Work Text:
A House in the Woods
Vasya hadn’t been asleep, but she had been somewhere else. Perhaps somewhere behind her eyes, deep inside, taking shelter after a long, hard season. Her muscles ached with weariness and her head throbbed. How long had it truly been since she had started travelling? How long since she had left the the comforting familiarity of Lesnaya Zemlya and the rest of her family behind?
And now? Where was she now?
When she came back to herself, Vasya heard the sloshing of water, saw dark hair and felt gentle hands on her skin.
She was seated in a deep copper tub, submerged to the waist in warm water. Morozko was by her side, leaning over the edge and rubbing soap and warmth into her skin.
His touch was soft and careful. He held her hand in one of his, and used the other to massage a cloth over her arm to rid her skin of dirt and blood. The soap smelled like him; of pine and winter frost.
Around them, his house in the woods was lit gold from the firelight. They existed in the delicate balance between sleep and awake, between dream and reality. Outside the trees swayed in the falling snow. Vasya could still hear their creaking below the steady crackling of the fireplace.
Morozko lowered a carved, wooden ladle into the water, then poured it over Vasya’s arm. She turned to watch the pearly beads of soap fall into the basin around her. He reached his hand towards her, silently requesting for her opposite arm. She complied, and warmed at the sight of him caring for her. They had both fought it for as long as they could, deterred by changing seasons and war.
No longer, it seemed.
The tips of his long fingers were tinged pink from the hot water and his dark hair curled at the edges from the steam. His shirt sleeves were rolled to his elbows and soaked with bathwater.
“You would bathe me?” She asked, finally. Days of shouting and smokey air had turned her voice deep, like the croak of a frog.
Morosko’s resulting smile was shy as he scrubbed the gore off her skin. “I have tended you before.”
Of course. She had been here; in this house, wrapped in furs and blankets, fingers frozen to pieces.
That was an age ago and things had been different then. Far, far different.
“Not as we are now,” Vasya said.
Morozko said nothing at first. He rinsed her arm and lowered it back into the water at her side. He gestured with his hand for her to lean forward. She did, and he began washing her back. His thumbs pressed into her shoulders and neck, working away aches she didn not know she had.
“I thought we had been through this, Snegurochka.”
Vasya lifted her head and blinked up at him.
“For you, I would do everything.”
She looked away, and down at the thin shape of her gangly legs, tangled at the base of the tub. “Even bathe a filthy mortal?”
Her hair was pushed to one side across the back of her neck, and she felt his lips press there. “Even that.”
Her heart beat loudly in her throat and she swallowed it back down. Her eyes caught on the green gem hanging from a cord between her breasts. It flickered in the firelight, sparkling like ripples on a pond. She wondered briefly what her great-grandfather was like. Then, as Morozko shifted and leaned her back in the tub, she realized focusing on one chyert at a time was enough. Instead, she thought of the feel of the stone over her heart, filling her with the calm, great swells of big water. They rose and fell with each breath.
The Winter King reappeared at her side and watched her quietly before saying, “You are clean now. Would you like to soak for a moment? Or shall I fetch a towel?”
Bathing like this seemed wasteful and selfish, but it had been so long .
She hadn’t realized her eyes had fallen closed until she felt the cool drag of a fingertip over her cheek. “For a moment, then.”
Vaysa was awake when Morozko returned from the oven with a towel in his hand. “The bath is cold, and supper is ready.”
The water sloshed loudly when she stood and he wrapped her quickly in a warm towel. The linens were fresh and white. Cleaner than any mortal could manage.
She stood still as he swept the water from her skin. For the first time, she looked for the horses.
Morozko spoke from her knees where he was drying her feet. “I've banished them to the stables for the night.”
He must have sensed her hesitation and he stood up quickly. “ Requested .”
Vasya bit her lip.
“They want for nothing,” he reassured her. “I thought you may want privacy for this.” He gestured towards the bath and her nakedness.
“And, selfishly,” he added, pulling both edges of the towel together at her front. I longed for quiet with you.”
Vasya smiled and stepped into him; against the fine fabric of his shirt and the strong frame of his chest. He held her tightly, and when she lifted her chin, he kissed her.
“When,” she said, kissing him once more, “have I been quiet?”
They laughed together as he wrapped her tightly in fur and wool. Newly awakened, Vasya stole a kiss, and another until she was enclosed in his arms with her hands fisted into his shirt.
Eventually, Morozko stepped back and placed a cool finger on her lips. His cheeks were pink. “Time, beloved.” He said, gently. “We have time now. Let me feed you.”
The Winter King had laid the table with smoked fish, root vegetables with dill and mustard seed, and warm bread. Filled with pure joy at the promise of a full belly, Vasya fought the urge to eat like a wild animal. She had lived off foraging and fireside broth for months. It was as good as a feast.
They spoke quietly between mouthfuls. Of odds and ends, of battle, of magic. She summoned fire in her palm, just to watch him squirm and then squash it with his own hand. As the coals burned lower and lower in the oven, they talked of plans. Of Muscovy and the sea.
Vasya felt her heart grow light at the thought of time and freedom. She had been pursued for so long, had she now, finally , earned a period of rest?
She watched Morozko as he hunched over his plate, sopping up the rest of his meal with a corner of bread. It seemed strange to know the frost demon so well, that she could see him like this. That they could share a meal and make plans together. Would he truly stay with her, even now?
She wiped the oil from her lips with a cloth when she was finished eating, and Morozko cleared the table before she could blink an eye.
She covered a yawn with her hand.
“Come,” Morozko said. “Let me put you to bed.”
“Bed?” she asked, looking over her shoulder at the fur-lined bed she’d slept in before. But never...as they were.
Vasya felt the prickle of disappointment and embarrassment at the back of her throat.
“You are weary to the bone,” Morozko said, taking her hand. “Is that not what you want?”
She turned her head to meet his eyes. Colorless, yet warm as they watched her. His pupils were dark and wanting, despite his words.
“Want,” she repeated. She wasn’t feeling so tired anymore.
He traced a finger down the deep V of the blankets swaddling her. Desire hummed between them like a struck blade.
“Can we not be revived by other means?”
He said nothing, but tightened his fingers through hers.
“Do we not find comfort in our embraces?”
She knew he wouldn’t argue, and he didn’t as she stood and stepped towards his chair. He curved an arm around her waist when she stepped between his legs.
“Vasya,” he said, cautiously.
“I don’t want to sleep,” she said, feeling brave. “Not yet.”
She lowered herself onto his lap and his hands moved to her hips. She leaned forward to kiss where the collar of his shirt met the taut skin of his neck.
He let out a swift breath.
When she sat back, his eyes were on her lips, long dark lashes stark over his pale cheeks. “Shall we sleep?” she asked.
He took her face in his hands and kissed her. “No,” he whispered over her lips.
Later, they lay on his bead, atop the blankets that had wrapped around Vasya’s body hours earlier. He toyed with the leather cord around her neck and admired the gem between his fingers.
“Is that a token from you?” She asked idly.
“No,” he said. His cheek was pressed to her shoulder and his breath was cool on her skin. “It was a gift, meant to be a reminder. Of who you are. Where you belong.”
Vasya watched him. “I don't belong to you?”
He chuckled sadly. “Were you to belong to me, I would treasure you fiercely. But no, I do not think you should belong to anyone, Vasya Petrovna. You are free and strong, and should not be bound.”
He pressed his nose into her skin, and she felt his smile. “Well, perhaps to Solovey. You belong to each other, like two halves of a split stone.”
He let the trinket fall back to her chest and draped his arm over her, but she was restless and turned to face him.
“What of my heart?” Vasya asked, narrowing her eyes on his face.
Morozko’s gaze lifted.
She rolled forward to press a kiss to his lips. “My kisses? My love? They belong to you.”
“Vasya…”
“Will you not accept them?” she asked, urgently.
His eyebrows drew together. “Of course I will. I…”
“And your heart,” she said, pressing her palm flat to his chest, where his heart ought to be. “Your love?”
“Yours,” he said, simply.
Satisfied at last, she relaxed back into the pillow. Morozko took her hand from his heart and curled it between their bodies.
“I wish I hadn’t destroyed that necklace,” she sighed.
His mouth turned up at one corner. “You want a token? You were not very fond of the last one.”
Vasya remembered the icy feel of it on the sapphire on her skin. “We were playing games then,” she said.
He reached for the cord around her neck and closed a fist around it. She felt a burst of cold and magic, and when he pulled his hand away, there was a small, ice-like bead on the string. Its faceted surface reflected light in prisms on her skin.
The bead fell against the sea gem with a click . The sea and the snow, close to her heart.
“You mark me with a diamond?” she teased.
He studied the jewel. “Is it a diamond?”
“It will be ripped from my neck.”
“Then you will have to protect it.”
She would, of course. She’d protect all of it now. She had sacrificed so much to get here.
He was still watching her when she said, “I love you.”
Morozko’s eyes closed as she spoke, then opened. “As you could?” His voice was still teasing.
“No,” Vasya said. “As I am.”