just now." Marianne answered, letting out another flighty laugh. "I'm kinda just going off instinct."

Bog raised a brow and tilted his head to get a better view of her, seeing her sheepish smile. "Well, ye're instincts are clearly fine-tuned," he complimented, a snarky grin escaping.

Marianne smirked and squeezed a smidge tighter at his neck, prompting a yelp and a twitch.

"Careful there, tough girl," he nearly purred, preening at the warm expression gracing her face. He settled down for a moment, just looking at her. The amber lanterns hung about his private chambers always cast a homey, comforting glow in the evening hours, but somehow the light seemed to illuminate Marianne's skin and eyes as if moonlight gracing a pool of water. Her own amber eyes were sparkling as if possessing their own light, beautifully accentuated by the dark plum of her face paint and dark brown, honey-streaked hair. Quite suddenly, his mind dredged up memories of only two nights ago, her face flushed with that reddish color, her skin slicked with sweat, the heat emanating from her form under that stifling dress… the feel of her under his fingertips.

He swallowed hard and clenched his teeth, looking away as he tried to keep form tensing up under her touch.

"I'm trying very hard actually," Marianne said with a smile in her voice.

Oh, your try is working, Bog thought, starting to question the decision to allow her to crawl onto his back and do this. To her merit, though, she had managed to keep her fingers from wandering any lower than his shoulder plates where they bridged his neck and shoulder spurs. She had even been careful not to actually sit on him, keeping herself mostly suspended above his back with her legs. Oh, Bog abruptly shifted to look at one of the aforementioned limbs. "Love, perhaps you should take a break," he suggested.

"Why?"

"You've been holding yourself up like that for a while now," he said simply.

"Oh."

It was nearly comical to see Marianne look down at her own legs as if having forgotten them. He let out a smirk when she looked back at him and could not keep a grin away as she smirked back and swatted at his shoulder.

"Fine," she huffed dramatically, rising up to lift one leg over him.

He obliged her transit by lifting his two left wings, allowing her to scoot to the side away from him on the soft moss and oak leaf padding of his bed. The glance to his erect wings and slight tinge of color to her cheeks did not escape him, however. Confusion trickled in as he lowered his wings back. He watched her lay down on her stomach beside him, crossing her arms under her chin to mimic him. Another memory from only days ago poked at his mind. "Do you not like it when I move my wings so deliberately?" he asked.

"What?" Marianne raised her head in a jolt, her own wings twitching where they lay draped over her form. "Why would you say that?"

He rested his cheek to his forearm, the hollow under his cheekbone fitting perfectly to the rough ridges of his arm scales. "I seem to remember three days ago now when you became rather riled when I stretched at the dragonfly stables. And just now you seem a bit… embarrassed?" he glanced away, quite sure embarrassed was hardly the right word for her expression.

Marianne's eyes went wide and that beautiful reddish color started to stain her cheeks. She then smiled timidly, looking away, resting her lips on her armguard. "Bog…" She closed her eyes and shook her head, that smile growing. "I knew it."

He blinked. "Knew what?"

"I knew you weren't doing it on purpose."

He stared. "Doing what on purpose?"

Marianne giggled, turning to face him again, arranging her arm to allow for resting her head in the crook of her elbow. "We fairies have a thing for wings. You know," she shrugged her free shoulder with a smirk, "since we all have them."

He blinked slowly, trying to make sure he was following. "Soooo, are you talking about wingspeak, then?"

Marianne closed her eyes, looking to have trouble restraining laughter. "Bog, do you really not know about 'displaying'?" she asked in disbelief.

His brows drew down as he continued to look at her. "Displaying… as in putting on a display? Showing off?"

"Exactly," Marianne said with a nod. "Only, with your wings."

Bog took a deep breath and huffed it out. "Well, eh," he glanced to the mossy pillow just above him on the bed. "No, I guess not."

At this Marianne's expression became more serious. "How- I mean, I guess," she glanced away, chewing on her lip as if trying to find the right words. "I… you weren't the-"

"If you're talking about interactions with other halfbloods, that's what I mean when I say wingspeak."

She looked back to him with a start. "Oh?"

Bog let out a small smile, warmed by her effort to try to be considerate. But this was simple enough. "Wingspeak is how our wing movements can be interpreted. What we're saying without saying anything."

Marianne squinted her eyes, rolling a thumb over the fluffy moss under her hand. "So, you have the same concept of understanding wing movements like we do, and yet you don't have anything that can be interpreted as romantic?"

He had to pause at that juncture. He pried into his memories, trying to determine if there was in fact some sort of wing placement that could be considered provocative. He found none. Not even from his memories with- wait. "Well…"

"Well?" Marianne looked at him wide-eyed and curious.

Bog swallowed, not only at her attention but the imagery dredging back to the surface. "There is something. But it likely won't have the same effect on you as it might on, well, a halfblood or goblin, I suppose."

Marianne rose up slightly, propping herself up on her elbows. "Would you- I mean," she glanced away, that timid smile returning to her face, "would it be alright if… I saw?" she looked back hesitantly.

He swallowed again. "I eh, Yeah. Yes." Nerves came crashing in like a thunderstorm and he had to work hard to keep a tremor from his limbs as he rose to his knees. Why he was so nervous about this, he was unsure. However, considering the last time his wings had ever moved this way… Bog shook his head. He took a deep breath, looking away pointedly. He thought back to the sensations, both physical and mental, that would always permeate his body at those times. The ghost of a feeling, a tingling, fluttered into his wing bases, down his spine, and along his costals. He bit the inside of his lip as his mind brought up unbidden the memory of particular touches, of claws and rough skin, soft lips and sharp teeth.

Of wings that glinted as his own.

His breath left him in a shaky sigh as the shiver started up, his back scales raising similarly to how his shoulder spurs did at his normal conscious commands. The tremor ricocheted up his wing bases and he felt the shudder move all the way down to the tips of his costals, all four wings vibrating as he allowed them to rise behind him. Though, he held them from rising all the way up, keeping them from standing center of his back. It was subtle, compared to what he had experienced before.

But it was enough.

He let out another shaky breath as he cracked his neck, looking to Marianne in the process. His fingers twitched, claws clicking his thigh plates from where his hands had rested useless at his sides. Marianne, his fisty princess, was staring at his wings, eyes wide, lips parted ever-so-slightly, skin flushed that lovely color. Her eyes darted to his.

Well, this was a dangerous idea, Bog thought. He clenched his right fist tightly, taking advantage of its position around his body out of her sight. He held her gaze as he leaned forward, crawling back to his stomach, wings rigid behind him, his backbone and costals tingling with leftover sensation. "Not quite what you expected?" he asked, trying to keep a purr from his voice and a smirk from his lips, his playfulness trying to get the better of him.

Marianne let out a breath of a laugh, sinking further into the cushy moss. "Not quite," she mimicked. "But I like what I saw," she added, looking to him with heavily lidded eyes.

Oooh, don't do that, he thought, sheer will keeping him from biting his lip. "Is that so?" he came back instead. She gave him a look, a rather playful expression. He laughed, the sound rumbling out with a hint of a purr. He took a deep breath as he looked to the moss, trying to relax himself. Look at me, getting all worked up so fast, he mused.

"So, you said before you've been with others."

That killed his ire. Bog looked back to see Marianne looking at the moss, playing with some of the spongy material between her fingers. He waited, curiosity forcing patience for her next words.

"Is that how you learned that?" she asked, looking up to him.

He looked to her fingers at the moss, taking a moment to consider the question. He leaned his cheek along his arm again, examining her fingers that she continued to move gently. "I learned a lot of things from them." He knew the statement was cryptic. But it was also the simplest aside from saying "yes."

"Do you mind if I ask how many? Before me?"

The question was slow and careful, as if Marianne were afraid of crossing some invisible boundary line. As fiery as she could be, her consideration was another of the things he loved about her.

"Three."

"Oh."

He could hear the mix of emotions in her voice and looked to see her still staring at the moss. He allowed a ghost of a smile, breathing in only to breathe out in a soft but distinct purr. Her eyes shot to his and he just barely inclined his head. "Ye can ask whatever ye like, love," he whispered. "If I don't want to answer, I won't."

She gave a small smile that matched his own and leaned her head downward, resting it against her arms to gaze at him. "Okay," she said softly. "So… what was it like?"

A breath of a laugh escaped him at that. "What a place to start." She bit her lip, clearly biting back a giggle. He let his gaze drift, the dark wood of his chamber walls filling his vision as he allowed his memories to drift up from the deep of his mind. "I suppose I aught to start at the beginning, eh?"

"Or wherever you like. I'll be here either way."

His smile became more pronounced at the sincerity in her words. "Well. I suppose I'll start by saying that I wish I could say they were my first loves. But it doesn't quite work that way here. For goblins." He glanced down to see her looking at him, rapt with attention. "See, when we come of appropriate age, our bodies, those urges I mentioned… they have a tendency to take over." At her scrunching brows he let out a laugh, not mirthful, but hardly rueful. "It is hard to fight. These urges. When they first roar out of the depths. It feels like fighting nature itself." He looked to his own hand, close to hers. His large, gnarled fingers and long claws. "It feels like fighting a beast that will either drag you into oblivion… or give you the entirety of the world." He ran his thumb over his own finger, remembering how his claws had marked. How other claws had marked him. "Eventually, through years and experience, we learn to dance with this beast. Train it. Contain it. But we are never rid of it. If anything, it grows stronger," he whispered. "My… my first," a true smile of amusement came to him, "you've met her."

"What!?" Marianne shot up to her elbows, looking down to him with unabashed shock.

Bog could not help flicking a brow, his smirk coloring his face. "She's actually Brutus' cousin, Bokah. You've seen her and Bone, her brother, with Brutus while they're on patrol."

Realization spread across Marianne's face. "Oh. I had no idea."

Bog would have shrugged, but his expression said it all as Marianne seemed to calm. "No reason you would have."

Marianne sunk back into the moss, eyes wandering. "It isn't… awkward?"

This time he did shift his shoulder slightly. "No reason it should be. We suffered our urges no different than any else in the forest. It was even expected, really. We were the best of friends growing up. Sparring partners too, as she was one of the few that could keep up with me. So, when I was just about seventeen, she having just rolled into sixteen, we started to feel strange things. Smell strange things. Want strange things." His vision became marred with the recollections of those times flashing behind his open eyes. "Our bodies were growing stronger, our fights getting fiercer. Her scent changed, became sweeter, somehow. And the way she would look at me made something push at my chest and claw under my skin, something far more assertive than I had ever felt before in my life.

"And, well, one day the inevitable happened. We were sparring on our own, which we had done for years at that point, and our strikes and swings turned into clawing and biting. The clawing and biting turned into rolling around on the ground in some strange wrestling match where we were still clawing and biting but… with other things happening as well." He looked and had to close his lips tight to keep from laughing aloud at Marianne's face.

She looked downright mortified. "In the training ring!?" she blurted.

Once again, the inevitable happened and a grin broke onto his face. "Yeah," he answered with a noise that sounded suspiciously like a giggle.

"Oh, my heavens!" Marianne moved her arms to bury her face in the moss. "Did anyone catch you?" came her muffled question.

"Oh, yes!" Bog outright laughed when she whipped her head up in horror. "Ye din' think they'd be hear'n all tha' and naw check eventually?"

"Ohmegosh," Marianne buried her face again, but not before he caught sight of her own grin.

"Yep, t'was a horrible day when me head cleared enough to realize what'd happened! Right a'the moment, though, we both were too far gone to care when our das burst in to pull us apart."

"Both of them! Oh, great heavens," she groaned.

Bog shook his head in amusement as much as he could against his arms. "Well, they were expecting it."

"They were?"

"Yeah. It's common, perhaps too common," he glanced to the side, "for young warriors who spar together growing up to be each other's firsts."

"Really?" she raised her head, looking at him curiously.

He raised a brow and nodded. "Mhm. They'd been waiting for it for weeks by the time it actually happened."

"So, they weren't angry?" She tilted her head.

"Nope." He let out a snicker. "They did tell us to find a more private location next time, though."

She closed her lips tight, biting back laughter. "Okay. So, they were alright with it?"

Once again, Bog lifted a shoulder. "Better than coming to age with a stranger. Though, the Boe-Tuun family and mine have been on good terms for a long time, so that certainly helped. In fact, they had thought perhaps Bokah and I would bond. But, obviously, that didn't happen."

"But, you're friends? And- well, that happened. That seems like, you know, a pretty good bond."

He looked at her in confusion for a moment before he realized the slipup. "Ah, no, love. Bond as in marriage."

Marianne's expression blanked at that. She looked away, a slow nod tilting her head. "Oh. I see."

He waited.

"Why didn't you marry, then?"

He took a deep breath, eyes drifting as he pondered the answer. It was simple enough. "We weren't in love." He looked to see the curiosity in Marianne's gaze. "We were- still are, good friends. We grew up together. We spent so much time with each other. But, in the end, that is all we are. Just friends. We both knew, even in the heat of the moment, that we didn't want to bond. Not with each other."

"I thought you said you didn't know what it felt like to have a long-time friend?" Marianne asked suddenly with mock suspicion.

He chuckled at that. "Not like your father and Onyx. Bokah and I… we are still friends. But our childhood friendship didn't become anything greater than kinship. Still strong, and she still would fight to the death on my behalf as I would for any of my people. But I can already tell our relationship is nothing compared to that of the Kings of Fire and Ice," he said with a wink.

Marianne smirked and kicked at his leg. "Fair enough," she conceded. "So," she recrossed her arms, gaze darting away, "what about number two?"

"Hmmmmm," he looked to the ceiling playfully, "number two, eh? Heh," he rattled his wings lightly. "That… could have gone better, I suppose."

"Oh?"

"Mmm. Arrah was a lovely, young undine. She had come to serve in the castle around the time I was eighteen." Bog bit the inside of his lip. "Something about her caught my attention immediately. Whether it was her scent, or her eyes, the glint of her skin, the grace of her movements… I don't really know, honestly. Maybe it was all of it together." He stared blankly at the wall, an image of the young beauty floating into his mind as if he had only looked upon her yesterday. "She was about seventeen. And was rather a late bloomer to her own beast. I tried to avoid her," he glanced to his pillow, a pang of regret working into his chest. "I knew I couldn't trust myself. But, of course, the one thing you'd rather avoid becomes the thing you can't avoid."

"You didn't…"

He looked to see Marianne eyeing him with concern. He smiled softly. "I didn't do anything truly out of line, no. As it turns out, she was so very close to her own urges besting her, right on her own edge if you will. And my presence seemed to be the pebble that toppled the dam." He looked away again, eyeing his claws. He tightened and loosed his fist, remembering what the girl's smooth undine skin had felt like under his touch. "We had ended up in one of the hollows together, an archive room, like your library. She was blocking the doorway, and I was unable to speak words with her in the room so close to me. That was when she brought up, quite at random, how I looked at her. How my gaze made her feel." He took a deep breath. "And well, that was that."

"You're serious?"

He chuckled at Marianne's tone. "Yeah, unfortunately so. But it wasn't a horrible experience, I guess. When she recovered from her burn, which lucky for her was only a month, she told me how she wanted to go back to being untied." Silence rained for a moment too long and he looked to see Marianne staring blankly. He grinned. "Whoops."

"Yeah, 'whoops'," Marianne chided with her own smile. "What did you just say?" she said, letting out a laugh.

Bog readjusted his arms and stretched lightly, crossing one leg backwards over the other. "Oooh, lets see. So, starting with 'burn.' The burn is when your urges break forth for the first time. It's that first overwhelming flood that can barely be fought back, let alone contained. My burn was with Bokah who had her burn at the same time." He looked back to Marianne, seeing her nod, understanding blooming across her face. "Since I'd already been through my burn, my urges weren't quite as uncontrollable, just… extremely unruly and unpleasant to deal with," he said, rolling his eyes. "Arrah, however. She was right at the point of her burn. Being near me, even as much as I tried to avoid her, she could smell-" he stopped short, his cheeks growing hot.

"Smell what?"

Marianne's innocence of the subject did not help his embarrassment. "Em. Heh," he lifted his hand to run nervous fingers over his head scales. "She could smell my um… my scent." He ventured a glance and had to work hard to keep from cringing at Marianne's confusion. "So, we can smell it… you know. Goblins can smell… um… when you… we… when-"

"Oh. Oh!"

He looked away quickly, as if the carved, wooden headboard of his bed was suddenly foreign to him with the engravings in need of investigation. "Yes, heh. So, she could smell that, and it rather worked to incite her burn, you see." He glanced to see Marianne looking at him with large, clear eyes, her cheeks lightly flushed as she rested her lips to her arm. Looking away again he nuzzled his chin into his mossy blanket. "As for the 'untied' part, that refers to when you are with someone but not bonded- er, married. You are 'tied' to someone when you are, eh, um," he bit his lip. "Well, you and I, for example," he lifted his hand from his head to gesture between them, "we would be tied to one another, but not yet bonded. If we were to end our relationship in the romantic aspect, then we would be agreeing to become untied from one another," he finished, halfway shrugging as best he could.

Marianne nodded slowly. "I see," she said thoughtfully. "So, you and Arrah were only tied to each other for a month?"

Bog nearly sighed in relief at her quick pickup. "Yes," he nodded, "about a month. No longer than it took her burn to die down."

"And what about you and Bokah?"

He looked to the side at that question. "Almost three months. My burn started to die down first, but hers was still, eh, infectious, in a manner of speaking." He could not help a bashful smile at that.

Marianne smirked in response. "And you both just agreed once it died down that you weren't gonna keep it up?"

"Eh, kinda," he answered, not quite sure how to phrase it. "It was just something we knew. We knew it wasn't going to last so when the urges became manageable it just didn't continue."

Marianne nodded again. "So, are you and Arrah still friends, too?"

He went quiet at that, looking at the blanket, but not seeing it. "We might have been." Silence came at his words. He kept his eyes poised, trying to keep his mind clear.

"I see. So, what about number three?"

He let out a huff of a laugh. Perhaps it wasn't a good idea to go down this avenue. He then took a deep breath, resigning himself to follow Marianne's attempted diversion. "Number three. Heh," he felt a smile crack his lips. He was unsure if appearances would convey the mix of emotions that welled in him when thinking of her. But he supposed it did not matter, as the mishmash was about to be out in the open soon enough. "Number three," he said again. He brought his hand up again, running his fingers into his eyes before dragging his hand over his brow. "It… it's hard to explain. Eida and I," he shook his head. "For starters, she was a halfblood like me."

"Oh? That must have been… well-"

"Different," Bog said for her, looking to see Marianne's raised brow. "Different from what I had experienced previously, anyway."

"Why didn't you- I mean," Marianne rose up on her elbows, confusion creasing her brows, "were there not many halfbloods around when you were growing up?"

"Of course there were," Bog said, raising up on his own elbows and turning, adjusting his position. He sat and leaned back on his hands, splaying his wings out behind him and stretching his legs out in front of him. "There were plenty of others around, several serving in the castle. Just none that I had managed to become close to. Then she came along." He looked down as he crossed his left leg over his right. His eyes easily spied the thin lines along his hide and chitin that blended in with the other scars marking his body. Scars of a different kind, he thought absently. "She wasn't associated with her clan any longer, having left them long before I met her. She was part of a band of merchants that left the safety of the forest to explore other lands and kingdoms and bring back wares from afar. That was their official stance anyway," he said with a shrug and a half-smile. "No one could confirm they didn't acquire their goods through less reputable means."

"That didn't seem to bother you much?" Marianne said, smirk lacing her voice.

He chuckled. "No, but it bothered everyone else."

"I suppose that makes sense. If the crown prince starts courting a possible criminal, what kind of mess could that make?" she joked.

He grinned at that. He then shook his head. "See, that's where the hard part comes in." He bit his lip. "Our whole relationship was questionable, and questioned, from the start." He heard Marianne shift and could practically feel the head-tilt.

"How so?"

He sighed. "Mmm. To start off with, mostly everyone was uncomfortable with the fact that I had only just reached twenty years of age and she was well into her seventies."

"WHAT!?" Marianne jolted up with a start. He looked just as she leaned over closer to him, bringing her knees up underneath her. "You can't be serious?" she asked skeptically.

He nodded with a smirk. "Oh yes. She was seventy-seven when we first met."

"And no one said anything about it?"

"Oh, plenty of people had plenty to say, I assure you," he responded in amusement. "Da especially was none-too-pleased."

"Then, why did they let it happen?"

At this, Bog looked to the ceiling of his chamber, eyes catching the amber of one of the lanterns. "Because I told them it was what I wanted." He knew his words had been too soft. His tone not quite convincing enough.

"Was it what you wanted?"

Bog continued to stare at the lantern, memories of those orangey, red flecked eyes set in coal-colored lids that faded to dark grey skin materializing to stare back at him. He took a slow, deep breath. "You know. After all these years, I still don't know." Marianne was quiet at his side, showing her own silent patience. He let out a laugh. "It was strange. The relationship we had. When their band showed up to the castle during that summer festival, I saw Eida, and she saw me. And," he looked down, picking out the small marks of a crescent moon scar on his upper thigh that were so faded they nearly blended in with his hide, "It was like I was prey, looking into the eyes of a predator. But… I wasn't afraid, I wasn't even insulted, I wasn't… what I should have probably been." More memories flooded back, spilling into his mind after years locked away. "I was excited."

"Something exciting and new."

He glanced to the far side of the room at that. "Yeah."

"And you wanted it, even if you weren't sure that you should."

Slowly, his eyes drifted back to Marianne's. She was resting on her arm, leaning close to him, her legs folded underneath her and gazing at him with understanding. A corner of his mouth quirked up. "Yeah. So, Eida pursued me. And I," his vision lost focus as he gripped the moss blanket underneath him, "I let her. From the very first time, when she followed me away from the festival and cornered me at one of the saplings on the edge of the creek, to any of the other times, like three months later hidden away in one of the castle hollows," he let out a laugh, "even boldly inviting me into her own carriage to 'see something shiny', heh. Each time, I could have run away, gotten away or put up an actual fight. But I didn't."

"Was it," Marianne hesitated, prompting him to refocus on her, seeing concern, "was it violent?"

He looked down at that, eyeing the individual strands of the spongy moss. "Not violent. But certainly aggressive. More so than I'd experienced before." He leaned forward, raising his left leg up for Marianne to see. He did not look at her as he ran his own fingers over particular marks, long slim lines trailing the length of his thigh, ridges etched out of the chitin overlaying the top of his leg. Eventually, he made to the crescent moon marks and he heard Marianne's breath halt. He could not help a smile. "Like I said, love. It is quite normal to bite and claw… to mark and scar. These certainly aren't all she left on me. And I'm guilty of leaving my own on her, as after a while, she wasn't the only one doing the preying."

It remained quiet for a moment. "Three months, huh?" Marianne ventured.

"Mhm. Eida and I… I don't really know if one could say we were really tied to each other. It was never accepted, not quite normal, and it wasn't continuous due to her long trips away from the forest, though it seemed she spent an awful lot more time at home after things between us started up." He leaned back on his arms again, though left his leg propped up, still looking at the aged scars. "But, if we go by simple passage of time, then we had… whatever we had, for almost two whole years."

"Two years?"

"Yeah," he all but breathed. He let out another laugh, closing his eyes. "It really is funny, with how much my Da hated her, how much mam was uncomfortable with her, that it lasted so long."

"Griselda! Was uncomfortable? You're joking?"

He let out another almost giggle and grinned. "Oh yes. Her baby boy involved with this questionable woman who wouldn't even allow a charge? She was quite irked."

"Wait-what?"

His smile dropped at that and he opened his eyes. He did not look at Marianne, but he knew it hardly mattered. The sadness had flared up unannounced and he could feel it in his core. "A charge. A child." He heaved a sigh. "If two are tied to each other for any good length of time, it is common that they might produce a child. If the child is produced before they are officially bonded to each other, the child is called their charge."

"And she wouldn't?"

He remained quiet for a moment. "She may have." He looked to see Marianne watching him, waiting patiently, clearly unsure what he meant. He gave a rueful smile. "She was barren," he said softly as Marianne's eyes widened. "She let everyone believe what they would. Say what they would. But she finally told me, after more than a year." He looked back to his leg. "At this point, we were… calming down, in our ire. We spent more time talking than, heh, you know," he shrugged. "And… I had sensed something was on her mind for a while, a good few months. But I had learned not to ask too much more than she volunteered, as she was rather secretive of certain things, usually facts about herself. And one night, looking at the stars through the treetops, laying in the moonflower meadow, she told me." He swallowed hard, his throat growing tight. "She said she wasn't so inconsiderate of me that she was purposefully keeping away at times when it would be likely she would conceive, which I would have had trouble believing anyway," he added with a small huff of a laugh, "but that she simply… couldn't."

"That must have been hard for her."

He bit the inside of his lip. Oh, he loved Marianne, so much. After everything he had just told her, to feel sympathy so quickly for someone that he had seen most people be so judgmental of. While he instantly realized perhaps it was his own emotions so plainly on display, he also knew so well how compassionate Marianne was towards others. "It… was very hard for her. That was the only time, and I mean the only time, I had ever seen her close to tears," he said, his voice thick with tightly held emotion. He remembered leaning over her, seeing those fiery eyes glistening in the moonlight. How he had comforted her that night, in more ways than one. How he had marked her blatantly on her neck for all to see, in a form of solidarity. "In the end," he continued, "it was not something that I was worried over. Because I came to appreciate the time I had with her, regardless. As that time went on, we talked. And she became more of a confidant then anything. When I took the mantle of kingship, she had been surprisingly keen with her advice to me. She was, strangely, the best person to rant to, vent my frustrations to. She would listen patiently, shout obscenities for me when I needed them, give me wise words when I needed those more." He shook his head. "Despite her hardness, her anger, her aggression towards others, she was… caring. She just didn't show that to everyone. I was one of the few that got to see it. And that was a secret I kept for her," he said with a laugh.

"So… why did…"

He lifted his left arm up to rest his wrist on his knee, still propped up. He looked at his hand, running his thumb claw over the claws of his other fingers. "We weren't in love," he answered her incomplete question. "What we had was… interesting. It was something different. Something new. Something that I learned a lot from. But, while I know we had a certain amount of affection that grew over time… we… we were never in love," he finished in a whisper. "We didn't even really need to have a discussion about being untied. Not that we had one to become tied either. It was just… something we knew."

It was quiet for a moment, and he listened as Marianne moved her free hand along the blanket. "So when… when you met-"

"Immah." The name fell from his lips like a rock. "I met Immah. And my heart lit on fire," he breathed. "I had never felt anything like that before, ever. Not with anyone. Not even with Eida." He closed his eyes. "I went to her… to Eida. Asking her what this fever was that didn't seem real but wouldn't go away, why it got worse when thinking about this girl." He let out a laugh, distinctly without mirth. "She had smiled at me, so proud… she said, 'That's love, blue! Now you gotta go show it to her.'" He shook his head. "I remember so clearly… how… h-happy… she…"

Memories he normally kept contained in the depths of his mind started clawing viciously to the surface. He felt the hot streams along his cheeks before he could even reach to his eyes as flashes of fire and blood and screaming faces assaulted him. Her eyes looked back at him from behind his closed lids; those orange eyes flecked with red, imploring him to hurry as the fire behind her made them glow with their urgency.

Suddenly, his face was framed with soft fingers instead of clawed hands and impossibly warm, velvety lips were on his own. What had provoked this propensity of Marianne's to comfort him with contact he had no idea, but right that moment, he did not care. He raised his arms, leaning into her as he wrapped one around her middle and tangled his fingers into her wild hair. She pushed and he was on his back, wings splayed out across the bed as she straddled him.

Whether it was moments, minutes, or longer, he had no clue. He simply allowed himself to get lost in those persistent lips and relentless touches.

Thank you for the read. Have a good day or night and a wonderful time~*