{A/N}: Lookie hurr, I posted a new chapter…finally. Sorry it took so long…a lot has been going on here and its all been bringing me down. But I'm doing better and got this done! And I'm already started on chapter six!~ Sooo...go ahead…and, uh, read. Hope you enjoy!

: : : :

5-Calls and Commissions-

: : : :

There were whispers. Unheard by people deemed 'normal' and believed to be signs of paranoia -or insanity- by the rare few that could. And even to those who could hear, and would listen, the whispers were even softer than usual. Easy to be dismissed as a passing breeze along one's hair.

She felt them as their breeze-like calls brushed against her ears like the lips of a gentle lover. They tickled against the nape of her neck like soft fingertips, and along her bare shoulders. Finally, they settled about her in the form of a firm wind and she closed her eyes with a sigh, listening. Then, she heard. Heard how the whispers' owners beckoned to her and called for her presence. It's been too long, they crooned, come back. Come back.

So in the early hours of the morning, while the false dawn colored the skies with grays and lightening blues, she ventured out into the still dark forest without even proper footwear. And went to answer It's call.

::::

Fjóla blew out another frustrated breath, the remaining red fading from her café au lait colored skin. She let her senses settle before tossing herself back to let her head dangle again.

Nothing was working! And this was her last resort; laying with her back upon the couch's arm, the upper portion of her body dangling towards the floor as her brunette hair cascaded around her face like a curtain. And as the blood rushed to her still idea-less brain, her gaze had no choice but to focus on the blank page set on the floor beneath her. The other, used sheets of drawing sheets purposely set from her view on the other side of the living room floor.

She wasn't going to look at them anymore….she didn't have time to draw him again. Not today. So she zeroed down her thoughts to the pure and clean paper before her dangling form and upside-down gaze.

Violet-amber eyes narrowed as it seemed to mock her lack of inspiration. So, she stuck her tongue out at it with a teasing hum. At least she had arms and legs and hair! And it was just a blank, white rectangle soon to be under the mercy of her mighty-and extremely pointy- pencils. It would tremble before her unrelenting, masterful strokes of artistry!

"How would you like that?" She asked it aloud with a triumphant grin. She only got increasing rushing of blood in her ears as the page just….did what paper does. Sat there, blank and still. Silence followed and soon the slightly embarrassing revelation that she was once again speaking to inanimate objects dawned on her. Not to mention that she'd become sidetracked. Again.

Groaning, Fjóla tossed herself back onto the cushions of the couch, her head banging furiously with her heartbeat, as she momentarily gave up hope. But only momentarily! Commissions never came too difficult for her complete, but she more than often had trouble drawing out other people's requests. The more detailed and planned ones by the persons that ordered her art services were always hard; they weren't her own ideas, and she had a outline not of her own making to work with. They were like shackles to her ever running banks of creativity and imagination. But she still enjoyed doing them, and they helped pay the bills…

She had originally came to her remote home in the forest because her muse had ran dry. Too many demanding commissions, and her small apartment in the bustlingly city was only gnawing her inventiveness down worse. The same old view of car crowed streets and night skies tainted orange because of the city's lights did nothing for her depleted creative juices.

Coming to her forest palace of solace and quiet had indeed helped her muse, in ways she couldn't have possibly imagine, but…

Shifting onto her side, the woman gave the other sheets her slightest attention, against her oath only minutes ago not to. She just couldn't help it though. They were many; thickly layered upon one another with some smears here and there, much to her displeasure. From her front door to the end of the couch where her head lay, Nuada was there. He tainted her floor with his captured image; from rough sketches, to detailed and colored ones-albeit they looked rushed. Coloring always took more time and he vehemently refused to extend his stay there.

Thinking of coloring made her think of his skin. Pale within the lighting of her home, yet a warm flaxen under sunlight. Which, in turn, made her think of him 'blushing' just three days prior. Fjóla found herself smiling, remembering that when he came the next day, she questioned him about it again.

"So you never told me! Is that how you blush?"

Nuada had kept an solemn deposition the entire time, but at her question his brows twitched.

"I wasn't blushing."

She had blinked several times, "Yeah, you were…Something obviously got you flustered. And I doubt you got a fever in a matter of seconds, that's the only other explanation I can think of…wait. Fevers at times are spontaneous, aren't they? But elves can't get sick! Can they…?"

He glared at her, dark lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment she had faltered. He took that moment to add in his explanation on the matter.

"Irritating as it is, your senseless and inane yammering is amusing…at times." He had said, cutting another glare at her opening her mouth before continuing, with a slight smirk. "If only because the mindlessness of it all fits your…special character. I was flushed at having to hold in my laughter at your grating habits because it would have only proved to encourage them."

He had said it all with bitterness and a sprinkle of dark humor; and held her gaze with a hard stare and…,what she had assumed, a bit of distaste in those golden eyes.

In spite of it all, she had simply cocked her head to the side, and smiled widely.

"You're sweet."

Nuada had looked nothing short of disturbed. And for several long breaths, he stared at her much like he did the first time she spoke to him. "Wha-..How so?"

"You like my rambling." Fjóla had nearly preened while giving him a wiseacre look. "And you think it suits me!"

He had huffed, scoffed, and very nearly rolled his eyes. "Its amusing, but I said nothing of liking it."

"But since you find it somewhat amusing at times, that means you like it at times. Which also means you like me at times! Right?"

"…"

"Riiight?"

"…"

"…Nuada? Come on…admit it!" She had said bravely, taking his silence as a sign of him submitting to her obviously logical reasoning.

Fjóla chuckled into the cushion of the couch, which slowly ended with a groan.

She had been wrong.

"…You're an imbecile." Had been his reply, before he stood and made to leave.

She practically flung herself after the prince, blabbering 'I'm sorry!' and, 'I won't do it again' and, 'Your skin is so lovely today, don't leave yeeet!' all while trying to corral him away from the door with her flailing arms.

Sitting up and removing herself from the couch, Fjóla's smile held in place as she remembered how Nuada had basically manhandled her back to her seat, but also remained himself.

The woman now carefully stepped over to his numerous portraits upon the floor, gently scooping them up until they were no longer cluttering the place, and in a neat stack within her hands. The picture atop the rest was of him reading, eyes cast down with a small crease between his brows as he concentrated. For that particular drawing, she put more detail into the intricate markings upon his temples. She found herself standing there, in the middle of her living room, eyes fixated on the drawing.

The rest of her previous determination faded away, and with a fleeting thought towards her still unfinished commissions, Fjóla finally let her mind whirl around Nuada.

She thought he was odd looking, yes…but in her own quirky way, still beautiful. And mind-blowing, of course, that he was Prince Nuada, a person whom she only thought existed in an old story her mother once read to her. Who she couldn't possibly believe was real had he not been near her, flesh and bone, alive and breathing. The heavy air and strange wave that emitted from him dashed away her normal, yet small, thoughts of 'What if he's just some delusional man…What if you're the one being delusional?'

Fjóla was always gullible. She was often scatterbrained. But something deep within her just…knew.

The guy of her muse's affection…was indeed an ancient elf prince. Who found her rambling…almost likeable. Somehow, she found that giggle worthy.

And quite against her will, murmuring, "Well, don't worry…I 'almost' like you too…regardless of how grouchy you are…" then, blushing and finding the drawing difficult to look at suddenly, "Well, not almost, but-"

Fjóla gasped and went ramrod straight as an assault of light prickles raged across her skin. Mauve-flaxen eyes widened, before shutting as a misplaced breeze invaded her living room. She shivered against it, titled her head as she clutched the drawings to her chest. There was something on the strange wind; something that spoke…and she was breathing it out just as she registered what it was.

"Nuada..."

And abruptly, it was gone. But replacing it was that heavy and increasingly familiar air. Slowly, she let her eyes open just as a sheepish smile graced her face, to find a surprised elf only inches before her where there was empty air only moments ago.

Still, Fjóla somehow managed to be startled.

"Oh! O-Oh, geez…you just popped up out of nowhere! Uh, you're here early..! D-Does that mean you'll stay longer, or…" She shifted nervously and gave a weak laugh as Nuada only continued to stare down at her. His eyes were slightly widened, incisive and bright amongst the shadows of his face. A question also lurked within that gaze, one that had her swallowing thickly as she took a careful step back.

Oh, but sweet mercy was on her side. Just as he parted his lips to make his inquiry, her sweet, dear phone rang and Fjóla hastily made her escape to answer it with a 'Hold that thought, your highness!'.

Though, feeling Nuada's eyes on her back the entire time just about killed her relief.