Chapter Twenty-One

The next two days were like a taste of damnation for Hunter.

With the Park fathers' blessing and having "met" the residents of the Owl House, Willow was as comfortable with Hunter as she'd ever been. She was even more affectionate than normal with the relief of approval, and took every moment to keep in contact with him — holding hands and weaving fingers, stroking his shoulder with her fingertips, kissing his cheek when she thought no one would see, and more. And every touch was like a drug to him that he tried so hard to reciprocate.

And that just made the other side of it worse.

Hunter was uncomfortably, almost painfully, aware of Belos's deadline creeping ever closer and he still hadn't broached the topic of covens, much less her imaginary wild magic teacher. He'd hardly slept the past two nights as fragmented ideas and half-baked plans swirled in his brain, only to be choked out by pesky logic.

Fear of failure was coiling in his belly, growing steadily larger like a bog snake feeding on too many children. It weighed him down and even made him feel nauseated. And it was balanced and made infinitely worse by the terror of Willow turning against him when she realized who he really was. The few hours of sleep he had gotten had forcefully ended with nightmares of Willow's glowing green eyes and her shriek of fear and fury as her thorny vines tore him to shreds.

And all of that baggage didn't lend itself to "hangout hunting," as Luz called it.

"I think it's cozy enough," Luz said of a small brewhouse with exposed-brick walls and a stone floor. "I can't believe the Boiling Isles has its own version of coffee," she mused as she glanced over a menu. "And it's human-safe, too! It's like the one universal constant."

"Coffee?" Gus asked, ears perking at the unfamiliar human term. "What's that?"

"It's basically the Human Realm version of capchor," Luz explained, using the accepted term for the beverage. On the Boiling Isles, capchor was derived from the kernels of the eponymous tree that actually more resembled nuts than the fruity seeds of coffea shrubs back home. But it was made the same way; by drying, grinding, and boiling the seeds to brew into a strong, stimulating hot beverage.

While Luz and Gus got into a comparative discussion about human/demon cuisine, Amity looked at the remaining members of their group. Willow was listening politely, though her smile was strained and Amity could see the tension in her old friend's posture.

And the reason was no mystery.

Hunter's eyes were glazed as he seemed on the verge of falling asleep sitting up. He'd had an almost green tinge to his complexion all day, a sure sign of distress among witches that was not at all poetic as Luz had claimed it was for humans. His lips were turned down in a faint frown, as they had been for the last two days. When asked, he'd claimed it had nothing to do with his visit to the Owl House, and Amity had seen a glint of truth in his eyes.

But something was certainly up. And given that it involved Willow's boyfriend, and thus Willow herself by extension, Amity was determined to do what she could.

"Maybe we should order something?" Amity suggested. "I feel a little bad just walking into restaurants, sitting for a while, and then leaving."

Luz winced. "I totally get that," Luz said, "but I'm a little tight on snails and some of these prices …" She trailed off, but her expression said it all.

"My treat," Amity said with a warm smile. "For everyone." She cast her gaze around the table. "I think Hunter could use a pick-me-up."

"Wha-?" Hunter asked, the sound of his name apparently rousing him from his stupor. Willow shushed him and leaned her head on his shoulder.

"Look, guys," Willow said with an apologetic smile, "I don't think Hunter's up for this today."

"Yeah, I can't help but agree," Gus said. "No offense, man, but you look like you're about to collapse."

"M'fine," Hunter mumbled, then winced and curled in on himself as if from a stomach ache.

"Yeah, that's our cue," Willow decided. She tossed a small wad of snails on the table. "Get something from us, okay?" She gently pulled Hunter out of the booth and led him away with all the firm gentleness of a mother cockatrice.

"Either of you know what's up with him lately?" Gus asked.

"I wish I knew," Amity said, her tone laced with suspicion as much as honest concern.

"I get the feeling he's under a lot of pressure," Luz said, her expression … odd, distant. "From what he's told us, his home life isn't great. Maybe his uncle's being a jerk?"

Amity hummed in thought, the wheels turning in her mind. "Well I hope he figures it out," she said, her grip tightening on Luz's hand hard enough to make the human wince. "For Willow's sake."

Willow was many things, but a fool was not one of them.

Even in her haze of love drunkenness, she'd noticed Hunter's state of being over the last few days since school had started back. He looked like he was simultaneously exhausted, stressed, and terrified, and the pressure of hiding it looked like he was tearing himself apart. And, in turn, it worried her to no end. She hadn't gotten much sleep herself last night as she grappled with concern for her beloved boyfriend.

That was another reason she'd been so affectionate lately. Yes, she did so because she wanted to and she adored being able to touch him. But another aspect was that every time she held his hand or leaned against him or kissed him, it seemed — for the barest moment — to alleviate that stress.

But even with her attempts at "treatment," Hunter had steadily grown worse over a mere two days. Which, to Willow, meant it was time to take yet another page from Luz's book and try something more proactive.

"Hunter?" she asked.

Hunter sniffed as he roused himself from whatever half-daze he'd been in. "Uh, mmm, yeah? … Willow?"

Willow bit her lip. "How about a picnic?" she asked without thinking.

"A wha-?" Hunter asked, blinking at her in real confusion and not just the daze he'd been in. "Where'd that come from?"

"Because you could use some good food," Willow replied, still not sure where this was coming from or where it was headed. "You've been worrying me these last few days and I … I want to help."

Hunter's expression twisted with pain. "I'm sorry, Willow," he said tightly. "You-" He swallowed and screwed his eyes shut. "You deserve better …"

Willow's eyes widened behind her spectacles and she drew him into a hug with her cheek to his chest. "Hunter, no," she whispered. "I'm not mad, I promise. I'm worried. It's not your fault, but I still want to help if you'll let me." Rather than relaxing, her words seemed to be slowly ticking up the tension in his body. He wrapped her in his arms with almost crushing force. Almost like a lifeline.

"Maybe a picnic is a good idea," he said blearily.

"Tonight?" Willow asked. "There's a special spot I know of outside the city limits that is beautiful at sunset." She moved back just a little to look up into his eyes. "I can bring some things from home and we can … talk?"

Hunter took a few long moments to respond, but he did so with the barest smile. "Yeah, that uh …" He trailed off and shook his head as if reclaiming his line of thought. "That sounds amazing." He took the back of her head in a surprisingly gentle grip, considering his condition, and placed a kiss on her hair. "You're amazing," he whispered, the words as pained as they were wistful.

"Meet on the southern road an hour before?" Willow asked, meeting his eyes again.

"Sounds perfect," he said. "Should I bring anything? A blanket? Pillows?"

"Just you," she whispered dreamily, brushing her fingers along his jaw and feeling the faint stubble he'd grown there. Hunter bowed his head to place his forehead against hers.

"I'll see you soon," he whispered, then moved away and began to jog into the distance. Then he slammed into a passing cart so hard he spun on his heel. "Ow! Uh-" His face turned red. "There's um, uh …" He waved with an embarrassed grin. "See you soon!" Then, having learned nothing, he turned again and resumed his pace. At least until Lil Rascal flew out from the cowl of his Hexside uniform and expanded into his staff form to sweep him up and fly him away.

Willow couldn't help but laugh at her boyfriend's antics, the faint pressure of the last few days feeling like it was finally being relieved. As she summoned Clover and mounted her own staff — practicing her side-staff position as Eda had recently taught her, to try at a more feminine approach that "appealed to any and all men," in the Owl Lady's words — she began mentally rehearsing what she would ask him tonight.

And how.

Two hours later found Hunter, dressed in a simple wine-red button-up that reportedly complimented his eyes, a grey waistcoat, and dark pants, as well as his ever-present gloves and his shined boots. He was breathing deeply and rhythmically, an attempt to placate the moths warring with the butterflies in his stomach. Guilt and love, dueling to the death and making his insides squirm in the process.

He'd snatched an hour's sleep — thanks to a heavy sleep potion the scouts used to prepare for sudden missions that he'd "borrowed" from the precinct infirmary — and felt mostly himself again. Not that it would last, but it should be enough for him to be coherent for his date with Willow. It was the least he could do for her, after all.

No. No, it wasn't. Which was another reason he was nervous and guilty. He had decided to try and explain as much as he could tonight, framing it as his high-placed and dogmatic uncle who had dropped hints that coven membership was about to get much more emphasized by the Emperor's Coven, and he only wanted what was best for her.

And truth be told, every single bit of that was true. With the Day of Unity steadily growing nearer, Belos was planning on cracking down coven membership for witchlings. And Hunter did want what was best for Willow, from the bottom of his heart. He ran his hands through his hair for the umpteenth time, distantly hoping it made him look roguishly styled instead of as frazzled as he felt.

"Hunter!"

He spun around to find Willow descending on her staff, sitting side-staff in a way that made a blush rise to Hunter's cheeks. Titan, he needed to get out more. Or build some kind of tolerance to his girlfriend's charm … Nah, that was no way. Willow landed and brushed off a sleeveless, baby-blue blouse and her dark skirt paired with purple stockings and her boots. Hunter lifted an eyebrow as he realized that she had been favoring sleeveless clothes lately. The thought made his blush darken as he regarded her somehow femininely muscled arms. He bowed at the waist with every ounce of courtly decorum he could muster — which was a lot. "Good evening, Luv," he greeted.

Willow giggled behind her hand, hefting a picnic basket onto her hip. "Nope," she chirped.

Hunter groaned and rubbed his eyes. "I thought that was a winner," he groused. And then Lil Rascal popped up and twittered in greeting. Willow waggled her fingers at him as Clover shrunk down and trilled a hello of her own.

Hunter nodded a greeting to the bee palisman before stepping forward and looping his arm around Willow's waist and drawing her close with a smoldering look. Willow looked surprised, faint pink dusting her cheeks as she looked up at him with wide, doey eyes, and Hunter gently extricated the basket from her hold. "I'll take that," he said. "You've done it all; I'll carry it." Then he swooped in to steal a kiss and turned to link their arms. "Shall we? It's your spot, after all."

Willow couldn't help the girlish giggle that bubbled up as she played with her hair and then placed her other hand on his arm and led the way. As they walked through the woods, Willow traced a spell circle to conjure a light, Hunter doing the same with Lil Rascal's aid. The sky began to pinken through the thin canopy until they found the place Willow had described. It took Hunter's breath away.

The clearing was filled to bursting with flowers the color of fire bee honey, the blooms spherical and vibrant. Standing in the center of a natural clearing was a massive monolith carved with twisting strings of runes both angular and fluid, in the style of the Savage Ages. Runes that were difficult to see under a covering of winding vines that bloomed with snow-white, bell-shaped flowers. To their left was a natural corridor in the forest that was filled with streams of light from the sun that had just begun to set and illuminated the pillar and vines and flowers with bright orange, as if it were all on fire.

Willow looked from the monolith to Hunter, who was staring in awe at the sight. She laughed and drew him onward, then removed the basket from his hands and the blanket from that to unfold and spread in front of the stone pillar. Underneath the blanket were smaller baskets covered with waxed paper. Willow settled on her knees and Hunter did the same, and they removed the baskets and their coverings to reveal …

"Grilled cheese?" Hunter asked in surprise.

"Is that a problem?" Willow asked half-teasingly.

"No, not at all," Hunter said, his voice small and strained. "It's what my-" He cut himself off with a sharp breath and settled down completely, taking Willow's hand in his and planting a kiss on the back before he took the first bite of his sandwich. Willow looked at him with wide-eyed concern before doing the same.

They ate quickly and settled against one another to admire the play of sunlight upon the pillar and the lengthening shadows. And Hunter noticed with surprise that as the light faded, a different, softer, dualistic light emerged. The carvings of the monolith began to glowing with a faint, shifting rainbow of color, while the yellow flowers on the ground and the white flowers on the vines began to glow with golden and silvery light that mixed and played upon each other into an aura of glowing motes that beggared description.

"Unbelievable," Hunter gasped. "The pillar must be enchanted to bring this light from the flowers."

Willow chuckled. "Do you happen to know what these flowers are?" she asked.

"The yellow ones are marigolds," Hunter replied. "The white ones are silver bells."

"Not exactly surprising," she teased, kissing his cheek. "But do you know what they mean?" she whispered into his ear. Hunter shuddered and shook his head.

"Luz says there are flowers with those same names in the Human Realm," Willow explained softly, curling into Hunter's side. "And between the realms, they have meanings so similar they might as well be the same. Marigolds represent energy and warmth, but also passion, joy, winning affection, and healthy relationships." She nuzzled into the side of his neck. "I like to think it's a lot like us, Love."

"Love?" He shifted to look down at her. "I thought you didn't like that one."

"For me," she clarified with a wicked smile … that faded into something like sadness. "But I feel like you could use it." She rose up to kiss his lips. "A reminder," kiss, "a promise," kiss, "a fact," kiss. "... My Love."

Hunter swallowed thickly, his mounting guilt and despair warring inside his heart at such a declaration. "And … the silver bells?" he asked, his voice breaking.

"They represent purity and innocence," Willow said, "sympathy and consolation … and hope." Willow bit her lip and slowly, deliberately, climbed into Hunter's lap to settle on her knees and hold his face in her hands. "Hunter … what's wrong?" Her gaze was soft, but unyielding, like emerald moons. "You've been distracted and sleep deprived, and … I'm worried." Her eyes began to shine with emotion. "Hunter, please talk to me."

Hunter grit his teeth and turned his head away, his soul treacherously savoring the softness of her touch as he did. "Willow …" he said tensely.

"Is it about your uncle?" she asked. Hunter's sudden tension, and the fact that he wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her chest, was answer enough. "Hunter, you talk about him sometimes," she whispered gently, "but you've never once talked about your … parents."

Hunter began to violently tremble and whimper, sounds like a wounded animal escaping his throat. Willow leaned back in shock and looked at him. And what she saw tore at her heart. Hunter's face was red and the veins in his forehead swollen. His teeth were bared in a rictus of pain, the whites of his eyes red with the pressure.

And in a moment of sheer intuition, Willow understood. He was fighting tears.

"Hunter," she said in a pleading tone, "it's okay." She took his face in her hands and drew his forehead to hers. "You don't have to fight it, Hunter. I'm here. I love you."

"I can't, Willow," Hunter said. "I don't want to remember. I-" He retched. "I can't show weakness. Not after-" Not after the greenhouse.

"It's not weakness, Hunter," Willow assured him, running her fingers through his hair. "Don't fight your feelings; embrace them. Let them out. I love you, Hunter, all of you. Let me be there for you, My Love."

And with a choking sob, Hunter pressed his eyes to Willow's neck … and stopped fighting. He let the tears out in wracking, wrenching, tearing sobs that shook him to the core as he held onto Willow like an anchor. She held him just as close, her own eyes trailing silver in the flowers' light as she did everything she could to just be there for him.

Willow had no idea how long they sat there, and she didn't care. All she cared about was Hunter's trembling slowly easing, his sobbing quieting down as his emotions were spent. When she heard sniffles and not sobs, she drew him away from her neck and placed a long, loving kiss on his forehead. She brushed away that long forelock and curled it around her finger as her boyfriend regained his breath.

"My mother's name was Gertrude," Hunter rasped. "She was born powerless, like me. She was scorned and belittled and abused her whole life because of it." He fisted his hands in Willow's dress. "But she never gave up. Mama did everything she could to eke out a living, any jobs no one else would do even with magic." He sniffled and more tears fell. "Then she met my father."

"Dad was from a poor family himself, weak in magic, and was expected to marry up if possible. A powerless witch with barely a snail to her name was about as far from 'up' as he could get." He took a deep breath. "They met when my mother was delivering packages in the rain and she slipped in the mud. He stopped and helped her pick them all up, even gave her his jacket to keep warm. From then on, he was drawn to her fierce spirit, and she to his kindness. They met in secret until his family found out and came for them. Dad gave her the money he had and told her to run, and she did. I don't know what happened to him after that; he just disappeared."

"But my mama was pregnant and she carried me to term. When the nurses told her I would grow to be powerless, she threw them out and held me close. She always called me her little miracle." He choked out a laugh that shriveled into soft sobs. "I grew up knowing I wouldn't have a future with no magic. Mama tried to hide it, but I could tell even as a kid. And then … they came.

"People broke into our house and attacked us. Uncle says they were wild witches. They tried to take us but Mama fought back with a kitchen knife. She stabbed one to death and tackled the other one. She told me to run." He was silent for a long time. "And I did."

Willow held him ever closer, biting her lip so hard she drew blood. "What happened then?" she asked fearfully.

"I was homeless for three months, living on the streets," Hunter said. "I dug into garbage cans for food, begged by a fountain, lived in an abandoned basement." He shuddered. "It was terrible. And then, Be-" He coughed. "Then my uncle found me. He took me in, he gave me a home, taught me about magic even if I couldn't do it."

"What is he like?" Willow asked.

"He's … cold," Hunter answered, the words bleak. "He's busy most of the time and leaves me to my own devices when I'm not working. And he's sick, but he won't tell me anything about it; he won't let me help. But he's also protective, in his own way. He barely let me attend Hexside; said that my powerlessness would be found out." He gave a humorless chuckle. "Guess he was right, there."

Willow felt a sob tear from her as she thought about everything she'd been told. "How old were you?" she asked.

"I was eight," Hunter whimpered.

"Oh, Hunter," Willow sighed. "I'm so sorry. I can't imagine going through what you've been through." She could only continue to hold him, to brush her fingers through his hair, to try and offer what she could. And soon, Hunter was lightly snoring. Willow sighed with relief at the fact that he was. It meant that he was getting real rest.

The peaceful silence lit by the enchanted flowers was shattered by a chiming ring. Willow blinked out of a daze and whipped her head around to find the source. Then she realized it was coming from Hunter's waistcoat — and he was too exhausted to hear it. Willow grit her teeth against the sound and the fact that it would wake Hunter given the time, so she searched his pockets and found something that looked like a hinged hand mirror with a stand styled after avian legs.

The lid was engraved with the symbol of the Emperor's Coven.

Willow yelped as the lid flipped open to reveal the helmet and cowl of a captain. "Commander, I apologize for the intrusion, but-" The captain, with the voice of a woman and a cowl reminiscent of a healer's shawl, seemed thrown off by Willow. "Who are you?" she asked. "Where is the Golden Guard?!"

The compact fell from Willow's grasp and she lurched to her feet in horrified shock. Hunter fell to the side with a yelp, thrashing around before sitting up.

"What happened? Willow, what's-?" His eyes fell on the open compact, upturned and still sounding with the calls for the Golden Guard, and his skin turned pale as snow with fear. He looked up at Willow, who in the light of the flowers surrounding them somehow looked even more frightened than he did.

"I can explain," Hunter said with fragile calm.

And then Willow ran.

Lots of crazy emotional stuff here and it was a thrill to put to "paper".

*A bog snake is the thing Gus dealt with on the way to the Looking-Glass Ruins. I just made up the name.

*Capchor was named as a mash-up of "capulus" - Latin for coffee - and "ichor," the blood of immortals in classical mythology and a poetic term for blood. It was inspired by "hot bean blood" as it's called in MoringMark's "Witches Among Humans" AU.

*Who else likes the idea that sick witches actually do turn a little greenish?

*And I FINALLY get to the symbolism of marigolds - the flower this fic was named after! The symbolism behind marigolds, the real ones, is lifted right from floral websites and I do think it fits Huntlow. The silver bells will become more important later, hehehehe.

*The clearing with the standing stone was heavily inspired by the "grove of towers and flowers" in EldrichRaven's "Of Balanced Stones" story. They have been an unwavering supporter of this work and offered so much feedback to make it better than it could have been otherwise. Check out their stuff! They described it best as the "sweet" to this fic's "savory," full of fluff and tooth-rotting goodness.

*I've been itching to get to my thoughts on Hunter's backstory for AGES and I finally found a time to write it in. The name Gertrude is of German origin and means "strength" or "spear," fitting for a woman who never gives up. All of it was based on Hunter's vague explanation that "a lot of his ancestors were [powerless witches]" and "[he] never felt he'd have a future in a world like this" before Belos "found him". And there is far more to that than he realizes, which will be delved into if I decide to write a sequel. ***You, the readers, will have influence on that decision!***

Let me know what you guys think! Leave a review - they make me so happy! And as always, may your inspiration flow freely!