Chapter Text
“Wuvvy!” Rue’s voice chimed, though it rang with a slight air of uncertainty that it hadn’t held just days before. Wuvvy hesitated, just a breath, even as she felt her instinctual desire to pop to Rue’s side rise in her chest. She breathed deep, and then let it take hold. In a blink, she left the grass and the stars behind for gilded walls and flickering candles in sconces.
“Yes?” she intoned, eyes cast downward.
“Would you deliver these for me?” they requested. She drew her eyes up just enough to see two letters held in furry paws. How her heart sang every time she saw them, and how it killed her with each note. For on one letter, the words To The Chorus were inscribed, formally elegant and polite. And on the other…
Captain.
Written in swirling, dancing lines that breathed adoration with every stroke. How those breaths choked her. But she swallowed it down, taking each letter in her hands with care, as though she weren’t holding what surely spelled the end of her. With airs, she balanced the letter to their leaders on her palm and let herself blow out the shards in her chest.
They stood in silence as they awaited a response. With each tick of the clock, the note in her hand burned her further and further. It licked through her veins, deep into her heart and through her soul. Just as her resolve, her mask, threatened to break, the tinkling of glitter rushing through air met her ears and she was saved by the Chorus’s response.
“Good news, I was not expecting good news,” Rue muttered with a click of their beak, staring pensively outward. Wuvvy stepped backward, “Ah, Wuvvy?”
“H-hm,” she startled slightly, cutting Rue off with a hasty, “Yes, you wanted me to deliver, this…”
“Yes, but before you do, um… ah, the ball? Do you think it was a success?” Rue faltered, their large eyes glimmering with hope. Wuvvy already knew what they thought, and why. And that stung. But she was used to that sting by now and, as she did every other time, she tucked it away.
“I do, I do. I think it was, exactly…” she mulled her words, “I know it’s a little different than what you planned… but I think it was good. I had a good time.”
“Do you have a good time at these events? Or, do you just, do the things that need to be done?” Rue queried. Wuvvy took that question and rolled in through her mind, eyes flicking across the filigree on the ceiling. Was that how Rue felt? Were the moments of Rue setting things in motion simply that… motions? Performances made from expectation, than from passion? Did she lie to Rue? Did she lie to herself?
“I don’t know… if I know the difference all the time,” she settled on.
“Well, let me ask you this; Do you find joy in running around and doing errands for other people? Rue questioned. And Wuvvy knew that.
“Not everyone… But for you, yes,” she murmured, smiling softly. Rue seemed to think on that for a moment before coming to a decision.
“Wuvvy, I have one errand to ask of you,” she nodded to signify her attention, “For the event tomorrow, or whatever happens tomorrow, I want you to… trust the smaller fey that they will do the job that you appointed them,” her head tilted slightly, “I don’t want you to run around, I don’t want you to do any of the tasks, and I just want you to exist in the space.”
“Why?” Wuvvy puzzled with a shake of her head.
“Well, because good friend of mine, Lady Featherfowl, gave me some great advice,” they paused for a breath, “She told me that, I should just exist, and be present in the moment, and I allowed that to happen at the ball, and it was one of the most magical experiences that I’ve ever had… And I’m afraid that, you are bound by obligation and not… and not love.”
“For me, I think, the thing I love, and that which I have a duty toward are very much one and the same,” she couldn’t stop the slight waver in her voice as she continued, “And I have noticed… that I think that that’s not necessarily true for you… That’s okay,” she stoppered the emotion welling in her, “If you tell me to step back for the next event, I will do it… But I won’t enjoy it. I like helping you create,” she searched for the word, “execute on your vision. It pleases me greatly to be of use to you. And maybe that’s not true forever, but it’s true right now. All I want is what’s…” she caught the words in her throat. After taking a moment to fight them back down, she looked to Rue, changing the subject with a quiet, “I’m sorry, you were saying something?”
“No…” Rue muttered, clearly in their mind with thought. Wuvvy stood patiently this time, watching the gears turn behind Rue’s eyes.
“I…” they hesitated after a breath and a sigh, “You know that there are no secrets between us… And I must confess something to you, Wuvvy,” Fear flooded her body with ice, “Something unexpected, something that I never would’ve expected to happen in a millennia… but something has taken precedent over doing my obligations in the Bloom. And if things go…” a lovesick gleam shimmered in their eyes, squinting just so like they do when they’re smiling, “how I envision them to go and I were to,” they cleared their throat shyly, “be successful in this…” their face fell seriously, “I don’t think I can continue running the Bloom any longer.”
And oh, the twist of the dagger in her soul echoed through her existence. Fey are immortal but she is sure in this moment if she were a mortal, she’d have died of a broken heart. But she is not.
“I understand,” she reassured, fighting the tears burning behind her eyes, “You know I love you, right?”
“And I love you,” Rue answered quickly. But not how I want you to.
“And I only want what’s best for you,” the words from before escaped, but before they could dwell on the depth of their meaning, she changed the subject once more, “You should go.”
Rue’s surprise at the sudden change was palpable, but unaddressed as they stammered a quick, “Yes, yes, there’s much to do, isn’t there?”
“Yeah. I’ll take care of things,” she declared.
“You always do, Wuvvy,” Rue murmured, voice so soft yet the words boomed in her ears.
“I always do,” she repeated. The corner of her eye caught on a swirling waterfall of black and white, and she couldn’t resist the urge. Her hand floated over the edge of the desk before her, alighting on the vase of peonies. A perfect swirl of her and Rue set before her. She studied them, and noted that already, they had begun to wilt, sagging under the weight of their blooms.
With just a little tink of her nail, she wrenched herself away, heading out the room and into the halls. She began in the direction of the Goblin Pagoda, but each step dragged on her like lead. After a moment, she gave up, caved to her selfishness, and turned back. It had only been a short time, and so with Rue still with the Chorus, she slipped into her chambers and lit the small lamp by the settee. Guilt gnawing at her, she set the unopened letter on the side table, tucking her legs beneath her and staring.
It wasn’t sealed in any true way, instead simply folded to hold itself shut. Open for anyone to read, should they so desire. Vulnerable. No way of knowing if anyone had read the letter prior to it being delivered.
If it’s delivered, her mind reminded.
Why does she want to read it? She knows what it says. She heard the first letter Rue wrote. She’d burned that letter. Why shouldn’t she burn this one too?
In a flash, her hand snatched up the letter, holding it just beyond the reach of the candle-flame. She couldn’t bring herself to put it any closer. Instead, she pulled it away, gently flipping it open.
Captain Hob,
My feet are still gliding from dancing with you last night at the ball. I am feeling overjoyed, incredibly grateful, and absolutely lucky to have you by my side that night. That experience was unlike anything I have ever experienced. To share a moment with you, absolutely magical. And, I must admit, my feet still hurt from when you stepped on them as I was teaching you how to do the Electric Slide. And in those moments where I saw you look down at you feet, frustrated that you couldn’t get something perfect right away, I realized.
This is the person I love.
Those quiet moments, those moment of your genuine curiosity peeking through. The kind way you held me, you asking me if I’m alright and if I needed anything at all.
I want to know you, Captain. I want to know you like no one else knows you. I want to be the only one to know that you, I don’t know, dance when you’re by yourself, or mutter to yourself when you’re cooking. I cherish the new delights I will know about you. And, for now, the only thing that will keep me going is four words you have given me so graciously.
Captain Knickolas Pnackleless Hob
Yours forever and always,
Delloso de la Rue
Green and red flooded her senses, even as tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, trailing down her cheeks and dripping just past the paper. Every part of her screamed. To rip, to destroy, to erase entirely.
Almost.
Even in the throws of anger and jealousy, the most feral of emotions. Even as her body shifted of its own accord, growing taller, wider, claws extending, threatening the page, but she knew it was empty.
Rue had trusted her with this where they had not before. And more than that, Rue trusted themself. They had poured their heart onto paper and placed it in Wuvvy’s palm. Not for her to keep, but to deliver to the one who already held it.
And that was the truth she was fighting against, wasn’t it? From the moment Rue wrote that first letter, Wuvvy knew. But still she had fought the truth. But fighting truth is like trying to swim up rapids. You can kick and paddle, you can flail and rage all you like. But you will still flow down river, still drown beneath the foam. In the end, all you can do, is submit.
And so she did. She deflated as fat, salty tears rolled in rivulets down her face, the rapids of sorrow sweeping her under the surface. She had just enough wherewithal to set the letter aside, saving it from drowning with her. Because that is what she would do. She would drown to save Rue. She would throw herself to the currents, give herself as a raft, and ferry Rue to the shore.
Ugly sobs wracked her body, gasping and wet. She cried and cried, mourning what she would never have, until her body gave way to the restless sleep.
Bleary and drained, Wuvvy woke to the midday light trickling through the window. The lamp had died out in the night, and her legs ached from being curled beneath her. But she resolved herself, having grieved enough for now, and collected the letter. Luckily, her shattering had not marred the letter in any way, so she folded it back, neatly, and set out, cloaked in her glamour like armour.
Still, her legs dragged with each step to the trash heap, as though she were headed to the gallows. And she supposed she was. But she would do this. She will throw herself into her grave and drag the dirt down after to ensure Rue’s happiness. To honor Rue’s faith in her. This is her duty, this is her oath. She will do what it is Rue asks, without qualm, without complaint, and without care for the pain it may bring her.
She trudged down the path she knew would lead to the Captain’s tent, but when she arrived, his scent was stale. Refusing to be deterred from her mission; she had delayed his getting this letter long enough; she followed the trail. It lead her straight to the Lord and Lady’s own tent, then cut away toward the stables. She hurried her steps as much as she could, fearing that she would miss him, only to stop dead in her tracks.
As she stood just outside the stables, just on the edge of the Goblin camp, the sound of quiet sobs met her ears. The scent trail she had followed ended just beyond the doorway of the ramshackle building, so she knew that there laid her quarry. But just beyond, so laid the source of the sobs.
Quiet sobs.
Hidden, stifled. The kind of sobs that one made because they simply could not be stopped. Even she could not deny him his solitude in this, a moment of inevitable breaking. Much like she'd had just that night before. So she waited. In perfect silence, she waited until the sobs gave way to shuddering breaths. Then, just a little while longer, she waited til the sound of clawed feet shuffling along grass met her.
Slowly, she approached. Then stopped again when he spoke.
“Well, dear old Wrackingspelt,” he choked, “Wonderful news… I’ve fallen in love.”
A soft chuff was the reply he received, and Wuvvy chose that moment to step on a branch beneath her. Just a small warning.
And a warning he understood. She could hear the quick sniff of surprise, followed by the rustle of fabric as he no doubt tried to blot salt-wet fur dry. Heralded by a quick clear of the throat, a very brave, “Who goes there?”, sounded from within.
She stayed where she stood and after a moment, he stepped into the door. Even in his attempts to right himself, she could see where the tears still clung to his snout. Where they soaked his sleeves, whether from blotting or muffling or both.
Wordlessly, she held out the letter.
“Who are you?” he ordered.
She did not blink.
They stood, locked in an internal duel, but this duel, Wuvvy won.
Hob stepped forward and took the letter. Again, he waited for her to leave, but she didn’t. She watched as his body language shifted completely, as he spotted the flowing calligraphy that carved out his title. That told her everything she needed.
“Hurt them, and death will be a mercy I won’t grant you,” she warned low, even as grief pulsed behind her eyes again. His eyes shot up to her, surprise and alarm clear within them. His body was tense, clearly prepared for an attack. She flicked her eyes to the letter in lieu of a verbal explanation. His head tilted, ears flicking, but he turned it over and opened it.
With a moments hesitation, he took his eyes off her, and they flicked over the page. His lips moved just slightly as he read each word. She saw the moment he read that oh so weighty word. He froze, mouth agape. His chest heaved more and more with each breath. Then his eyes started again, flicking and flicking and flicking before looking up to her. His eyes shone in the light, hope and doubt and fear all mixing within them.
“I’m trusting you with them,” Wuvvy grumbled, unable to stop a subtle snarl from lacing her words, “And they are trusting you. But if you hurt them, know that there is no amount of satisfaction you can provide that will satisfy me.”
“Please, believe me when I say, I would sooner carve out my own heart and eat it from my palm than I would hurt them. I may be a foolish man, but I am not such a fool that I would squander such an honor as this,” Hob answered in equal timbre.
And Wuvvy believed him. Because they were the same, he and her. Born to serve, to protect, to love without restraint. And who is easier to love that Rue? He just had the luck of having their love back.
With that declaration, she stepped aside and jutted her chin away, a silent dismissal. Without need for any further encouragement, he set off, bounding across the field, not a care for who saw him. She did not follow after.