Chapter Text
“Daniel!” His mum exclaimed and promptly enveloped him into a hug upon opening the door. As if she didn’t know he was coming, he thought with a smile, and squeezed her back. As if they hadn’t made plans to have breakfast together a full week earlier, the last time he’d come over. “Nice to see you too, Mum.”
“Come in, come in. Your father should be about done with the bread. He got those coffee beans you like for today, you know. We left them steeping overnight, so get ready for a caffeine kick.”
Walking into his childhood home was always a little disorienting, like stepping back in time into a different reality. A less complicated one.
Gaia skipped up to him and wound around his legs before he managed to make it more than two steps into the room, and Dan crouched down to skritch her soft little head. “Hello,” he cooed sweetly. She had him wrapped around her adorable little paw. “How are you?” She purred at him and pushed into his hand, demanding more pets. “I’m glad I caught you at home this time around, you little menace.”
Gaia was a light grey-brown tabby cat. The wild cat lived at his parents’ house, but liked to leave for little excursions into the forest, sometimes for days at a time. She had been born in the forest, so they let her roam free.
The little rascal had decided to adopt his family one day after running into Dan in the forest; after she was gracious enough to let him pet her, he’d been surprised to find her following him home. She’d just followed him in, claimed a spot on one of their rugs as her own, and that had been that. Papa had fallen in love with her at first sight.
“Hey, kid! Did you bring the stuff?” his dad yelled from the kitchen area.
“Yeah, yeah. I said I would, didn’t I?” Dan yelled back, grinning.
His dad huffed loudly, still out of view. “You never know with your sweet tooth. I raised you, boy, I know how much you like the stuff, you might have kept it to yourself and said Conrad was all out or something.”
Dan got to his feet, chuckling, and watched Gaia strut away towards one of the pillows she had appropriated for the very crucial purpose of lounging around the house. His eyes caught the painstakingly cared-for collection of bonsai trees lining the far wall, and his grin dimmed a little. Reminders of his Papa were everywhere in this house. This was still his house, after all. Even if he couldn’t be here anymore.
But he pushed the ache aside, and headed for the kitchen area, brushing the green luscious leaves of some of the plants on his way. They turned to him like they would for sunlight, his touch encouraging and familiar to them.
After a tight hug, his dad waved him to the table, which was already brimming with more food that they’d be able to eat in one sitting. He always did this, not that Dan was complaining. It guaranteed he’d be taking some delicious leftovers home with him, after all.
Dan unwrapped his own contribution with a flourish: the qurabiya he’d brought all the way from the village, one for each of them, and then finally sits down at his family home’s table, where he’s had countless meals, and countless conversations with his parents through the years, both serious and banal, for a generous breakfast and the opportunity to catch up.
They chatted and ate and drank more caffeine than they normally would, and it wasn't until all the plates (and leftovers) had been put aside, and conversation had lulled that he brought up the news of the hunters heading to the village. Gaia trilled from where she was sprawled on his lap as soon as he brought it up, probably sensing his worry and trying to make him feel better, but Dan ran one hand down her spine in soothing motions and she settled down again.
He hated the haunted look in his mum’s eyes, the flicker of hatred in his dad’s, the muted anger in them both. But he had to let them know. He wasn’t sure if the hunters would come into the forest, not with only two of them, but they should be prepared. Just in case.
He shuddered to think what might have happened if a pair of completely unexpected hunters were to knock on their door without warning.
Dan did his regular round through his parents’ fields before he left. His parents knew what they were doing after all these years, of course, so there wasn’t much for him to do, just a gentle nudge here and there to make sure the crops thrived.
The peach trees were already bearing fruit, so Dan also picked a few peaches to add to the pack of leftovers he knew his dad must be putting together. He didn’t have peach trees himself, so he always nicked a few when they were in season.
Walking the fields was bittersweet, much like visiting his parents’ house. The grounds were teeming with happy memories from his childhood, memories of playing tag with his dad, of learning the different ways to connect to the earth from his Papa, of his mum tracing the letters in his favourite storybook when she taught him to read under the shade of the fruit trees, of the little picnics they used to go on, all of his family, together…
They used to go into the forest too, all four of them sometimes, but sometimes just Dan and his Papa, and he remembered running off as fast as his little feet could carry him, brimming with a love and wonder for the forest that he couldn’t explain back then, but which he felt, unerringly, bone-deep and all-encompassing, and his mum and dad would sigh and yell at him to stay close but his Papa would laugh and tell them it was alright, that he could track him if necessary, and that the forest would protect him.
But he still got a lecture about how his mum and dad couldn’t keep up with him when he ran like that, especially when they were in the forest, as they couldn’t ask the forest to make way for them when the thorny bushes were too close together or to nudge the branches away from their face or even walk barefoot on the earth without risking cuts or bruises; and they couldn’t feel where the earth would rise or dip without looking first like Dan and Papa could, so they had to be a lot more careful.
And so running was okay if Papa was around because he’d be able to keep up and look out for him, but when he was alone with Mum and Dad he had to stay closer and he had to look out for them. He didn’t quite understand it the first time they explained, why wouldn’t they be able to feel it? The instincts sang loud and clear through him, surely everyone could hear them too?
It started making sense when his Papa started teaching him about the other peoples of the forest, about how it wasn’t just their words that sounded different, but that they perceived the world differently too, how they had different abilities, and different attitudes and customs, and how it was important to respect their preferences and to always know their boundaries, both of the geographical and the cultural sort, so that he wouldn’t cross them by mistake.
It didn’t occur to him to ask them why his Papa never went with them into the village, or why he wasn’t allowed to talk about him there until he was a bit older, and funnily enough the subject didn’t come up until he realised that all the village kids had only two parents. Human custom.
All of the other kids he knew, the children of the forest nymphs, had three or four. The will-o’-the-wisps didn’t have any parents, the little ones were all raised communally; the air sprites had no parents but were independent from a young age, they were almost grown once they hatched, and so they didn’t need parents, only some of their kin to teach them their ways. The kelpies had no preference, they could pair off or form groups or raise children individually.
Nymph custom, Dan had known from a young age, was three or four.
He’d asked his mum about it one night, after she was finished reading his bedtime story. He must have been six or seven. His hair was still blonde then, like Papa’s. His mum liked to run her fingers through it when she read him stories, which had always made Dan feel warm and loved, and that day was no exception.
“Mum,” he’d asked her, “do people in the village only marry one person?”
“Yes, love. That’s how the humans in the village do it.”
She’d explained that some faraway human villages allowed that a man could have many wives, but normally not the other way around.
“That’s weird,” he’d said.
“Yes, I always thought that didn’t quite make sense,” she’d agreed with him with a fond smile.
After turning it over in his mind, he’d asked, “So we’re a nymph family? But you’re not, right?”
“Mixed marriages can pick and choose,” Mum had told him. “When you bring together the traditions of two or more peoples, you’ll have some contradictory customs and beliefs, and so you’ll have to decide which ones make sense for you, for the new family you’re starting. That’s what we did.”
Dan had taken that in, then asked, “Is that why Papa never comes with us to the village? Did he pick not to do that, mummy?”
Mum had stayed silent at first, thinking. Dan had learnt that meant that she wanted to explain something he might have trouble understanding, and was looking for the right words, so he stayed put, letting the gentle motions of her fingers carding through his hair relax him into the bed, where she’d tucked him in before reading him the story he’d picked that night.
“Some people... don’t like when different peoples come together,” she started. “They don’t… understand. That’s why we taught you not to talk about it in the village.”
Dan hadn’t understood, then. “But the nymphs who visit the forest know about you and Dad and Papa!” he’d objected. “And the aes sídhe know! And the rusalki-”
“Yes,” his Mum had interrupted, “they know because we knew they’d respect it, even the ones that don’t understand it. So we told them. Or we let them see, knowing they’d realise what it meant. But humans are… complicated.”
“But you’re human!” little Dan had protested, “and so is Dad! And you love Papa, both of you!”
“We do,” Mum had smiled softly at him, “and we love you, sweetheart,” she’d poked his nose and made him giggle. “You’re half human, too, you know.”
“I know!” Dan had said. He’d known that since he was really little. She didn’t need to tell him!
“But humans… we have different opinions. We don’t all think the same way. A lot of other peoples are the same. It’s just the aes sídhe here in this forest that we know to be supportive. Others might, or might not. The humans in the village are like that. Some would be okay with it, and some would not be. Some would be respectful, but some would try to tell us we’re wrong, and some might even refuse to trade with us, or might try to convince others not to talk to us. Humans are more divided.”
He’d felt her try to smooth out his frown, but he couldn’t understand, as a child, how anyone could be against his parents’ love. They were so happy together! They were right for each other, anyone could see it.
“It’s alright, Dan. The forest is our home. The village is just a place we visit sometimes to trade.”
“Yeah… They make really tasty pastries,” Dan had told her decisively after thinking about it for a little while. “But I wouldn’t want to live there.”
Mum had laughed, “I wouldn’t want to live there either, baby.”
He hadn’t learnt until years later that she’d been born in the village, had grown up there and felt stifled by the weight of their customs and expectations; that the villagers had thought her crazy for venturing into the forest so often to visit her family’s lands, and had thought it a bit scandalous when she’d started taking her intended with her for trips that could last days, or weeks. She had met Dan’s dad in the village, and they had met Papa in the forest, which he sometimes visited, and they had all converged in the middle to build a home together.
A warm, happy, loving home where they had raised their first and only child with all the love the three of them had to give. The whole place was filled with sweet childhood memories for Dan, only slightly soured by the sting of his Papa’s forced absence these days.
Once Dan was done with his walk through the grounds (and he’d been cheerfully given his pack of leftovers), Dan said his goodbyes and set out on another day of traipsing the forest, making sure all its protections were in place and that everyone in it knew to hide before the hunters made it there.
He’d already spread the word, as soon as he’d made it back into the forest (and the sprites’ nomadic nature was always a blessing in these situations, they were staunch allies and they could cover more ground than even Dan, who could borrow the strength of the forest for short periods of time); but it’d put his mind at ease to do what he could in preparation.
It was a good thing that Dan didn’t have to spend as much time encouraging his crops as humans did, or he’d never have enough time to watch over the forest and its creatures enough for his peace of mind.
Not that there was as much to do as there used to be, with so many folks gone.
Something was off.
Dan had spent the entire afternoon doing little protections and sweeps over the forest, and the whole day, something had been niggling at him, something that felt like the smallest disturbance at the back of his mind, at the edge of his vision. He felt ever so slightly off kilter, and he knew it wasn’t the news of the hunters because this was new. This hadn’t been bothering him the previous day, or that morning as he travelled to his parents’, or even as he left his childhood home with two tight hugs and more food that he’d be able to eat in one sitting.
This was a more recent development. The air had changed, somehow, since then.
But only slightly, or at least, that was what his instincts were telling him. Whatever it was didn’t feel like a big threat, or like an invasion by outsiders (this is how the hunters entering his forest would feel like, he knew. Unless they were very, very good. And that thought only fed his worst nightmares, so better to put them aside.)
The back of his neck was prickling, even as he knew there was nothing behind him (he’d checked. Repeatedly). He had been planning to go home as usual, get some sleep in his bed, but he was reconsidering. If there was something out here… something that didn’t belong…
Dan frowned at the thought, confused. That didn’t feel right, either. He wasn’t sure how that could be, if something or someone new had infiltrated his forest, and it did seem like it was an infiltration, whoever it was had been covering their tracks, and the fact that Dan couldn’t easily pinpoint them was making him nervous.
He could make more of an effort and get a better reading, but not without possibly revealing too much of himself, and he hadn’t lived to the ripe old age of 28 by being reckless or incautious. If he was exposed as a nonhuman (or a half-human, really, not that hunters gave a damn about the distinction) then he’d have no choice but to fight.
He’d have no choice but to kill them.
Or try his darndest, anyway. Kill or be killed.
He was tired.
Dan slowed his steps even more, surveying his surroundings carefully once again. If he was going to stay out here he might as well camp out. Either touching the soil on one of the half-hidden natural depressions of the earth covered by foliage or up on the sheltering branches of one of the oldest trees would be safest.
He was covertly inspecting some of the closeby options when the elusive presence that had been taunting him all day solidified into something recognisable.
“You little shit,” proclaimed Dan loudly into the general direction where he could feel the presence, grinning wildly, suddenly charged with an almost manic energy. “I can’t believe you.”
A surprised pause, and then. “Dan.”
The voice was familiar, even though Dan hadn’t heard it in over a decade. Dan would recognise that spark anywhere. “You sneaky bastard, I thought there was someone trying to hunt me!”
Now that he’d stopped hiding himself, Dan could sense Mishal approaching him, and was already looking in his direction when he came out from his cover behind the dense greenery.
Mishal looked shocked to see him, and Dan couldn’t imagine why. Dan had been here all along, it had been Mishal that had left the forest, years back.
Mishal looked tired, disheveled in a way that was so unlike him that Dan assumed he must not be getting enough rest throughout his travels. It would not surprise him to learn that was the case, if he was travelling alone. No one to watch his back while he settled for some sleep couldn’t be an easy way to live these days. Whatever he was going through, Dan hoped he’d accept his offer for refuge, at least for a little bit. Either way, it was good to see a friendly face, especially one he hadn’t been sure he’d ever get to see again.
When Mishal reached out for him, fingers outstretched, Dan felt his grin soften into a fond smile. He touched his childhood friend’s fingers with his own, and just like they’d devised all those years ago in this very forest, he let his fingers harden where they met Mishal’s, and his friend let the fire that ran through his veins ignite the tips of his own fingers, in the same friendly greeting they used to do as children.
Dan touched the pad of each of his fingers to Mishal’s and then pulled away slowly. Mishal looked happy to see him too, so he risked pulling him in for a hug. He could almost hear his friend rolling his eyes at his human greeting, but he went with it willingly enough.
“It is good to see you, old friend,” Dan muttered close to Mishal’s ear.
“You have no idea how great it is to find you here, Daniel.”
They parted, but stayed close, surveying each other for the myriad signs of age, learning each other’s features anew. It had been years.
Dan threaded their fingers together in a common friendly nymph gesture. “You can stay at my place tonight, if you’d like. You can stay as long as you’d like, of course, but it’s already dark tonight, and I’d like to go home to catch up, if it’s alright with you?”
“Thank you, my friend. I will take that offer. We do have a lot of catching up to do, but some rest before that would be appreciated.”
Dan couldn’t stop smiling, running into one of his old friends, especially his nymph friends, was a near miraculous treat these days. The knowledge that he was alright, that he was safe, was enough to lift his spirits for the foreseeable future, but to actually get to see him? To get to talk to him, and reassure himself that his friend was fine, to get to invite him into his home and spend time with him?
It was an unexpected blessing.
Dan had met Mishal when his family had been visiting his forest.
He and his Papa had been on one of their customary walks when they sensed him nearby. Mishal had got away from his parents and had been just sat there in the dirt, trying to muffle his crying.
The poor boy had been inconsolable when he’d accidentally hurt one of the human children with his fire. It had been nothing serious, but the humans’ reaction had clearly left an impression.
He was so young, of course he didn’t have his fire under control yet. Back then. Dan was still working on only manifesting his elements when he made a conscious decision to do it instead of automatically when his instincts wanted to, so he hadn’t thought anything of it. Mishal was a few months younger than him, but he'd looked younger, so it made sense to Dan that he was still learning too.
But fire frightened many of the creatures of the forest, and it terrified humans, and Mishal’s family had been told in polite but firm terms that they were unwelcome in the village after the incident.
Mishal had thought it was his fault, and Dan remembered the tear tracks that had marked the soft, dark skin of his cheeks when Dan had found him curled up against the ancient root of a tree. Dan loved it when the roots came up from the ground like that, he liked curling up to them too, to read or to eat or just to touch them and feel the trees and the earth in the area. But Mishal was clearly not happy, and Dan had wanted to make it right.
Dan would forever be thankful he’d been with his Papa at the time, because talking hadn’t helped, and inviting Mishal to play hadn’t helped either, but his Papa had known what to do when Dan didn’t.
Mishal told them he was dangerous, and that they should stay away from him. Dan was tall for his age (6 years old then), and so seeing the too-skinny boy who only came up to his shoulders all folded into himself, with puffy eyes, tear-tracks, and still sniffling, Dan had thought he’d never seen anyone look less threatening, and that he’d like to give him a hug. But his offer of friendship was rebuked, as were his offers to play and his platitudes, so he didn’t know what to do.
His Papa did.
He’d come a bit closer, despite Mishal’s half-hearted protests, and sat down to talk to him, waving Dan to sit too. He’d talked about himself, about his family, how he’d been born in a forest not unlike this one, but far to the North. About how he used to travel, alone or with family, or sometimes friends, and how he’d been passing through when he met this lovely human couple, right here in this forest, and they were so kind and friendly, he’d thought how nice it was that he’d made two new friends. The tale distracted Mishal enough that he stopped sniffling, and he moved a bit closer, listening raptly.
He decided to stay for a bit, he told the boy (Dan knew this story already; he asked his parents to tell it often enough at his bedtime that he had it memorised), so that he could spend some time with them, get to know them better. And, to his delight, he learnt that they were moving into the forest! So they could explore the forest together, for weeks or months on end if they wanted!
And they did, and the months passed, and before he knew it, it was almost a full year later, longer than he’d ever stayed in any wood or forest, and yet he realised that he still didn’t want to leave.
It wasn’t the forest, he explained, that called to him. Not any more than all the others he’d visited. He was a forest nymph, so of course forests called to him. He had seen many forests, and had loved all of them, but he always moved on to see new ones.
What was new was his friends, he told the enraptured little boy, who he didn’t want to leave behind. He’d fallen in love with them, you see. He’d found his mates. Mishal gasped at the revelation, and Dan smiled really wide at them both, happy to hear this story again, pleased that the other boy liked it too, and that he didn’t look sad anymore.
Then Papa had reached out his hand, not touching Mishal but rather inviting him to take the offered hand himself, and when the boy only looked at him with wide eyes and shook his head, his Papa had manifested the trees that were as much a part of him as his flesh, slowly so that the boy could see it happen, and he explained how, even if his fire came out again, Mishal wouldn’t hurt him. Not accidentally. Forest nymphs were impervious to a little fire, even nymph fire. It took a concentrated attack sustained for minutes before any real damage was done, and even longer with common fire. If he wanted to hurt him, he joked, it’d have to be on purpose.
Then, he’d proven it, by convincing Mishal to try bringing forth his fire and touching it to his hand. Dan had observed the exchange closely and had demanded that he wanted to try too. To Mishal’s further shock, his Papa had agreed. None of Mishal’s protests had turned out to be founded. Dan’s age wasn’t an issue (especially as Dan’s difficulties stemmed from staying fully ‘human’ and not from calling or keeping up his element manifestations), and neither was Dan’s mixed heritage.
Dan, his Papa had explained, wasn’t actually half-human and half-nymph. That was just an easy way to talk about it. Dan was fully human, and fully nymph. He was both, as much as he chose to claim each heritage. He had all the abilities of a forest nymph, and all the faculties of humans.
Dan had touched Mishal’s beautiful fire with reverence, watching it dance through his hardened fingers. The fire was alive, he realised. Well, not alive alive, but alive in the same way the bark of his hands or the bones of his antlers felt alive. Alive because they were a part of him, a living creature.
They had been friends ever since.
Dan led Mishal to his cottage, where he insisted they had dinner before bed.
It didn’t take much convincing, fortunately, but they were tired enough that they didn’t linger over the meal. Dan talked a little about the forest, and only once they had finished eating, revealed to his friend what had happened to his Papa, when the first wave of hunters came.
Dan didn’t like talking about it, but he felt it was better to get it out of the way. Mishal would ask eventually, and he couldn’t take the dread of anticipation, wondering every time his friend turned to him to speak if this would be the time when he brought it up.
They hadn’t had any warning, back then. Hunters were new and unexpected still, and they had found his Papa close to the fringe where the forest met the outskirts of the village.
“Did they…?” Mishal started, evidently fearing the worst.
“They bound him,” Dan answered, “banished him from this plane.”
Mishal exhaled sharply. “Could it be reversed...?”
Dan shook his head. “I haven’t been able to find a way to do it yet. By the time I got there, some of the runes they used had faded with the force of the magick. So I don’t have all of them.”
Mishal looked down in a show of mourning. “I’m so sorry, Dan.”
Dan smiled, bittersweet. “They weren’t killing us yet, back then. They just wanted us gone. I felt it, you know. Through the forest. I ran, and when I got there, they turned to me, defensive. If they hadn’t had a couple of villagers with them to vouch for me, I think they might have attacked me. If they had figured out what I was, if I’d had to defend myself… they probably would have banished me, too.”
Mishal rested a warm hand over Dan’s own, providing comfort and friendship in the only way he knew how, in a situation where he knew there was nothing he could do except be there.
Dan shook his head, shaking off the mood as best he could. “I didn’t mean to sour the meal. Just thought you should know.”
“And you never left?” Mishal asked, quietly, no trace of disapproval or reproach in his voice.
“Where would I go?” Dan countered, voice brittle with unshed tears and so much repressed rage for what had happened, and Mishal had no answer.
They turned in shortly thereafter, Mishal in Dan’s spare room, with strict instructions to wake him if he needed anything at all.
“I have much to tell you, as well,” Mishal had told him after thanking him. “But I think it’d better wait until tomorrow. I do need the rest, and I’m looking forward to getting it where I know I am safe, for once.”
Dan squeezed his hand with a smile, letting him know he was welcome without saying a word.
Martyn took a minute to stretch out stiff limbs once he’d dismounted his travel horse. Their horses were on loan for the duration of their service, which was one of the best perks of the job. He was used to life on the road by now, but it could still get tiresome at times, and he didn’t even want to imagine how much more cumbersome it could get if they’d had to requisition a means of travel on every new village.
After days of travel, he could only be grateful they’d finally reached the latest in their convoluted sequence of destinations.
At least they’d been travelling for long enough without a break that he would be able to strongarm his stubborn little brother into getting a proper night’s rest without much fuss, he thought, sending a tired glance at Phil where he was critically surveying the borders that outlined the village and the seamless way the boundary gave way to the fringes of the untamed forest.
Martyn spared a thought to be grateful that they’d managed to lose the entourage that had so annoyingly forced their way into joining them for an entire three days’ journey back at the last village. Young unmarried ladies with too much money and influence had no place hitching rides with sanctioned hunters, especially when said hunters were a) hot on the trail of a young rogue dryad, and b) not interested in wooing said ladies, much less relieve them of their unwedded state. Gods deliver him from well-intended matchmakers and status seekers who think marrying a hunter would bring them fame and fortune and untold excitement. Martyn had tried telling them he was betrothed, but they seemed to think anything other than married could be worked around. Heavens, but he missed Cornelia. Every day he spent away from her felt twice as boring and thrice as long. He couldn’t wait until she could meet up with them again after the festivals.
He looked around the boundary, making an effort to pay attention to the here and now. Unobtrusive runes aside, there didn’t seem to be as strong a demarcation as most villages and towns favoured these days, so the villagers must feel quite comfortable living side by side with the forest. That was most likely a good sign.
The promise of a proper bed to slumber on before the night was out was the only thing that allowed Martyn to keep ahold of the urge to rush Phil’s initial appraisal of the place.
Phil always assessed the boundaries first, something about liminal places and being able to see both sides better from there or something nebulous like that. It was one of those things that Phil couldn’t seem to find proper words to explain no matter how much he tried; one of those things he felt but which came out in jerky gestures or sweeping flailing motions and inarticulate sounds whenever he’d tried making the effort to articulate it to them. It didn’t matter, of course. It worked, and that was all their family or anyone else needed to know.
After a slow trek back and forth through the border, Phil turned to him, looking… vaguely bewildered.
“Alright there?” Martyn ventured.
“Well…” Phil seemed lost for words for a few long seconds, but rallied before it became worrisome. “There’s definitely something around this place. Not sure it’s the one we’ve been tracking, though.”
Oh. Well. They could work with that.
“Right. But sleep first?”
Phil rolled his eyes, shedding the contemplative look for a well-worn little-brother needling grin. He was such a little shit. “Alright, old man. We’ll get you a place to rest your weary bones, don’t you worry.”
Martyn huffed a laugh. “Like you’re not going to enjoy the rest, too.”
Phil smiled and shook his head, but he didn’t counter the accusation. He just grabbed the reins on his own horse and led the way into the village proper.
(Martyn knew that if it were up to him, Phil might have tried rushing into the forest at dusk, even with hardly any time before the darkness of the night covered them, even with no knowledge of the terrain and no semblance of a plan, to try and find their fleeing dryad as soon as possible.
He also knew that Phil knew better. It had been a hard lesson for his brother to learn. For them both, really, but it was crucial to their survival. This was the kind of job that was too important to rush.)
And so they entered the village proper, and went to find the inn that they’d heard about to arrange for a room for the next few nights.