A complete AU set in a typical somewhat-medieval setting.
Day 3 - Blossoming
Had he known any better, Hunter Wittebane would have thought the sun was being particularly vicious today just to spite him and his decision.
Hunter was a soldier; always had been. He had served the crown and country with passion and zeal across one short war and innumerable skirmishes and had always believed what he was doing was right. He had taken countless wounds to preserve and protect his homeland and had the scars to prove it. He had risen to the rank of captain and even been rewarded with a house on a small plot of land of his own in gratitude for his dedicated service.
And now, he wasn't that anymore. Could not bring himself to be that anymore.
After so long in the fight, Hunter was tired. He had thrown his soul into the grinder for years, bathed in blood and death as he inflicted it upon countless adversaries. He had survived, at least technically. But after so long, since his sixteenth birthday ten years before, he had been serving and killing. And as much as he loved his country, he couldn't stand it anymore.
So he had, mere weeks ago, resigned his commission and taken up his gifted land to retire to the countryside and, hopefully, find some measure of peace for his bruised and battered heart.
Hunter was so distracted by the heat and his thoughts that he almost missed a scream of terror in the roadside woods. Instinct and training worked in concert to send him racing into the woods with his sword drawn. He soon found himself at the edge of a clearing, a small carriage surrounded by wolves that were snapping and snarling at an old woman perched upon it, swinging a walking stick in clear terror.
Hunter barely took a moment to process this as he tore into the clearing with a wild cry that seemed to take the wolves by surprise. He swung his sword, the head flying from one wolf's shoulders. He snatched a dagger from his belt to arm his other hand and dove into the fray.
He wasn't sure how long he fought — it couldn't have been long — before the remains of the pack fled in fear. Hunter was panting hard and winced from fresh scratches that littered his body, then looked up to find the old woman gingerly climbing down from her carriage.
"Thank you, kind sir," she said in a wizened voice.
"It was nothing," he panted back, grunting against the stinging in his ribs. "Have a nice day, madame."
And like a flash, the old woman had taken his arm and was dragging him to sit at a fire pit. "Oh no, you don't get away that easy," she chided. "First, let's clean those scratches." She set him down and retrieved a leather case from her carriage with pungent-smelling salves and white bandages. With brisk, practiced motions, she had him patched up and feeling almost like himself again. At the same time, she had set up a fire and cooked up something in an iron pan.
"There now," she said with a smile. "How do you feel?"
"Better," Hunter admitted.
"And you'll feel even better than that with a hot meal," the woman said, offering a wooden plate with chunks of meat and roasted potatoes.
"Madame, I couldn't," Hunter said, trying to be polite.
"You saved my life, boy," the woman said pointedly. "It's the least I can do."
Well, dammit; he couldn't argue with that. And so he ate the simple, but quite delicious meal he had been offered. Which led to him being offered to stay at her campsite for the night — and not being permitted to refuse.
"Before I turn in for the night," the woman said, "I have a gift for you."
"Madame, please," Hunter tried to object. She had patched his wounds, fed him, and now offered a place to sleep for the night; he couldn't take much more kindness that he was sorely unused to.
"Don't you 'madame, please' me, young man," she said with a grin. "Just listen closely." She sat beside the fire and opened her hand to reveal … a seed? "I've lived a long time," the woman said, "and I have learned to see the truth within people." She looked into Hunter's eyes. "And in you I see … exhaustion. But deeper than that, I see loneliness, and a good heart." She pressed the seed into his palm. "I promise you this, boy. If you plant this seed and nurture it every day, for a year and a day … you will not be lonely anymore."
Hunter looked down at the seed with disbelief, and then his eyelids felt heavy. He fell backward onto the ground and began to snore.
Hunter woke up with a start the next morning and sat up to find the carriage, fire pit, and old woman gone. The clearing seemed undisturbed, as if nothing had happened at all the day before. He winced at the stinging of his wounds, the only proof that it hadn't been some fantastical dream. Wait … He opened his clenched hand to find the seed still there.
Hunter stood up and gathered his things before placing the seed in his inner pocket and striking out for home.
A week passed, three days of it in his new home, when Hunter fished the seed out of his coat and looked at it. He had planted a garden for himself, but this seemed … different. "A year and a day, huh?" he mused. Then he stepped outside and moved to the back of his house, finding a clay pot and filling it with soil that he pressed the seed into before watering it.
"What do I have to lose?" he asked himself.
And so every day Hunter would water the seed, once at daybreak and once at dusk. At first, naturally, nothing seemed to happen. But after a few weeks, a little seedling poked through the soil and sprouted tiny little leaves.
Weeks more passed and the seedling grew into a sapling, one that Hunter had to move from the pot to a spot on the ground that he had marked with pale stones. He continued to water it and replenish the soil, the tiny thing he had brought into the world easing his mind just a little.
After some more time, about half a year from the time he had planted it, when the seasons grew colder, Hunter began to talk to the slowly-growing sapling. He told it about his lost parents who had died of plague, his life in the army, the battles he had been in that were won or lost. He told her about his feeble hopes for the future of a life of peace. Of maybe one day finding a woman to spend his life with, like he had always longed for. Many soldiers were womanizing fools, but Hunter had never been that way. He hoped for just one woman, a kind soul who would understand him. Beauty was fleeting … but kindness was what he hoped for more than anything.
The sun continued to turn in the sky and days turned to weeks, which turned into months. As the seasons wheeled back through spring, and into summer, Hunter carved a final notch into a board he had used to mark the days. A year and a day. Hunter sat beside the sapling, which had grown into a respectable, if small, willow tree, its branches laden with emerald leaves. The sun was beginning to set on this final day, and it cast the willow leaves in lovely faux-fire.
"So what could that old fairie have meant?" Hunter mused. He'd long decided that the old woman had been a fey spirit testing him. Gifts of the fair folk were said to be dangerous, but he couldn't see how this one could be. "What did she mean?"
As if in reply, the ground began to tremble. The willow tree visibly grew from a lean, young tree into a centuries-old sentinel, the ground cleaving as its roots spread like mad. Catkins, a willow tree's long clusters of pale-yellow flowers, emerged and swelled with life. Then the tree creaked as it bent forward, its branches swaying and weaving together into something that resembled … a cocoon? The leaves wove together and the catkins ornamented and supported it. The tree seemed to sigh … and the mass jerked as if alive all its own. With one last sigh, the cocoon fell apart, the leaves falling and the flowers bursting to rain petals in the air.
And where the cocoon had been … now a woman stood, the petals covering her decency. She looked up, midnight tresses falling across her face, but not hiding large, doe-like eyes of emerald green — green as the tree's leaves — and full lips set in a round face the faint-brown of willow wood. As she set her shoulders, Hunter realized that she was a head shorter than him, her body lush and full-figured.
Hunter blushed and stared in shock and … awe. Then the woman's look of surprise turned to a sweet smile as a blush rose. Hunter was snapped back to his senses and he tore off his shirt to offer to her, averting his eyes. He felt the woman take it and waited a few moments before he looked again. She was smiling as she gingerly held the hem of the shirt down, barely covering her womanhood.
"Who are you?" Hunter asked.
"My name is Willow," the woman said, laughter in the words. "And who I am … is a long story." She settled upon her knees and gestured for him to sit beside her. Hunter felt his blush intensify, but nodded and did as requested.
"Many years ago," the woman, Willow, started, "I was courted by a strange man from outside my village. He sung to me and brought me flowers and offered me the world. But I was not interested. I could sense that I was a game to him, a trophy. And I was not interested in that; I wanted a good man to spend my life with. So I turned him down for all of a fortnight. Then he revealed himself to be a fairy and cursed me." Willow sniffled.
"He turned me into that seed and said that I would hear all that happened around me. And only if I could be nurtured by the 'good man' that I sought would I be returned to my human form. After that, the older fairy woman bartered for my seed form and wandered to try and break the curse. Another game, but I would not complain."
"Then she found me?" Hunter asked.
"She spoke of it," Willow said with a smile. "She said she would test you and see if you were good deep in your heart. Apparently you impressed her."
Hunter was silent as he processed the tale, something his mother would have told him as a boy. Then a thought occurred to him. "Wait a moment, if you could hear everything-?"
"Yes," Willow said with a nod. "I heard everything." Her smile turned as sad as it was sweet. "I listened to your stories, about your parents and your battles and your new life." She placed a small, soft hand on his. "Your hopes for love." Hunter shuddered at the feather-light touch and turned his head away. Then he felt the tips of Willow's fingers against his jaw, returning his gaze to her.
"You told me you wanted a kind woman," she said, her eyes glistening as the moon rose. "I-" She licked her lips. "I can only … try." She sniffled and placed her whole palm against his cheek. "I love you, Hunter," she whispered.
"I-" Hunter wanted so much to say those words back. But he didn't know this woman.
"I know," Willow said sadly. Then she smiled, her eyes shining with hope. "But perhaps … we can grow into it?"
Hunter nodded as much as he dared, feeling some unimaginable force drawing them both closer until they were a hair's breadth apart — and then Willow closed that final distance to place a soft kiss on his lips.
And the floodgates opened.
Hunter kissed her back, harder, and she responded with even more passion. Hunter drew Willow into his lap, grunting at the heat he felt there, and wrapped his arms around her waist. Willow placed one hand on the hard muscles of his bare chest and the other on his shoulder for balance.
Under the silvery light of the moon, two people separated by time had been drawn together by fate. This night would pass in warmth and joy, to be followed by countless others.
Two halves of a whole had been joined, hope rewarded. And love would grow between a tired soldier and a once-cursed woman.
A belated and ever-enthusiastic thank you to EldrichRaven, who has been an unwavering fount of support for these efforts, to Therma, and to my other Discord pals! May inspiration follow wherever you go, you delightful weirdos who stick together!