Chapter Text
“The key thing, Boggy, is to remember to breathe.”
“Bog.”
“Yes, that was a very good exhale. Now breathe in again.”
“Are you positive she’ll like it?” Bog asked. He had asked it at least eight times in the last half hour and he was annoying even himself by doing it but couldn’t stop. “I’m not familiar with your holiday customs …”
“Ah! But I am an expert!” Dawn said standing proudly with her chin out. “Anything there is to know about holidays, presents, or general mushy stuff, I’ve got your answers.”
“That’s …” Bog hesitated, crossing his arms.
“Which is why I also know the exact right amount of mush for my sister. Through extensive observation I know her level of tolerance to the last detail. Marianne will never admit to it but she likes a moderate amount of lovey-dovey mush. Trust me.”
“Your idea of ‘moderate’ might be higher than that of others, princess. I’d never heard so many romantic songs until I met you.”
“Pff.” Dawn scoffed, “Your tolerance level is too low to argue with my expertise. Now,” Dawn grabbed Bog’s arms and turned him toward the castle, “Go knock her dead!”
“I’d rather find a log to hide under.”
“But you won’t! Because your love is too strong!” Dawn started pushing him forward. Bog’s feet slid a little. “You are the great and mighty Bog King who held up a collapsing castle to save a fair maiden! You will not be conquered by nerves!”
“Get–get off!” Bog jumped away, buzzing his wings to settle them. “I’m going, I’m going!”
“Yay!” Dawn clapped her hands, “I believe in you, Boggy-bear!”
“Save your pet names for the elf.” Bog grimaced.
“Oh, there’s plenty left for him.” Dawn giggled. “I go easy on you, you know.”
Bog shuddered. “Better him than me. Have a good time.” Bog absently patted Dawn’s hand before he took to the air before she could continue encouraging him.
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Bog hovered outside Marianne’s rooms and knocked on the stone arch of her window. It was a very soft knock. Marianne did not appear. Bog wiggled his fingers uncertainly before curling them and rapping with his knuckles again, a little louder.
Marianne popped up so suddenly that Bog dipped down in surprise before he got his wings back in order.
“Hi.” Bog said.
“Hi.” Marianne said. She looked flustered and hurried.
“Did I come at a bad time–?”
“No!” Marianne burst out, making Bog dip down again. “Not at all. Come in!”
Bog did, ducking his head to fit through the window. He leaned his staff by the window. It slid down and hit the floor. He grabbed at it as it fell, missed, and failed to get a grip on it twice before he could pick it up again. The package in his other hand kept getting in the way.
“Here, let me.” Marianne took his staff and put it with her sword. Bog knew there was a spot to put his staff. He always put it there. He didn’t know why he suddenly forgot. He felt terribly unsettled and far too big for the dainty fairy room.
“Thanks …” Bog said faintly. He looked around, not really taking anything in. On a delicate table there were bits and pieces of leaves, petals, and twigs, all in various stages of destruction. It looked like someone had been hacking them apart with a blunt knife.
“Just a silly project!” Marianne slid in front of the table, wings spreading out to block Bog’s view, “nothing important! How’ve you been?”
“Uh.”
“How’s Griselda? How’s–how’s the forest?”
“Good. The forest–Griselda–all good. Doing good.”
“Good!”
They stared at each other with fixed smiles.
Marianne’s too bright smile dropped and she dropped her head into her hand. “Ugh. Can I be any more awkward? Answer truthfully.”
“I’m not sure how much is me and how much is you.” Bog said, rubbing the back of his neck.
Marianne ran her hands through her hair and threw her head back. “Why? Why am I doing this? It’s just a day. A stupid day that’s no big deal.”
“Depends on your point of view.” Bog said, looking at the package he was holding.
“Lemme start again.” Marianne pushed Bog back to the window, making him sit down there. She nodded, “Good. Now …” she slid her arms around his neck and kissed him. He wasn’t surprised but he was still surprised, somehow, and felt himself falling backwards. He caught himself and his wings kept him from falling further out the window while he wrapped his arm around Marianne and kissed her back. They were kept busy for some time.
“Hi.” Marianne said when they stopped, reaching up to rub a smudge of purple from his lips.
“Hi.” Bog said softly, feeling much happier and much less jittery.
There was another break in conversation. Some time later Marianne asked, “Did Dawn send you here to do something mushy?”
Bog laughed nervously, fingers fidgeting on Marianne’s back. “She was actually just sort of a consultant.
“I think you mean ‘instigator’. I don’t see any flowers or chocolates on you so she can’t have done too much damage.” she frowned at the package suspiciously.
Standing, Bog bowed deeply and held the long narrow gift out to her.
“Stop.” Marianne smacked his arm then snatched the gift. It was wrapped up in fresh leaves and tied up with a small strip from a blade of grass. “You really didn’t have to, you know …”
“You always want to learn things about the Dark Forest and how we do things … it seemed like this holiday was important so I wanted to … reciprocate.”
“It’s not important.” she mumbled. “it’s just silly romantic stuff.”
“Everyone in your kingdom are celebrating this holiday … I didn’t want you to be left out as if … as if you weren’t loved.” Bog knew he was blushing and not making much sense, but he struggled on, “I want them to know I love you and respect your traditions. What’s important is … you.”
“Bog …” Marianne said softly.
“Please, just open your gift and tell me if you hate it or not.” Bog said quickly.
The layers of leaves fell away and Bog once again beheld his choice of gift and felt a qualm. Marianne held the sword in the last leaf, casting her eyes over it with an expression Bog couldn’t read.
“We try not to make our weapons shiny, that’s why the blade is black,” Bog said, “it’s not old, it’s new, it’s supposed to look like that–”
“Shut up.” Marianne said, still looking at the sword. Her fingers traced over the hilt’s decorations of roses and winding thorns. She tilted it and sharp thin lines on the blade caught the light. “It says …” Marianne turned it for a better look, “’A queen as vivid as roses, sharp as thorns.’”
The engraved words shone on the black blade, roses engraved at the beginning and end of the inscription. Bog’s stomach churned as Marianne fell into silence.
“Bog?”
“Yes!” Bog’s shoulders rattled as he stood up straight.
“This is the most–the most romantic thing I have ever been given.”
Bog’s heart fell and was washed nauseatingly around in his churning stomach. “i’m so–”
“I love it.”
“–sorry. What?”
“It’s beautiful. It’s incredible.”
The condition of Bog’s heart and stomach took a turn for the better. “Truly?”
Marianne laid the sword reverently on a table in its wrapping. She turned back around, eyes sparkling and cheeks pink. With one finger she gestured for Bog to lean down. He did so. Marianne threw her arms around Bog’s neck. “I love it. Really, truly.”
“Oh, thank goodness.” Bog’s whole body relaxed and he slumped further down, resting his face on Marianne’s shoulder, smiling broadly.
“How am I supposed to meet this standard?” Marianne punched his shoulder. “This is awful! I spent all week trying to–well it doesn’t matter what, because I failed.”
Looking over Marianne’s shoulder, Bog saw the table she had tried to hide earlier, taking in the mutilated flowers. He couldn’t stop himself from smirking. “You were trying to make a boutonniere, tough girl?”
“No!” Marianne pushed his face away from the table. “I didn’t make anything or get you anything because I hate you!”
“Very bold, not playing to your strengths.”
“Excuse me, I need to go break in my new sword. On your scaly carcass.”
Bog just laughed and picked her up, holding her in his arms. “I’ll take your week of suffering as a very touching gift.”
“But that’s so lame. I wanted to give you something–something as wonderful as that sword.”
Bog gave this some thought. “Hm. Well, the moon is almost full tonight, you know. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me on a flight through the forest?”
“Of course I would! But that’s just another gift for me!”
“Maybe so, but it’s what I want. The pleasure of your company.”
“Fine.” Marianne relaxed in Bog’s arms, “but next year’s gift from me to you will knock your socks off, got it?”
“Socks?”
“They’re–it doesn’t matter. Just kiss me.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” Bog said, then granted her request.