Found In The Woods (Whispered Secret/AnnaBeth/BennyQ)

[BennyQ]

“My turn!”

Every morning he had the dream.

Every morning he had to watch.

His father. His brothers. Now his very own wife. In their savage quest to remove the family from the throne, they sought to defile it all, even if her only connection to it was a marriage not of their making. She had been thrust upon him by royal decree, an innocent, beautiful Princess from a distant land. Now she had to suffer for the sins of his family. How many had gone at her? How many more would follow? He did not know. He did not wish to know. But such blessed ignorance was forbidden to him. They made him watch, proud Prince of Ostavia. Sword to his neck, a hand in his hair to hold his face up, hard steel keeping his jaw raised, arms bound behind his back. They made him watch as they ravished her, one after the other.

It never seemed to end.

They disabled her first. Physically, she was of little threat to them. They were cold hearted soldiers, rebels who delighted in the brutalizing of innocents. No, they clamped a strange collar around her neck, uncaring that it choked her, that her beautiful, silky hair got caught. They quickly remedied that, pulling on it hard as they ravished her, right before his very sight. There was no one left to save her. Or him.

“Watch!” They jeered at him. “Watch, or we’ll gorge out your eyes. And it’ll be the last sight you ever see.” They even scarred him, marking two shallow lines down from his orbs, so that even to cry would bring on a stinging agony. And all the while, they tormented his wife in ways he never thought possible.

Through fear, manipulation, and malicious cunning, they had weakened, sapped, and broken the strength of the Crown. His eldest brother, his wife, his infant children, killed by poison. His middle brother, drawn into an ambush and pierced with many arrows, with his pregnant bride killing herself upon presentation of his corpse. His father, blackmailed into surrendering himself, only to be felled upon when he presented himself and brutally slain. It was only fortunate his mother was long since deceased, not having to witness the end of their family. Now he was all that was left, him and his young bride.

“Listen to her squeal! Do you like that, pale-faced cunt?”

They had their fill and he was made to watch as they each took a turn violating her, hurting her, slapping and insulting her. When they were done, they dragged her battered, bruised body into a dirty grain sack and sewed it up, before two men grasped either side and took her to the cliff, overlooking the fast, strong flowing river that passed through the castle-fortress. With three heaves, they tossed her over, to be drowned and killed. Perhaps that would have been more final and merciful than what followed.

No last words. No final looks. Just like that, his wife of a mere two years, who would have carried his children and been his partner for life…was gone.

He was last, just as he was last of the dynasty of Ostavia. There was none left but him. He had tried to fight, to defend his home, with the last of those loyal and unbowed by fear. Now there was none. And he was the last. The battle had scarcely ended when they had seized him and his life-companion, bringing them here for their final moments. Now he was alone, his wife’s torment and agony almost over, except for what would be her final cruel moments of drowning, as he had thought then. The collar restricted her, keep her powers dormant, but not entirely. Yet he had no hope of such salvation. They put him on the edge and aimed a crossbow at him, the sole tool that could allow any lowborn peasant to kill a man of noble birth or background.

Two things happened when they shot him, aiming for his heart. Perhaps some mechanical defect of the bow shot the bolt mere inches to the right of his heart, missing the lung and simply piercing him in a non-fatal way. The blow shoved him back off the cliff, to fall the several dozen feet through the air to slap into the roaring water with a numbing blow. By all accounts he should have sunk himself, weighed by his armour. Perhaps they forgot that if overturned, the lamellar armour could slip right off over his head, as it did. Perhaps they also forgot they had been dumping bodies in the river for days. There was still many, clogged and drifted, bloating from decomposition. He managed to latch on, struggling to keep his head above the water. It was desperate, disgusting, and pathetic.

But he survived. He floated a long time until it was safe to worm his way ashore. A sharp rock managed to get the binds off. And then he searched. He searched for her. And he found her. And when it moved, protected by some strange aura or bubble, he wept as he tore it open, where before he had watched with reddened eyes her violations. It was the first and only time he ever displayed emotion to her, when he cradled her live, breathing body in his arms…

That had been almost two months ago. And every morning he relived it.

Aicanassë Larenzac, formerly Prince of Ostavia, now awoke every morning with his wife cradled to him. It was not as comfortable as it seemed, strewn under a towering pine tree with branches prodding into his back and moss itching at his flesh. Every night he dreamt of his own bed, now occupied by usurpers and their fiends, and every morning he awoke to the cool autumn breeze with the promise of chill. Not a few times would they awake with their hair frozen to the ground. Or rumbling aches in their bellies from malnourishment. Or damp and shivering from having been soaked by a nighttime rain shower.

Once he had been a strong man, with broad shoulders, a wide chest, a slim waist and toned calves. He had a head of hair groomed in the style of his land, the majority gathered into a bun upon his head, with a few strands dangling down his shoulders and back. Now he was slim, starving, his body still toned but greatly reduced in mass. His hair was messy. His beard unkempt. His ribs showed on some day through his withering flesh. His stamina, which had been mighty as he trained and drilled with the sword, mace, and spear, could barely sustain hard labour for long. He was weak. He was tired. He was miserable. He was ashamed. It bore heavily on his body and mind, exhausting him even before the day began.

Even a ceiling above their heads seemed a luxury, where before they had been encased in walls of cold stone and high ceilings. Every morning they scrambled to light a fire, to shake off the brisk chill in their bones and look on with mournful faces as the task of acquiring food came to the fore of their minds. For fifty days or more, they had wandered aimlessly in the frontier woodlands of Bleakwood Vale, a horrendous, dreary forest on the borders of Ostavia where they had washed up. Few people dwelt here. None had any manners. They had already encountered a few unfriendly faces. It was only fortunate they had the desperation of cornered, wounded animals, bitter in combat. Aica was even more bitter out of it.

“Wake up.” He snapped without much pomp, seizing his wife, Vesta Larenzac, Princess of the Purple, by her shoulders and thrusting her out of the protective, warm custody of his limbs. Today was another day, one fraught with worry, anxiety and fear. It didn’t help that he had her to care for. Having already failed in his duty as a husband to protect her, he was even more inclined to utterly rule and dictate all her actions, so as to prevent any such catastrophe again. It did not matter to him if she found it inconsiderate, disruptive, and downright cruel. She ought to know the price of disobeying him by now. Marks on her wrists and along her jawline, fading bruises on her cheek and even her inner thighs, were a reminder enough. And they were the marks of a husband, not of the animals who violated her impiously.

Every morning, after the same dream, Aica distracted himself by taking stock of their meagre inventory and equipment. A few berries would be their fare this dawn. Two knives, one scarcely shorter than his forearm, served as their only means of defense. Lengths of rope, that had bound his hands or those of other dead prisoners flung into the water, was perhaps their best tool, to create snares and traps. Their torn and tattered garments, supplemented again by what could be taken off the dead, ensured they could have some warmth and modesty. Boots, for himself and her. Cloaks. A spare to make a satchel whenever they found a decent load of food to carry. Her collar.

Aica knew not what it was. Only that it was stuck on her. Tightly. Sealed by some power that prevented its unraveling. Vesta, the poor girl, would have a small cut on her lower jaw, where he had tried to remove it by force with a blade and only ended up cutting her. It would not be removed.

Every morning they wandered aimlessly. What was there to do? Where could they go? Vesta had ideas but Aica disregarded them. This was his home, the land of his birth, and his legacy to uphold now that his family was dead. The third son of a King, he was never destined to rule, but to be a soldier, a captain of men, a leader into battle. He had trained for combat and running away from a potential fight was never in his psyche. He would not depart Ostavia. He had to stay and fight.

But how?

Every day he led his wife in circles, in aimless directions, searching for some sign or possibility of reclaiming his home. Late summer had turned to autumn. The trees, silent and tall, remained firm, but the climate grew cold and increasingly inhospitable. Yet still Aica made no decision, no sign of leaving this place. He could not. And he would not. Revenge is what drove him. Anger bubbled within him. His fury was ready to lash at any and everything, even towards his own wife. He could not see the prize he had, in that she remained with him despite all that happened to her in coming to Ostavia. She was his, a prize indeed, to be protected, ruled, and kept safe and secure. Even if it meant hurting her to accomplish it. Yes, as her sole guardian now, as her husband, sometimes Aica relieved his frustrations on her. That was a wife was for? To console.

Yet he was never consoled.

“Are you deaf woman? Get the fire started.” Aica hissed again. He issued no such command before but it ought to be drilled into her now. He made no move to help, standing over the spread cloak with his knives and few other oddities strewn out. He took several sniffs of the air, as if it might bring him some sign or clue. It was much fresher in this place.

 

[AnnaBeth]

Shivering, crouched by the sap sticky tinder she'd found before nightfall,
Vesta struggled to stop her hands from shaking long enough to strike the nodule of flint that was growing smaller every day against the steel stirrup taken off the saddle of a dead horse. More than cold drove her to haste; her husband's rein on his temper was growing as sparse as the flint and while she didn't fear the blow he might deliver only a fool wanted to be struck. She, Vesta Larenzac, Her Majesty the Royal Princess of Ostavia, she who had been Vesta Syropaulos, Princess of Byzantium, Born in the Purple, Serene Priestess of the Temple, Blessed of the One True Faith and Keeper of the Doves was wearing a dead woman's clothing and her fingers were rougher than a scullery maid's as she bashed flint and steel together to create tiny, pathetic sparks when once she could have simply conjured a swirling flame gentle as a candle or hot as a forge to light the fire or to dance merrily around them creating a curtain of warmth and safety.

Steel clicked on flint and a bright spark flared into life, landing in the tinder and she dropped almost onto her belly to gently breathe life into it, praying to Gods she worried no longer listened that they would stretch out and grant her this tiny boon. Hope flared with the spark and then it went sullen and dwindled. "No. No no no no," she pleaded and breathed harder onto it, breath fogging in the chill morning. When it died she shut her eyes, eyes that once were white pools around dark depths of sensual intelligence and that were all too often reddened by smoke or lack of sleep, shut and she tensed her shoulders expecting a blow or a boot in her side.

When none came, she quickly got back onto her knees and beat the steel and flint together furiously, careless of how much flaked off, until from the shower of sparks she had enough that one of them must surely bring the fire to life. This time she was completely on her belly, blowing hard and never stopping until dancing flames flared and took hold of the rich sap for fuel. Almost giddily she looked up, chin smeared with mud, looked up for the eyes of her husband hoping for a smile of praise or a nod of gratitude but he was turned away, his eyes searching the forest for the keys to a future that eluded him. Almost she reached out to him, to attempt again to convince him, implore him!, to give up his stubborn insistence on remaining in this wretched, dark and cold forest and instead go with her to her father's empire and there raise armies, armies that this primitive land could never stand against, and restore him to his throne. There would be the matter of the faith but her orthodoxy was not so different from his? He could see it was the same Gods, only different priests and rituals and names.

Almost she reached for him but her hand went to her mouth instead as the nausea in her belly threatened to spill her secret. No no no no no she said again, but silently in her woman's heart. Afraid she'd vomit and reveal her secret and quench the nascent fire, Vesta closed her other hand hard around the flint until the sharp edges of it cut into her hand and the sweet sting of the pain she controlled shoved the nausea back. Still her jaws were locked as she sat up on her heels and continued to feed it larger and larger sticks until it was a proper fire.

"The fire is lit," she told him, back to her husband. "I'll check the snares. I need to make my water," Vesta said and rose without waiting for an answer. For all she was growing dangerously thin, and she'd been lithe to begin with, for all her bruises and her ragged clothing Vesta stood straight and with the grace bred into her through centuries of patrician rule and her walk in the clumsy boots was sure footed and feminine. A double dozen yards into the woods, then a double dozen more and she stopped, looked around, then carefully brushed leaf mold from the forest floor. Two recently dug spots, barely as big as a man's thumb print, showed lighter colored in the dark floor. One was barren, like she'd been the prior two years as his wife.

The other showed the proud green shoot of a blooming acorn. Vesta looked at it for a moment, as if staring could make it go away, then stood up and ground her heel against both spots until they were obliterated. It was not the first time she'd done this woman's magic, letting her morning water soak a spot of ground where she'd planted a seed, then placing an unwatered one near it. Essences of her fertility, of her long absent fecundity, coaxed the watered seed into sprouting while its twin lay dormant. That, the tightness in her breasts, and the sickness she'd started to feel in the mornings were all signs she was pregnant. Her courses had stopped as well but that wasn't uncommon on a starvation diet she knew.

She was pregnant. Her hands cradled her still flat belly.

After two years of hiding the reason for her seemingly barren womb from him, from her husband and her Prince, a child grew inside of her body and offered the promise of succession.

A child that she was certain was not, could not be, that of her husband Prince Aicanassë Larenzac of Ostavia. She knew, knew in her heart of hearts, who the child belonged to and it wasn't the legion of soldiers who had raped her.

The father of the cuckoo child in her womb was the Usurper and now King of Ostavia, Aica's uncle.

Almost she drove her bunched fists against her belly, as if she could force the child growing inside her to miscarry, but Vesta could never bring herself to do so. Call it motherly instinct, call it compassion, call it cowardice but she could not harm the child even though it was a bastard and offered a new level of ruin and sorrow to herself and to her marriage to Aica.

"You'll let him go," she said, standing in a tower window looking down into the courtyard where Aica was tied into an oxen yoke, the weight of it and the kicks of his guards forcing him to his knees.

"No," the Usurper replied, coming to stand behind her, one thick fingered hand calloused by the sword resting on her slender shoulders, the fingers pushing into Vesta's graceful collarbones. "But I won't have him killed either. Or tortured. House arrest, this room if you desire, and you can stay with him. Warm his bed and console him in his grief until he comes to terms with his new station in life." His other hand rested on her hip and she closed her eyes.

"I have your word?" She turned, feeling his hand slip down to her ass and cup it possessively, touching that which had only ever belonged to her husband. "I have your word?" she asked again, desperate to believe the answer.

"As a king," he replied.

It would have been easier if he was a monster, or fat, or weak featured but he was a burly man, a soldier and a leader, and his face as handsome as a demon in a girl's daydreams. The distinctive eyes, so different from anyone else in the royal family, were intelligent and gleamed with lust, but a lust that had purpose and patience.

Searching them, Vesta saw, or wanted to see, truth and so it was her hands, not his, that slipped the priceless silk gown from her shoulder to pool around her feet, and it was her knees that touched the floor as she knelt, knelt to kiss his hand and the royal signet. It was her eyes that looked up at him, seemingly as tall as the Gods themselves, then looked down as her fingers undid the laces of his breaches to pull him out. It was her mouth, her traitor mouth that made the agreement she should have known would never be honored, that took his cock into it and worshipped it to life.

The cock that had put this bastard in her belly before he tossed her to his soldiers for the final act in his play of lust, betrayal, and murder.

The collar dampened her magic. It also dampened a secret that only the women of her family knew; none of them who could call the Gods magic through their bodies could bear a child so long as it coursed through them. There were ways to hold it at bay long enough to conceive and to bear a child to term, collars like the one she wore but far more elegant and passed off as fertility charms never to be removed until birth. It was the Usurper's fear of her magic that allowed his seed to find her egg and make life. His collar that protected his soldiers from the fury of her abused and raped body.

She screamed. Oh how she screamed through the first few invasions, then cried and sobbed through the next until a resigned calm took her. Oh she still wept, she still screamed especially when they took to sodomizing her, but it was from a distant place far, far away from where her soul and mind went. It was only when she felt her weak, battered and violated body being pulled up off the rack where they'd raped her that it returned.

Fury, fury and the need for vengeance animated her then, no magic, though some of the soldiers stood back. Vesta had shoved them off with a strength she shouldn't have possessed and stood tall and proud before her husband and her defilers. Cum and blood streaked her thighs and belly and she reached between her legs to cup a palmful if it before slinging it in an arc towards her abusers, then spitting after it. "Witness my oath! I will have my vengeance in this life or the next upon all of you! All of you! All of you!" She was still screaming her defiance when one of them cracked the butt of his spear across her skull, dropping her almost lifeless so she could be placed in the bag and thrown into the sea below.

Vesta, just Vesta now, shook off the memories and knelt to do the business she'd told her husband, once a prince but now a man reduced to naught.

The snare was empty too. Vesta untied it and brought it back with her, not saying anything as she put it onto the cloak with the rest of their belongings.

"Husband, please," she implored, putting her hands on his sword arm. "Please let us go to the East, to my father, and seek his help." Vesta's eyes looked into his and implored him to agree this time. "We can be there before winter. I'll show you the baths I spoke of, and the libraries, and a thousand other wonders. Please let us go and stop this wandering."

 

[Whispered Secret]

“By the gods,” a tiny head popped up and peered down over the side of the squirrels nest she had been sharing for the night. The earthy scent of decaying foliage filled her sences, along with the musky fragrance of her jittery pillow. Her long silky tresses were a knotted mess, small leaves and tiny sticks, originally a part of the warm fuzzy creatures home, were tangled within the blue black disarray. A few lost their grip on the fine strands and feel back into the soft nest when she shook her head and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

Staring down at the beautiful, if slightly downtrodden couple, she let out a huff of annoyance as they continued to argue. She crossed her legs, did the same with her arms and leaned over the edge to spy on her current obsession. Her sleeping companion joined her, sharing the warmth of his fur and quietly chattering his similar displeasure at being awaken in such an impolite manner. Pulling his long grey tail around her shoulder to ward off the frigid morning air, she snuggled in. The long curled tips of her wings were trembling slightly in the cold air and she welcomed the additional heat source. It was getting closer to winter and she should be stocking up it! Her little home was deep within an old gnarled oaks embrace and would be just as comfortable this winter as it had been the previous two winters, but she hadn’t acquired enough supplies to last her the entire season. Being alone in her solitary haven was bad enough for months on end, being alone and hungry wasn’t an ordeal she wanted to experience.

Forest sprites were the most unfamiliar of the Fay, normally staying completely hidden from anyone outside of their own population, and practically unknown to humankind. None of her Resolution left the forest they served for extended periods of time unless they traveled to other Resolutions looking for a mate. Most of a Sprite’s days were filled helping the trees and plant-life change, grow or regenerate. Autumn and spring being their most hectic cycles while summer and winter were spent playing with the creatures of the forest in the warm sun or hiding in their homes to pass the long cold days enjoying family and friends. They were safe within the sheltering sanctuary of the Angelmoss Woodlands. Well most of the time it was safe.

Hostile Fay, Ogres and Goblins and the like, were dangerous and always looking for a bite of tasty Sprite. Thankfully they stayed to the far North, closer to the mountains and rocky caves of Dankrock Peaks. The forests surrounding the peaks were overflowing with wild magic and attracted the more destructively inclined of her kind. But the Sprites thrived on playfulness and laughter and being mischievous. They were no match for their distant cousins in either aggression or strength. Their most successful strategy in staying safe from predators was to stay hidden, which they did as often as they could.

Alisa’s childhood had been filled with happy moments though. With none of their dangerous relative making a permanent home in their forest, most of her time had been spent fluttering through the canopy, chasing butterflies and tumbling with the other young Sprites. Being a bastard daughter had never held the same stigma as it did with the humans. The Sprite were free loving souls. Even after finding their life-mate, they often frolicked and enjoyed the pleasures of other partners, without jealousy or ill will. Though there had never been any bad feelings from within the Resolution for her mother keeping her father’s lineage secret, they had been suspicious.

She was Elisandra of the Angelmoss Woodland Resolution, bastard daughter of Alcyone and granddaughter of the longtime leaders Blathnat and Amaltheia. She has never suspected she was in anyway different than the others of her settlement, growing up with friends and family and a perfectly normal Sprite life. Her grandfather Blathnat had doted on Eli from the time her mother had brought her home.

A sad little smile filled her expression as she recalled how everyone had walked on eggshells so as not to provoke his temper. Always so strict with the Resolution, fearful of their safety and dealing out punishments that ensured he was seldom disobeyed. He had never been as heavy handed with her though, often letting her off with warnings when others would have faced more extreme punishments. She had been to young to realize the discontentment that treatment had stirred.

But again, that wasn’t what had lead to her seclusion. Those disastrous memories she hid under a hill of heavy rocks. The only time they managed to crawl out from under her stockpile was during her darkest hours. Late at night, after a long winter season. Her small arms hugging her knees up under her chin and her delicate translucent white wings hugging her entire body, she would pray for sleep to take her away from that cataclysmic day.

Her companions cute little ears wiggled and he darted off up the tree, no longer able to contain the naturally explosive energy of his kind. She giggled while watching him show off, zig-zagging up the tall stem then making a dare devil hop over to the next tree, so quick and agile he hardly disturbed a single leaf. Following a roadway only he recognized, he disappeared with a final bark of farewell.

Standing and stretching, wings vibrating with the exertion of her muscles, she walked around a little to warm up and work the stiffness out of her slender limbs. Eli could see the Princess on the ground, fighting to get the fire started, and crossed her fingers that she would succeed. The small pile of deadwood stacked so carefully seemed to fight her attempts, sputtering out before the tiny smolders in the tinder could properly ignite. Elisa watched the exhausted woman try to blow life into the dead flame and clucked her tongue with sympathy. After almost 2 years on her own she understood the disappointment of failure. When Vesta fought on, lowering herself completely into the dirt to accomplish her task, Elisandra’s admiration rose along with the smoky flames of fire.

Seeing the Princesses hope for recognition evaporate in the company of the prince, she quietly whispered her own words of praise into the wind, hoping at least their essence sooth her disappointment. Stating her next intentions the filthy royal, her clothing hanging off her undernourished body, walked further into the wood with more elegance and grace than Eli’s had ever seen before. She wanted to fly over and hug Vesta, wanted to give her a little compassion, but at the same time knew from herself...that compassion given at the wrong time could indeed break a person’s spirit entirely. Plus….Eli wasn’t quite ready to give herself up to the pair as of yet. Instead she fluttered over to a branch closer to the stoic prince, landing silently so she could continue her observations without fear.

Aica was just as strict and aggressive in his manner as her grandfather acted towards his people and she wondered if this was a trait often found in leaders. Eli had been following them for a few days now, so she had gained a little knowledge of their situation. Yes she had lived her entire life within the Ostavia Kingdom, but their rules and laws had never been her rules or laws. Elisandra didn’t care if the man below had ruled the land. Her people controlled the forest. And they were excellent at keeping the humans away from their territory.

The Sprite’s of the forest wreaked havoc and mayhem upon any humans invading their forest with ill intent. When every bush had sharp thorns to tear your skin, or hoards of ants overran your campsite, waking the camp residents with painful bites, people started talking about curses and hauntings. Thus became Angelmoss Woodlands, Bleakwood Vale in the eyes of the humans.

When first stumbling across the couple, Elisandra hadn’t recognized them. Their many loud and persistent discussions since had ensured she knew more than she might wish for. They rarely spoke civil to each other...more like sneered and argued. Even occasionally resorting to physical violence. She had watched them often at night, possible hoping to watch them pleasure each other, but though the prince held his princess in the safety of his arms, it never went further.

Watching the steadfast man stare off into the trees, looking for some sort of answer to his plight was addicting. Between the two of them, she found herself hoping and praying some sort of miracle would appear out of nowhere and assist them to reclaim the throne. Trails of grey smoke wound off the crackling fire. One found it’s way to Eli’s hiding spot making her emerald green eyes water and her nose twitch...stopping herself just before the twitch became a sneeze.

She must have made some slight sound, or the princes instincts were much finer than Eli thought because he turned and was suddenly looking into her direction of trees. He was a very handsome specimen,and so controlled, so tightly wound up, he seemed on the verge of exploding in a chaotic and violent rampage at any moment. How he kept it under such tight control fascinated her...and her mischievous nature was begging her to test that formidable restraint. Pulling her soft, pouting bottom lips threw her teeth, she wondered how far she could push until...yes, well never mind that.

“These are humans Eli, not sprites,” she told herself. “You need to get back to your tree and prepare. Leave them alone to solve their own issues.”

And yet she couldn’t. She just could not tear herself away from the royals. And anyway, her being in the vicinity and keeping an eye on them was sort of her job as a sprite. She needed to make sure they didn’t set fire to the entire forest. She was a guardian even if she didn’t reside with the rest of them. Nodding to herself, she let herself get away with the weak excuse and squirmed down into a little hollow in the branches. Vesta had returned, and she could hear the start of another annoying argument in which both of them completely ignored the other’s arguments. Digging a few sunflower seeds out of her satchel she sat back to watch the spectacle.

 

[BennyQ]

Aicanassë barely registered Vesta’s comments on the fire being lit. Despite commanding it, his mind had already focused to other issues. The usual issues. Not even a glance or a grunt of acknowledgement was spared to her, his energies focused upon the dwindling tools before him. Behind him the fire crackled and smoked. Birds chirped in the morning sun. A faint breeze would pick up and then fade at random occurrences, bringing with it the scent of pine and leaf. His stomach growled weakly. But none of it mattered. Aica cared and needed only one boon, one object that could help him take one more step towards his goal, the reclamation of his birthright and his desire for revenge.

Swords. Not just one for himself, but perhaps ten thousand of them. With men to wield them. He knew his uncle had not garnered his brother’s throne through conquest or trial of combat. It was through deception, through guile and malice, cutting off the head of the beast before the limbs could even react. The mighty army of Ostavia hadn’t even been aware until it was too late, their leaders and captains decapitated and replaced. Those few who had stood with the legitimate dynasty had died with them, loyal but too few.

A brief noise, uncharacteristic to the music of the forest around, came profoundly to his ears. Vesta he assumed. But it came behind him. Had she not wandered off eastwardly to do her deed? No, he would not be distracted by the games of his mind. It was nothing, he deemed.

Even before Vesta returned, Aica, his sharp grey eyes ever upon the cloak of meagre equipment, knew what she would say. She knew where ten thousand swords and more could be found. But could he ever behold himself to her family and people, to reclaim his throne for him? Never. Aica would never be indebted to a foreign ruler, for though he might end up wearing a crown, very easily could it be beaten into a collar much like his wife’s, to be leashed to the whims and desires of another. It didn’t matter if it was her father. He was his own man. He ruled himself. And he would accomplish this deed alone. How did she not understand that yet? His fury boiled even before she spoke, doing just that which he despised.

Vesta returned. Down came the empty rope and his stomach mournfully rumbled as the hope of breakfast faded like the passing wind. It fell silent, as if to allow his wife to speak without disruption.

She did speak, despite having proof of how he might react. She did speak, promising help, of a life of comfort and ease. She spoke…and dared to call him husband, that a wife of his should be so…incompetent. Aica at once jerked his arm away from her with violence, feeling more betrayal than comfort at the touch. “A thousand baths, a thousand libraries, ten thousand other wonders, I would still not go. This is my home. This is where I was born. And gods above and below, this is where I shall die. Go if it pleases you so much. Go, and do not deign to call me husband again.” Aica snapped, voice cold and hard, like the bite of the collar around her neck.

Yet for all this time, she had not left him. She could have. She had every right to do so. He failed her. He failed his family. Who was he now, but a broken man? Vesta stayed with him and he could not even appreciate her loyalty in full. He hit her. He took her sometimes as crudely as the man who violated her before his eyes. No, to Aica, only his desire for revenge and restitution figured into his mind. Why did she not understand that?

With the same promptness as before, violent and abrupt, he turned and suddenly seized upon her neck with a palm, no doubt pinching it even tighter around her neck as he drove her into the hard bark of the tree. “To think I have so cowardly a wife!” He snarled, temper blaring as keenly as the vicious light in his eyes, like the hue of budding storm clouds that threaten a violent thunderstorm. “You want to hide your face in baths, in a book, then go and do so! It is all I’ve seen you do, while others toiled and worked. You are soft and afraid. You disgrace me.” He mocked, releasing his grip on her and turning around, striding back towards the spread cloak, kneeling to pick up the snare. What did he know of poacher’s knots and such concepts? When he hunted, he did so with bow and arrow. But they did not have that. He was so hungry.

“Must you burden me with such craven thoughts?” Aica stated in a lower, more calm tone. “We cannot go to your lands. If you haven’t noticed, we are in the north of Ostavia. And nearest to your home is through the south-east. I will not pass through my lands and be idle while a usurper sits on my father’s chair and makes a mockery of my family. I cannot. Not again.” Aica said, voice suddenly shaking a little as he relived the dream, of that day, of what they did to her. Can she not see I do this for her sake as well?

“I will not go. I will stay until I have my revenge. Nothing else matters. Death in battle or by winter, it matters not. The difference is trivial. I am staying. But if you wish to go, then go. Break your sacred oath. I promise you will never have peace if you go.” Aica said, turning his eyes upon her, still kneeling by the cloak. He had dropped the rope snare, his hand now hovering near the hilt of an iron knife. Stubborn as ever. Defiant as ever. Aica would not leave. How many times did he have to tell her this? He did not grab the knife, but his hand balled into a fist as he glared at her. He was out of patience and had been for days, empty of it like their stomachs.

And why did it feel like they were being watched?

 

[AnnaBeth]

Not when he pushed her so hard into the tree she felt pieces of bark crumble off and gouge her through the rags she wore, not even when he choked her did Vesta's eyes flinch or show fear, even as her body tried to protect itself, hands scrabbling against the tree to push away from it, or on his wrist as his grasp denied her breath. Bruises, fresh atop old, would be her jewels today and a princess wore them with unassuming dignity. If that was all he had left, all he could muster, then wear them she would and pray that the gods give him more wealth to bestow on her the next day.

He named her coward but it was she who had seen him weep, there in the surf as she lay almost dead and him pierced through with a bolt, a bolt that she drew the next day, delicate hands pulling at the hardwood shaft and against the terrible suction of his muscles as he bit down hard on the wadded sack they'd tried to drown her in. She, a princess who had her own physicians back home, great learned men with magnificent and clever tools of bronze and ivory and draughts that took away pain or fever, she had performed the surgery, seen him scream out his agony, and not until it was over and he was passed out from the pain of it had she gone off to vomit and shiver like she had the ague. The next day she risked and received dozens of stings to bash down a bee's nest with rocks and stole a comb of their honey, comb she crushed between her delicate hands, feeling the still living larva interspersed with the golden filled cells writhe between her palms as she dripped the oozing honey into his wounds to keep infection at bay. She who stayed with him despite everything he did to her, every cruel act and hateful word, stayed with him too through all the things he could not do to her, like feed her or clothe her or offer her proper shelter.

And he called her coward. Called her an oathbreaker.

Vesta ignored the clenched fist her wielded and spat at his feet, glaring at him. "I swore two oaths, husband," she said, the word snarled out with contempt. "One as your wife and the other as the woman you couldn't protect from your own kin, from your own men who should even now be your soldiers and retainers. I swore I'd stand by you before your gods and mine, and I called upon those gods who we dare not give name to that I'd have my vengeance. One oath I honor every morning when I wake up and my only bed is the lie of the protection of your embrace! The other I will honor once you either snap out of this madness and listen to reason or die here in these woods, bones shot through with mushrooms and saplings that my father's armies grind into the dirt as they pass on their way to take back your throne in my name!"

Panting, light headed from the attack upon her and from her defiant words, Vesta felt dizzy and weak and only her resolve kept her upright though she swayed a half step back.

 

[Whispered Secret]

Elisa winced in sympathy both for the tree and for the princess as she felt the deep vibrations travel up the oak. Neither escaped the prince's wrath unscathed. They were having the same argument as the last many she had witnessed and it was getting rather tiresome to listen to, as well as boring. She could probably repeat the quarrel to herself word for word and not miss a single of their main aspects.

Taking a last sunflower seed and popping it into her mouth she smiled at the thought. Maybe she would spend a few of the long nights in her tree with puppets made of chestnuts and twigs...moss for the prince's hair and a few soft under feathers of a raven for the princess’s. Have them bickering at one another over everything and anything.

“Husband this fish is soggy!” she mimicked Vesta’s voice quietly while making her one hand talk.

“Wife! This fire lacks heat, of course the fish is soggy!” her right hand responded in as deep a squeaky voice as she could manage.

Both her hands flew to cover her mouth as a fit of giggles escaped, ducking behind and under branches to avoid being seen. Elisa’s face scrunched up in disgust when her toes sank into a pile of rotted leaves, releasing the soothing fragrance of autumn, but so slimy and cold between her toes she immediately wanted to dance around chanting “Yuck, yuck, yuck, ew...”

She lifted off and flew high into the oak where her complaints wouldn’t be overheard. Falling to her butt, she lifted her bare foot around so she could see the grime covering it. Pulling a silky green leaf from the tree she tried to work the dead foliage out from between her tiny toes...biting her lip to keep from yanking her foot out of her own grasp when the leaf tickled the bottom of her toes. Finally, between mutters of disgust and snorts of soft giggles, her feet was as clean as it was going to get. For a moment the knot of soft slightly curled hair on top the prince’s head came to her mischievous mind, but she dismissed the thought before it could mature into an idea that would get her into trouble.

Elbows on her knees, hands keeping her chin up, she sat and tried to figure out a way to help them get some food. They were so hungry she could practically hear their bellies screaming out for sustenance. The princess especially was getting close to collapsing Eli thought. She hadn’t missed the stumbles of the normally so graceful and agile woman. She wasn’t prone to clumsiness like Elisandra was so the signs of such had to mean she was reaching her limits.

There was no way for Elisa to bring them food enough for a proper meal, well none she was willing to do anyway, but there had to be something. Her feet tapped quietly on the thick branch, wingtips twitching and her dark wavy locks bobbing as she listened and swayed to the forests song as it competed with the royals...trying to come up with anything that would provide at least a modicum of assistance.

She couldn’t bring them anything significant enough to ease their hunger but maybe there was a way to lead them somewhere that would give them a better chance and finding something for themselves. There were several abandoned camps deep in Angelmoss if one knew where to find them, and she just happened to know exactly where they were. When her people chased off intruders there were always campsites left with abandoned tools and items the humans might find useful. She would just find some way to lead them there. Maybe she needed to take the time and examine the nearest one first, ensure something of import might be found there.

Climbing between the thick tree limbs, covered in leaves of oranges, reds and yellows. The colors of autumn already prominent. Elisandra peeked down at the humans, blowing out a sharp breath in frustration as she shook her head.

“Feeding them will get them to shut up...it worked with the young ones in the Resolution at least,” she muttered to herself.

They would survive the day alone while she explored. She would be back before nightfall and was sure she could easily find where ever they decided to bed down for the night. Hopefully she will have thought of a way to start guiding them to a campsite by morning.

Hopping and fluttering from branch to branch, the sprite made her way to an opening on the far side, away from what she was beginning to think of as her charges, and flew off into the chill morning air, her wings a mere blur as they propelled her forward.

 

[BennyQ]

Deadly coldness swept through Aicanassë at Vesta’s words. She reminded him of his failure, mocked him for his inability, then dared to cite his powerlessness to do anything. As if she could do better. He rose from where he crouched, both hands clenched into fists at his sides, shuddering with barely controlled rage. Heat flushed out the coldness of his body, a fire lit within him that fueled him and his thoughts to violent ends. His embrace she claimed was a lie. His refusal to abandon his home was somehow madness. But her final remark, as betraying and shameful as it was to request the aid of another sovereign, was not the straw to break the camel’s back.

No…it was the laughter. Vesta was…laughing at him.

It seemed so faint, like the mockery cowards spoke under their breath in hushed tones, smiling cruelly at other’s misfortunes. She dared to do it, to him. He turned, uncaring that some weakness seemed to be over Vesta. He sprang with deadly speed, like a snake in the grass, at her. His hands caught her by the fabric of her shoulders and with a mighty heave, shoved her back hard into the base of the trunk. There was no sympathy as her head cracked against the bark. His own fist followed but did not strike her, hitting the trunk very near to her head with a loud crack. Pain shot up through his arm but he did not care, indeed mad with fury.

“I curse then those very same Gods whom we do not name then! I curse the pathetic little wife with whom they have attached me with! I curse her and the hours she spent reading and buried in her witchcraft! I curse her father for breeding such a stupid little child!” Aica roared at her, grabbing her by the hair and raising his arm as if to strike her hard across her face for her mocking words. For a moment he hung there, as still as a statue, before his arm fell and he shoved her head aside. “I should have left you in that sack to die of suffocation. But I did not. My protection is a lie to you then? Then go. Go to your father and ask for his armies.” Aica sneered at her, turning on his heel and going to fetch the poacher’s rope, as well as pocketing the two knives he had.

“Leave me, I don’t care. I am going to provide, as I always have, and if I shall return and find this campsite empty, I will know I no longer have a wife. Go, go to your father and bring his armies. I shall crush them all the same when I’ve retaken my throne, alone. I will add their bones to this forest and not think twice about the traitorous bitch they latched to me.” Taking the rope, Aica didn’t even glance at her as he stalked off into the forest, heading towards the river. He was furious and made no further sound, though his mind was a panoply of hatred, images of revenge upon all who wronged him…and regret. Yes, regret was there, a constancy in his mind, a regret that he had to act this way with the woman who should have been his companion, in this life and the next. Aica wished it did not have to be this way.

It took him many hours. Morning turned to noon and noon began to dwindle into evening, which came earlier and earlier as summer faded and autumn passed. His poacher’s knot failed, twice, watching from concealed bushes as two rabbits came into the trap…and escaped without springing it. The third, Aica emerged and threw his knife instead, missing. The fourth he was more lucky, catching it in the midsection and springing upon it to wrench it’s neck, killing it. Only his determination brought on by the fury of his argument with Vesta allowed him to act with such deadly ruthlessness and efficiency. But now they had a meal, the best since their last catch a week ago. A nice change of pace from roots and berries.

He retuned to the campsite, holding the creature by its ears, dropping it by the fire where he could skin it later. But first…Vesta. She had not gone. Why, he did not know, still not grasping the beautiful woman he had, not of appearance but of mind and heart. Yet it made him elated in heart to see her here. And he did appreciate her remaining, marching right towards her and grabbing her, around the neck, pulling her close to him. His embrace was a lie she said? Well he still did it, one arm holding her tight. It was as close as an apology he would give. His fingers then explored the back of her head where he had thrown her against the tree, feeling for her injury, to see if she was bleeding. She was not. He kissed her forehead next, silent as ever, stroking her hair momentarily but never making eye contact with her. Then he turned away from her, going back to his catch with his knives, moving to skin it.

“We need more deadwood.” Aica finally said, as he began to open up the dead rabbit’s fur. He could make a spit now, above the fire, where they could roast the flesh. It was not enough though, not even for one person. And they had no plates, utensils, or seasoning. Like barbarians, they would eat it with their fingers, juices and fat staining them. But this was their life…until Aica finally would listen to Vesta’s reason and move on.

 

[AnnaBeth]

Humors, those mysterious potencies in the blood, were ever out of balance in Aica's veins. If only her physician was here he could put the ivory box with its tiny spinning saws powered by springs and near painlessly open them, bled him and take out Aica's blood until his phlegmatic and sanguine, his choleric and melancholic were back in balance as the gods and nature intended. If only she knew how to tell the difference, to see at a glance which was which like the physicians did, she'd plunge her arm into any of the small ponds until a leech attached then winkle it loose and onto his arm while he slept and watched as it swelled and drained him of the poisons. It was the humors, she prayed, not him that made Aica strike her then caress her tenderly, apologizing in his way with the gentleness he was capable of. The whirlwind of his love for her as much as her oath kept her from ever leaving him, no matter how much she threatened it. It was only to provoke him, to try and drive him to reason and safety that she became shrewish. Surely he saw that too?

Wordlessly she enjoyed his brief embrace, her eyes shut in what small pleasure it gave her seeming magnified by their condition, and longed for more when he left.

"I'll gather it." Her eyes were as hungry as her belly, watching briefly as he started to butcher the rabbit, mouth salivating at the thought of how it would taste. Once she'd have been disgusted to watch it, now she could do it herself if not as well as him. What they needed was a bowl or a pot, so they could make a soup of it and boil the marrow and its fat and vitamins out of the bones.

It was going dark already, the gloomy forest giving over to night, and she hurried. All of the wood nearby was either damp or too big for her to carry but up ahead, just out of sight of their camp, she saw a nice fall of it, partially sheltered by a thick needled pine that would have kept it dry. Vesta began to gather it, right hand stacking it in her left arm and not caring about the scratchy itch of it, that meant it was dry and well seasoned - Aica would be pleased. She was just about to turn and walk back when...

Wood clattered to the ground and she fled back to the camp site, seizing Aica's arm. "A fire," she hissed, worried and excited by equal parts. "There's someone else with a fire," she said and pointed.

 

[Whispered Secret]

The dilapidated site Elisandra had found should at least hold one or two treasures Aica and Vesta would find useful in one way or another. Every few years, one of the villages that edges Angelmoss would once again gather the courage to enter the woods with a hunting party. Usually it was their desperation around the end of winter’s season that re kindled their bravery, and though the sprites understood the desperate need to appease hunger, they also understood the human tendency to take the easiest path. If they allowed them to hunt the forests during lean seasons, there would suddenly be humans littering the forest constantly, looking for an easy meal, instead of putting in the work to replenish their own stockpiles.

The remnants of a campfire was still visible, though overgrown with moss and vines. It would normally take a lot of work to dig down to the rotted dry wood but with a few whispers, the delicate curls and swirls along Elisa's skin lit up and the vegetation slowly started to creep back, creating a small cleared area around the pit.

“Perfect,” she muttered to herself as her markings faded and she was already moving on to her next task. She wouldn’t light the fire until everything else was ready. Looking around, her small hands resting on her hips, she let out a heavy breath. It was going to be a long day.

Flittering around, clearing the campsite and gathering a few odd and ends she felt might be useful, Eli was in truth enjoying herself. It was hard work, but she felt a sense of purpose that she hadn’t felt in a long time. It was an awful thought, but Eli was kind of thankful for the tragedy that had sent Aica and Vesta stumbling across her path.

“That is a terrible thought Elisandra!” she scolded herself, even going so far as to pinch herself, as a small punishment for the selfish thought. No, she wasn’t thankful for their trials, but she was grateful to have found the royals. Both of them were fascinating and she could spend days watching them, trying to figure out their behavior and moods.

Even at what she believed was their worst moments, both had a regal bearing and elegance she would never be able to mimic. Elisa knew this, because she had tried on several occasions and failed magnificently! She wanted to show with her posture and walk, the confidence Vesta projected without the slightest thought, but had to finally concede defeat. After a day of furred and feathered friends tittering with amusement at her every endeavor she decided to give it up entirely, what did a sprite need with elegance anyway, she could fly that was much better!

Grimacing a little at the memory of her failure, Elisa suddenly caught a movement from the corner of her eye. Turning, she spotted the sprite scout and returned his steady stare, waiting for some sort of reaction. She knew the resolution had been keeping an eye on her, but usually they were much more discreet. Every so often Eli would catch sight of a wing sparkling in the sunlight, or a leg disappearing in between the leaves but they never spoke to her, just observed her and reported back.

Eli knew the only reason the sprites had left the prince and princess alone so far was because they knew she was close and watching the couple already. She wasn’t sure what would happen once the scout reported back to her grandfather that she was taking her contact with them even further.

The male darted off once again, without even a nod of acknowledgement, and disappeared with a fluttering of wings into the tree canopy. Eli released the pent of breath she hadn’t even realized she was holding, and found a soft moss covered stone to relax on for a moment, dismissing the male sprite from her mind for now.

She was starving and looking forward to a dinner of her favorite treat. The wild raspberries she had found were perfect this time of year. Plump and full of juice, one berry filled her hand like a large apple would fill Vesta’s. She had flown back and forth to the berry loaded bush dozens of times to create a small pile of the bright red and dark blue fruit as a treat for the couple. Along with the berries a few wild onions and mushrooms added to the small heap of edibles.

Looking longingly at the lush berry in her hand for a few seconds, she sighed and put it away for the moment. Eating raspberries was messy for a sprite. She would end up covered in sticky berry juice and need to wash before accomplishing anything further. It was close to nightfall now and Elisa needed to get the fire going or her plan to lure the royals over to the new location would never work.

Elisandra would need to time everything perfectly. There wasn’t a lot of deadwood left in the firepit, and she had only been able to add twigs and small branches before her muscles had started trembling with overexertion. If she lit the fire too early and they didn’t notice it, it could burn out completely and she’d have to give up her plan for the night.

Lifting her feet and wiggling her toes in the cool moss, Elisa waited impatiently.

 

[BennyQ]

The growling of his stomach seemed almost as loud as the whistling wind through the branches above as Aicanassë carved the fur from the rabbit. It was modestly fat, well fed from plenty of vegetation and firm with muscle. His hands had a faint smear of red, brow furrowed in determination. He could already imagine the slick juices of fat running down his fingers and jaw when they finally consumed its roasted flesh. But that didn’t seem to be the case for much longer when Vesta came fleeing back, grabbing his arm with a frightened desperation and whispering her warning.

A fire. A fire meant people. People, in this part of the woods, from their experience, was usually robbers, bandits, or outlaws. Or worse, my Uncle’s men.

He didn’t answer Vesta. He grabbed the rabbit by its ears, wrapped it up in the cloak used as a sack, and handed it to Vesta, before taking her arm and moving into the woods, shifting parallel to the fire to try and catch a glimpse of some silhouette of individuals there. But there was nothing. Not even a sound, except for the crackling of wood. Strange that one would leave a fire unattended in the woods. Perhaps they were away. Perhaps…they were already forming a circle and net around the exiled Prince and Princess to capture them.

Aica brought Vesta to another broad tree trunk and crouched. He drew out both his knives, taking the longer one for himself and giving the shorter to Vesta. Still, he said nothing but the advice he had once given her the last time they were assaulted still fluttered in his memory. Worst comes to worst…use it on yourself. He couldn’t stand the thought of her being raped and abused again. Not again. Never again.

For a short time, Aica just watched. He observed, thinking someone might return. If they were dangerous, perhaps he could ambush them instead. If they were just harmless travelers…Aica would leave them alone. He would never beg for help from any other. But if they were soldiers, fighters, killers, he had no qualms about giving that to them in which they sought to give out. But when a quarter hour had passed with no activity save the dwindling dancing of the tongues of fire, Aica lurched to his feet. “Stay close.” He whispered to Vesta and moved towards the fire.

Before they reached it, in the shadow of a nearby tree, he drew Vesta close once more and pecked her lightly on the side of her forehead. It might be their last.

A hum of thoughtfulness emitted from the back of his mouth when they neared. The campsite…seemed old. The firepit was no rudimentary construct but dug into the ground like a pit, ensuring longevity of the red flower within. Twisted branches that once formed a greater whole lay in ruins around, small dens where one could sleep. But most interesting was the pile of berries, onions and mushrooms strewn together. Strange indeed that one would leave a meal and fire unattended, so openly in the woods. It had to be a trap. Aica immediately stood to his full height, a good head taller than Vesta, and his grey eyes scanned the growing shadows about them.

“Does it feel like we’re being watched?” He did not seem to notice the little sprite, for he did not even comprehend that such a creature existed, let alone filter into his mind of things to watch out for. The blade of the knife gleamed with reflection from the fire, as if eager for the blood that might soon coat its length.

 

[AnnaBeth]

She only had eyes for the bounty of food by the fire.

Weak, so terribly week from months of malnourishment and not just lack of food but lack of the right kinds of food had taken its toll. Vesta could taste the raspberries in her mouth, the sweetly tart tang of them and it made her jaws ache with a fierce clenching sting that brought saliva to flood her mouth. Aica wouldn't notice the hand she put over her stomach, a maternal gesture older than time herself as she imagined the new life inside of her stirring happily for the promise of a meal that it would strip from her blood and body to build its own. Aica's kiss, that loving gesture in a desperate moment further made Vesta's head spin and she too rose, then dropped the knife he'd pressed into her hand. Gathering her skirts like a girl she ran, stumbling and falling once then scrabbling the rest of the way on her hands and knees until she fetched up at almost eye level to the pile the sprite had so laboriously gathered.

Taste exploded in her mouth as she bit into two raspberries, just two. It wasn't willpower that restrained her but clumsy, shaking fingers that sent the rest of them scattering. Crying, her brown eyes shut and tears streaking tracks in the dirt on her face, she who had been a princess of the East knew a joy that gold and gems and power could never have brought her as she knelt in rags, a bastard in her belly, and the sweet taste of late summer raspberries in her mouth.

Crying openly, Vesta sat back on her heels and turned to look back at Aica but the tears blurred her vision. Brushing at them with the backs of her hands she saw clearly enough to wave at him. "Aica!" she shouted, not caring, not even thinking about being found. "Aica, there's..." Squealing she caught sight of something and pushed to her feet, taking a few stumbling steps before bending down and picking something from the leaf mold. It was a helmet, rusted and with a dent but still intact. As she lifted it a skull minus its jaw rolled out of it and bounced at her feet, leering upside down at her from its new grave on the ground. It should have been horrible, something she'd have stepped around but all she could think of was what a wonderful pot it would make. A pot to cook the onions and mushrooms and the rabbit and the rich, rich marrow of the bones and how she and her baby and her husband would be able to survive that much longer.

Waving it over her head, she laughed past her tears. "Aica! It's a pot! We can make a stew!"

Why wasn't he coming to her?

 

[Whispered Secret]

Elisa finally got the fire burning and quickly stepped back. No sprite was particularly happy with open flames. The powerful element could do so much damage, especially in a forest. Being fearful of it was completely logical. The way some humans disregarded the dangers, was just one more reason for the sprites to protect the woodlands. The devastating fallout the element could cause when out of control would easily destroy their home. She had to admit though, it was beautiful to watch as flickering tongues of orange, red and yellow, danced off the glowing embers, reaching up into the dusky sky.

Smiling over her own thoughts, Elisa danced and twirled her way around the warming circle of light until a quiet bark from a nearby tree broke off her spontaneous prancing. Stumbling on a last step, she scowled up at one of her furry friends.

“Maybe a little warning next time please! I could have fallen into this death trap and then what would happen? I’d be dead..well maybe not right away but it would hurt,” with an exaggerated huff Eli proceeded to dust herself off. “So they are coming? It’s about time...I’m getting hungry to.”

Fluttering back over to the mossed stone and her satchel she made herself comfy and awaited their arrival.

And waited...and waited...and waited.

“Where are they?” Elisandra let loose her fiercest frustrated growl, which more resembled the mewling of a kitten then one of it’s larger cat relatives, before throwing up her arms and stomping over to the edge of the clearing. They should be arriving from around this spot. Just as she was about to step into the forest both Vesta and Aica came into view about 15 feet to her left. They stood quietly for a moment and both appeared anxious, as if they might be attacked at any moment. Eli finally realized why they were being so cautious. She should have guessed that they would be fearful of other humans in the woods and not expecting her. Just because she knew them, they did not yet know of her existence.

She was just about to call attention to herself when Vesta practically ran over her to get to the food Eli had collected. A fast backstep saved her neck, but not her backside when she landed hard, falling back with a puff of dust and a disgruntled “oof”.

“That’s the second time I’m on my ass today damn it…” Elisandra muttered to herself, watching Vesta crawl the last foot to the food. Seeing the tears fall down the princesses lovely face almost brought tears to her own, though watching her lift a dirty old skull and talk about preparing a meal in it brought forth a wrinkled nose instead. But even with tears streaking down her cheeks, Elisa found Vesta beautiful. Her cultivated elegance obvious, even while lifting the macabre remains like a prized trophy.

Aica was looking around suspiciously though, still obviously worried about trouble catching him off guard. It was probably time to show herself, to let them know they weren’t in any danger here. Seeing that it was just her, a completely non dangerous entity, would surely ease his fears.

With a shimmering blur of wings, the sprite flew straight up in front of Aica, hovering not a foot from his face. In her rush to finally say hello to the humans she had been stalking, she never even noticed the knife held ready in his hand. She was too busy smiling, her pale blue eyes catching on the single long strand of silky hair, playing in the breeze around Aica’s head. The escaped rope the only part of his person not under his rigid control.

“Hello Price Aicanassë, I’m El...heyy!! Now just wait..nonono...I’m..” Elisandra squealed and tumbled back in the breeze away from the deadly knife suddenly swinging in front of her. She flew higher, her eyes never straying from the weapons keen blade, her anger growing with every moment.

“Overgrown foolish lubberwort!! Have you lost all sense??!” Elisa shouted down at the Prince, zipping into the branches of a nearby tree and carefully yanking a chestnut from the branch, the nut still deep within it’s bright green encasing. “Dense, ungrateful cretin!” the sprite returned to speed around the prince in a cloud of outrage, her markings glowing bright just as she dropped the prickly green nut onto his head when he looked up at her. Chattering from within the tree's canopy gained in strength as several animals joined in on the scolding.

Folding her arms and swooping back up onto a thick branch she turned to the princess.

“Your husband is brain-addled Princess Vesta!! A foul tempered miscreant with absolutely no manners!” hopping down and landing beside in the dirt beside her, she walked over and grabbed a tasty raspberry, taking a huge bite. She no longer cared if she resembled a rabid creature from some poor child's nightmare, the red juice dripping down her chin.

She made sure to keep the princess between her and the prince while she ranted...she was angry, but she hadn’t completely lost her wits. Pointing across the fire to Aica, she made sure he understood her thoughts on his behavior.

“Miscreant…” nodding so he understood she was serious she finished off her berry and dried the worst off her hands, turning once more to address Vesta. I’m going to bed, it’s been a long day. I’ll come down again in the morning…” tilting her head over her shoulder indicating towards Aica, “at least I will if he stops trying to skewer me.”

The little sprite disappeared deep into the trees branches, deciding she’d had all she could take of humans for one day. Maybe she should just leave them and return to her home. Prepare and bed down for the coming winter.

 

[BennyQ]

“Vesta, wait, it could be…” Aica began to state, as his wife broke off in a desperate run towards the pile of food. ...poisoned. No, he still believed it was a trap and he watched with frustrated eyes as his wife forgot her pristine dignity to fill her belly first. His own rumbled in protest, wondering why he stood so idle when there was food just ahead. Because it’s a trap. Because it’s… Again, Vesta interrupted him with another brash action, pulling out an old helmet, of a style not used since his grandfather’s day, with the skull and all falling out as she removed it. Aica watched it roll passively, before returning his eyes to his wife. Her recklessness was starting to get on his nerves and in those days, it didn’t take much to tick him off. A pot? In a helmet that had a decomposing head for what, fifty plus years…? Gods, this woman…

Then something else caught his attention. He heard it before it appeared, head jerking to one side, to present his ear to catch the sound more keenly if he could.

And then it finally revealed itself, right before him. Right. Infront. Of. His. Face.

Aica’s first reaction was instinctive. Something strange, uncertain, and very unnatural to the realities he understood was before him. He didn’t see a beautiful creature with lovely wings. He saw a threat. He snarled, jerked back, and swung his knife wildly in a defensive move. It was only fortunate the creature was so small and fast, or else it would be dismembered in various bits and pieces on the forest floor. It, or rather her, flew up ahead and Aica twirled the knife in his fingers, grasping it by the point with the handle up, one arm ahead of him for balance and aim. He was going to fling it…

But it spoke to him, flying off into a tree. Aica remained motionless, ready to fling the knife if he could, but watchful and not the least bit curious. What is she? She speaks, she flies, she is as big as my finger...I don’t understand…

Then she dropped a chestnut on his head. She called him names. Him, Prince Aicanasse Larenzac, which she also seemed to know! The nut bounced off his head and he growled like a feral creature. He reared back and threw the knife at her...missing by a decent margin and striking a tree behind her with a thud. He stood there, fists clenched, listening as she continued to mock and insult him...to his wife! “Miserable fly.” Aica muttered under his breath, moving to the tree trunk and removing his knife, striding towards Vesta where the creature was hiding behind. It took off into the trees again, citing it would return in the morning.

He was having none of that.

“Come back here!” He roared, following it to the base of the tree and kicking it futilely. “If you know who I am then you know these woods are apart of my domains and territories. Therefore, I own them and any who dwell within it are under my rule. So come back here and answer for this…” Aica said, sweeping his arm over the campsite. “What witchcraft or trickery is this? What did you do the previous inhabitants? If you don’t come down and answer me truthfully...then I’ll set fire to your very tree! Come down. Down!” Aica demanded, kicking the tree again, shaking it slightly and dislodging a few leaves.

“Little fly.” He grumbled, turning and shaking his head, striding to the fire and sitting down beside it. He didn’t understand this but he wasn’t going to pass up on a warm fire and harvested berries, if Vesta hadn’t consumed it all. “Ignore that creature.” He said, grabbing her wrist and pulling her towards him. “Wash out that helmet and wash it out good. It could be diseased terribly if you want to use it as a pot.” He grumbled, opening the sack and taking out the rabbit, which he would finish skinning. He reached over to grab a handful of the berries, juices smearing his hand, as he stuffed them all into his mouth and chewed furiously. He kept glancing over his shoulder, as if expecting the sprite to do something terrible when their backs were turned.

“Probably put a spell over us when we’re asleep. We shouldn’t stay here.” He grumbled again to Vesta. And whose side was she on now?

 

[AnnaBeth]

Tiny, as tiny as a mouse though instead of sleek grey or brown fur covering her she was clad in forest green, too small to make out the details from where Elisandra was on the ground, and she had the most beautiful gossamer wings.

Raised in a culture where women were allowed, encouraged, to educate themselves Vesta had spent entire days talking to priests and scholars, both ones that roamed the great library and others who she simply had brought in off the streets after being borne on a litter through the bazaar and hearing them talk. Sometimes the dissonance of their teachings, teachings that not only contradicted one another but outright called the other foolish, made Vesta question everything she knew and believed. Other times they painted such compelling truths in her head that even though there was no proof to be held in ones hand it settled in her heart as right and correct. It was from this corner of her heart that the princess' mistaken understanding of Elisandra sprang.

The beautiful, enchanting girl-creature was a dryad. She lived in the forest, probably in the tree amongst whose branches she had vanished, she was beautiful and nymph like and magical and protected her forest and knew it as Vesta knew her childhood palace and Aica his palace. It was she, smaller likely than the bastard in Vesta's belly, who had labored to gather the food for them, to start the fire, to lead them to this place and deliver this bounty. And Aica, in his affronted anger, had been kicking her home! Kicking her tree and not being properly grateful for what she had done. And he wanted her to ignore the dryad?

Confronting him head on, not something she normally shied away from, wasn't a battle she had the energy for right now. Nor was she able to think properly, her hunger and exhaustion making her feel thick and slow and to harbor other dark thoughts, such as when she'd almost turned and attacked Aica for taking so many of the raspberries. Though she knew his actions were borne of the same hunger that gnawed at her, and how she truly understood that phrase now, she still wanted to pick up a burning log from the fire and smash it across his face to defend her food, the food she and her baby needed! Intellectually Vesta knew that they should share, and if Aica was able to hunt better and provide better than he deserved more food, but survival and maternal instinct made Vesta want to kill him. Fortunately in the face of hunger all other emotions soon dulled and withered off, leaving only a listlessness in their wake.

"Yes, Aica," she agreed, though to what specifically was known only to her. "The stream is there. I will be go do it. If we let the water boil and say a prayer of cleansing over it then any humors or ague will be driven away then we can cook the soup." Heavy helmet in both hands, Vesta left the campsite.

"Forgive him," she said quietly by the stream, head tilted up to the branches above as she scoured the inside of the helmet with a handful of pebbles and sand. Other than dirt from the forest, and leaves, the helmet was clean. The skull had been long, long fleshless and she doubted any sickness lurked but still she did as Aica commanded, if only to have the chance to talk quietly to - at - the dryad. "Please forgive him, Hamadryad or her sister as you may be. He is weak, as i am, from hunger and a dark cloud hangs over his head. He's not going to harm your forest and he will be as grateful for your bounty as I am." Listening, and getting no response, Vesta could wait no longer and returned with the freshly cleaned helmet, now full of water as well, to the camp.

"Aica," she said, "you're so clever about things. So good at making things. Could you devise some way to keep the pot," she slightly lifted the helmet away from where it rested in her cradled arms, "from tipping over while the fire heats it?"

And hurry, her mind demanded, hungrier than ever for food now that it was laid before her but not yet prepared. Just the sight of the tubular green leaves left on the onions made her mouth water, body if not mind knowing the rich nutrients that they contained.

 

[Whispered Secret]

Elisandra lay along a gnarled branch, peeking through the trees as the humans went about the campsite, rushing to get their food prepared. She had seen the look of angry disappointment Vesta had hidden from Aica when he stuffed his face with the remaining berries. She was going to show the princess where the berry bush was hidden so she could eat her fill before the prince awoke in the morning.

Smiling at the thought of Aica’s face when he opened his eyes to the sight of the two females, their faces stained in berry juice and blatantly lying about knowing where any berry bushes were. Well, maybe that was a little too mean spirited, they could bring back a few for him to break his fast, she thought with a soft chuckle.

Listening to Vesta’s plea to forgive the prince softened the sprite’s anger sightly. She knew they were exhausted and hungry. Having to be on constant guard for the past months had to sap any energy they managed to amass, and whatever was left went to scrounging for more food and shelter. She knew humans didn’t find the forest as safe and giving as the sprites, so she would have to show a little more patience. A little...she would not bow to the prince just because he pronounced himself her better.

Elisa turned her head to the left, lifting a leaf and peering under it to now spy on the Aica. Stabbing her tree...calling her a fly...threatening to set fire to the proud oak which had stood solid for centuries as if it were of no consequence at all! Her anger flared again recalling his threats and insults, and contemplated tossing a few acorns at him just to show she wasn’t afraid of his ranting.

If he came within spitting distance of the tree with fire he would find himself covered in fleas and anything else close enough to call on that would bite his arrogant backside. Patient she could be, but she would not let him destroy anything out of spitefulness.

The couple started their dinner, adding kindling to the fire and preparing a rabbit she suspected Aica had managed to capture. She was sad for the creature but understood nature. Almost everything was a meal for anything that could catch it, even sprite and humans. It was the means in which nature renewed itself, both plant and animal.

The sooty scent of smoke mixed with the musty forest and created a new pleasant fragrance. Once they had mixed the meat and onions to the mix the smell floated up to her making her stomach growl in protest. Even though she didn’t eat meat, she did enjoy the appetizing smells rolling from the pot-helmet they had fashioned. She was feeling lazy though and stayed on her perch, playing with the live moss wrapped around her tiny figure. With a little hum, she traced a line through the spongy greenery and tiny white flowers blossomed.

She would stay awake and watch the couple this night. She was curious as to what they would do once they were well fed. Elisa thought maybe the prince would try and stay awake but then again, he might dismiss her as being completely harmless and inconsequential. In many ways she might very well be harmless...but she did have a trick or two up her arm if she was pushed far enough.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out slowly she relaxed into the groove hollowed into the branch, perfect for her to lounge within, her arms behind her head and her wings wrapping around her front while she settled onto her back. She was proud that she has accomplished what she set out to do this morning, and excited over what the next few days would bring. She let the sounds of the humans below lull her into a light little catnap. Elisa wouldn’t sleep long, but while they prepared their dinner she could sneak in a brief rest. Slowly her eyes closed and the tiny female drifted in dreams of light and magic.

 

[BennyQ]

It was true that Aica was not going to harm the forest, beyond breaking off branches maybe for the fire or pulling mushrooms and roots out of the ground. He simply did not have the energy, or the means, to even cut down a tree. “Are you mocking me, wife?” Aica inquired in a dangerous, cranky tone when Vesta began to compliment him on his handiwork and craftsmanship. He took the helmet from her and inspected the insides, judging it was as clean and free of disease as it could be, before setting it aside. “Take a knife and cut the onions.” He simply ordered, musing over how he could arrange this. Then he cast an evil look over his shoulder towards the tree.

After a moment of glaring, he shrugged and got some idea in his mind. The helmet had two holes near the front where cheek-guards would dangle, though those were long gone. The holes remained though, just big enough to thrust a small nail through, which they didn’t possess. He tried with wooden splinters but they always broke. After much work and determination, he managed instead to create a small loop and handle with the rope, the ends tied through and around these holes, with a modest handle that allowed it to be carried like a basket. He then wound together another spit, two small triangular towers on either side of the fire, built to support one long stick placed across, from which this helmet-turned-bucket could dangle off of, over the fire. And hopefully not burn the rope and sticks themselves.

“It works. Now go and fill it with water. I’ll prepare the meat and onions.” Aica then instructed, removing the helmet from his testing. Despite its clever workmanship, Aica hated doing it. It was beneath him, a Prince, who once had others do this for him. Of course, having watched them was the only reason he even conceived of the idea in the first place. There was a lot in the past few weeks he had learned to do that he never imagined himself doing, work fit for servants and soldiers. All the more reason to feel spiteful about their situation.

Soon enough, the cut onions and meat were in the helmet, the water simmering as it was set over the fire. Aica laid out the spare cloak for him and Vesta to sit on, as they watched their first good meal in a long time prepare right before their eyes. Their growling stomachs at the prospect of a decent meal added to the music of nighttime breeze and the sounds of nocturnal creatures hooting, crying, or buzzing around. “And I just realized.” Aica said suddenly, looking at Vesta. “How are we supposed to eat stew without a spoon?” It was too dark to search the surrounding premises and there was no possibility of making a wooden spoon out of timber around. That was beyond Aica. In the end, they settled for removing the helmet when the stew seemed done, waiting for it and the helmet to cool, then slurping from it, taking turns passing it back and forth.

Regardless, it tasted amazing, despite its simple recipe. Their bellies would feel warm and reenergized. The broth was tasty to say the least. Aica then thrust more wood into the fire to build it up again, before taking the spare cloak and laying it against a tree. Not the tree the sprite had flown up into, whoever she was, but across from it. Aica as usually laid down first, his back and head against the tree, allowing Vesta to snuggle against his side or atop of him. Even when they were fighting, they had to do this. Sleeping alone would be a freezing ordeal.

Once they were settled, everything seemed quiet, even the forest song about. Aica didn’t take his eyes off the oak tree across. “Vesta,” Aica said, using the same tone she had used with him when she requested he make something to hold the helmet up, “you’re so clever about things, so good at…reading books all day and doing nothing else. What was that…thing? I thought they only existed in fairy tales, to ensnare men and lead them away to be used as spell practice.” He inquired, grey eyes ever fixated upon the tree across. Yet even with the keen eye of a trained marksman, he could see nothing of the little creature. A pang of guilt was also drumming at him. A king should be gracious. That's what his father always said. Looking around, for the fire, the site, the peace of mind after a warm meal...perhaps...

 

[AnnaBeth]

Before they started eating Vesta had found a recently fallen tree, so recent it still had green leaves trying vainly to pump life into it just as Aica clung to the hope of resurrecting his kingdom. It wasn't impossible; in their times in the forest she'd seen a fallen tree that had not one, but four descendants growing from if, branches that had refused to succumb to their fate and had rewritten their destiny. It was possible, but very unlikely. From it, using the small knife, Vesta stripped a piece of bark, a little larger than her hand and with a deep curve to it so that it made something of a plate, something of a bowl.

The simple platter wasn't for her, for Aica, but for their benefactress, the beautiful, exquisitely tiny dryad who had saved them, or at least given them more days. Two raspberries, a dollop of the stew, even one of the leg bones of the rabbit, cracked between her fingers and placed on either side, forming a V. Sitting beside her, she shared the rest of the meal with Aica, leaving the bulk of it for him but taking more than she would have in the previous weeks. When she was done, Vesta took the scraped empty by their fingers helmet cum bowl and the tuny platter of food with her back to the stream. On the highest branch she could reach, in the deep hollow, Vesta placed the platter of food. "Thank you," she said and kissed her fingers then touched the offering with them. "If - when," she amended, "he reclaims his lands and throne the boon will be repaid. I promise." There was no question that the sprite would hear it, legend said she heard everything, every whisper, every fallen leaf in her forest.

Later, in the comfort of his arms, the only comfort left to her, Aica's compliment made Vesta's heart swell with love for him. A love that was deep but troubled and ever in danger of being stretched so thin it might as well break entirely for the scant amount of it left. Tonight, in his arms, her belly full of food and baby, Vesta's love for her tormented husband was as deep as the forest was vast.

"A dryad," Vesta answered, using her lore to make sense of the sprite. "tree nymphs. There were," she shifted a little on his chest, turning her head up to speak into his chin, "different sorts of them. When Pater Zeus was but an infant the Meliai, the dryads of the ash trees, nurtured him. They were around before the gods so their magic is ancient and deep, rooted in nature. I've never seen one and I've always thought they were more myth and fantasy, perhaps stories rooted in women who had access to magic." Vesta's hand moved across Aica's chest and he could feel it tugging at the collar on her neck, the collar that had cut her off from her magic.

"She's not going to hurt us." Vesta's conviction was evident in her words. "She's our savior, Aica. We should honor her and her tree. Her forest. It may be your land, husband, but it's her home."

 

[Whispered Secret]

Elisandra had awakened completely when Vesta’s gift brought the mouthwatering fragrance of dinner closer. She savored the delicious scent while watching them prepare to bed down for the night. Her heart gave an extra little beat when she observed them cuddling together despite all the arguments and biting remarks they had traded throughout the day. The fire crackled, sending off sparkes and warm orange rays flickered, illuminating the couple.

With the night settling over the forest, the nocturnal wildlife started to venture forth. Insects chirping, far off howls of larger animals and the rummaging of smaller ones now filled the darkness. If you looked around carefully, you would get a glimpse of round glowing embers in the twilight. Proof of the wilderness peering back at you from a distance.

Hearing Aica’s question to Vesta, Elisa once again focused on the pair, the princess laying atop Aica completely protected from the cold ground and cradled tightly in his arms. She understood from the quietly spoken reply that Vesta had more knowledge than most humans in Aica’s kingdom. Her people must have more contact with the fae and their like, or at least had, at some point in history. The flattering answer humbled the little sprite, her cheeks reddening when she was named their savior. Elisandra hoped she would be able to live up to the captivating woman’s statement and aid the wronged husband and wife.

When they had been quiet for a few moments, Eli flew over to the laid out food and ate her fill, eating all the mushroom and onion bits while licking up the tasty broth. Sitting and rubbing her full tummy Eli wondered if they would sleep the rest of the night. She returned to the best view from her tree to keep an eye on them while she decided what to do next. They weren’t completely quieted down yet, and she spied on them while going over all the different ways to present herself come sunup.

 

[BennyQ]

With quiet attentiveness, Aica listened to Vesta explain the lore and mythology, his arms interlocked at the small of her back. Stories rooted in women who had access to magic seemed to imply tales of evil witches and sorceresses who raised the dead, as he always believed, until he was married to one himself. He saw then that they were just scholars who turned their art into practicality, though a practice he deemed useless. He knew not what power a tiny woodland dryad or tree nymph could present to them that might deem them their savior. A campsite, some berries and onions, that didn’t save him. It may have, for a night, a few hours, but not enough to deserve honour. Like a hospitable innkeeper, she deserved thanks and no more.

His grey eyes remained locked upon the tree for just a moment longer before he gave a scoff, keeping his thoughts of the dryad to himself. He didn’t care for what the books said, he trusted only in what he saw and knew from his own experience. “Not my land. Not at the moment.” Aica merely stated. Perhaps never again. No, he was a disinherited, exiled Prince, with nothing but shit to his name and mud on his boots and clothes. He closed his eyes and turned his face away, squeezing Vesta towards him for a moment, sharing heat and comfort. “Go to sleep. Tomorrow we move on.” He instructed and went alone to contend with his thoughts of hope, failure, and despair alone into the night.

The fire died away before Aica found any slumber. And when morning came, dark bags still remained under his eyes when he awoke, having gotten very little rest.

Because with morning came the dream.

He didn’t move at first, merely staring straight at the sky above, the tall spires of trees reaching up to the infinite shroud that covered the lands. Birds chirped their morning songs but all else seemed quiet. For a while Aica lay there, listening to Vesta breathe, arms around her torso. Then he shifted her, moving her off of him and to his side where she could continue resting on their spare cloak atop a bed of moss. Aica stood, stretching his arms, feeling the stiff muscles crack and flex. He glanced around, taking stock of their surroundings, before reaching to his belt and pulling out his knife. It was a poor quality, but all they had. And if he ever wanted to leave here, he had to make do with it.

So he strode up to the tree ahead of him, forgetting it was the so called home of a little tree nymph. He strode right up to the trunk, then turned on his heel and counted five decent paces from it. There he stopped and turned, taking several breaths to calm and steady himself. Then he reared his arm back, the other slightly before him, bent at the elbow…and threw the knife at the tree. It struck the bark with a loud thud, the handle quivering a little before it went still. Then came the crunching of leaves and foliage as Aica retrieved the knife, returned to his line, and threw it again.

He aimed for the same spot. He never quite hit it a second time, leaving many piercings in the oak’s trunk. No, he wasn’t trained for throwing knives but practice as they said made perfect. And he did not want to waste any further time in idleness. So for that morning, he wanted to prepare, to train himself, to get ready for the next rung of his reclamation. If he perfected this, he might one day kill someone who had a sword, something he understood even better. And with a sword, he might be able to effect upon those around and the land itself his will, building up himself more and more. And keeping Vesta safe.

The knife spun, it struck with a thud, he grabbed it and repeated.

 

[AnnaBeth]

Not until his demons were exorcised, his hand blistered and bloody, breath coming hard in his chest and exhaustion in his eyes would Aica stop. Vesta had seen this in him before, with the knife and with other things. Aica was capable of a terrible focus, a focus that would have - would! - make him an exceptional ruler, provided he had a wife to gentle him away from it once the utility of the focus was stretched past being a tool and became the master instead. Rolling away from the noise, from the sight of him, Vesta pressed her palms to her head to squeeze the sight and noise of him out, hoping beyond hope that there might be a bit more rest.

THUNK!

Willpower pushed back the scream she wanted to give, the same willpower that pushed back the gorge that suddenly threatened to rise in her throat. No! She would not, she could not! If there was even a thimbleful of nourishment left in her stomach she would not let it be wasted by weak, foolish, useless retching. Had Aica not been so busy throwing his knife he'd had seen his wife curl up like the baby in her belly, one hand on her tummy and the other on her mouth from which the grinding noise of her teeth could be heard as she fought back the urge to vomit. Sweat, cold oily sweat, was her reward as it passed, sweat that coated her face and left her hair damp.

THUNK!

Gods, he was impossible and wonderful at the same time! Shooting him an angry glance, a glance he didn't even notice, Vesta finished it with a very un-ladylike tongue stuck out at him. It didn't change anything, he kept moving like a man possessed, but it made Vesta feel a little better. Maybe the dryad would sort him out for hurting her tree. She wouldn't hurt him.

She wouldn't hurt him too much.

He'd probably be okay.

Probably.

Unlike a man, unlike her husband, Vesta knew better than to fight that which could not be won, could not be changed, and it was out of her power to stop Aica. Her role was to be there when he finally stopped, to bandage his hands with love because love was all the bindings she had. To be there with her arms on his back, head against it, drawing her own comfort and strength from his exhaustion, from Aica bending enough to allow her to touch him lovingly. Until then...her hand came up and touched her cheek, remembering the only time she'd tried to dissuade him and how his hand had lifted her off her feet when he delivered the blow. It was that and not malnutrition that made her gums bleed for the next week.

THUNK!

Brown eyes looked to the hidden heavens and both thanked the gods for making Aica so resolute and asked them at the same time if they were enjoying their little joke in making Aica so resolute. "Have fun," she said to the boughs above. "Remember I tried, dryad. I tried." Leaving him to his demons, leaving the sound of his desperate anger taking itself out on the tree, Vesta left the campsite and went back to the stream, taking the cloak with her.

After drinking her fill, she found an overhang and laid down on it, laid on her belly with the cloak wrapped around her, even her head, breaking up the outline of it against the sky above. It was going to be cold, so cold, and the princess choked back a gasp when she thrust her arm in the water, fingers slightly cupped, just in a spot where the water flowed slightly, just enough to feel it moving.

Back in her father's palace, palaces she longingly recalled, there had been both diverted streams, lakes, and magnificent water gardens. As a child she'd loved to feed them by hand and had learned that fish were wary but very, very stupid. Often mistaking a wiggling finger for a worm, they would come in close enough that with patience you could scoop them out of the water to lie wriggling and surprised on the ground before scolding garden slaves put them back in and her minders put the Princess back to being more ladylike.

So far it hadn't worked with the streams or lakes they'd passed, but with Aica unwilling to move on for a few hours she didn't have anything to lose and a fish would be another day of living for them, especially if its belly like her own was fat with life not yet birthed.

Trying to ignore the cold, the Princess twiddled her fingers gently, urging a fish to come play.

 

[Whispered Secret]

Elisa had awoken before the sun, stretching and relishing the arrival of another day. The scent of damp leaves, the cool crispness of pre morning air and the remnants of charred wood in the firepit blended into a fusion of fragrances that calmed and uplifted the little females spirits. Looking down on the royal couple, wrapped tight around each other to stay warm and safe she felt a moment of envy. She would never have that for herself, her ability and lack of control over it, ensured she could never find a lifemate among her people. Her first experience with intimacy had proven the impossibility of a normal sprite existence.

With a little shake of her head, she felt the memories invading the serene aura she had just woken up with. After a last peek down at the, for once, peaceful looking pair, she took off to check the area. She was confident that the area was safe, but it was always better to be cautious.

Her ethereal wings fluttered in a blur of radiance, propelling her through the canopy of leaves and branches, the soft glow leaving a trail of ghostly light behind her, marking her passage. She absentmindedly circled the camp, her laps increasing steadily in distance while her thoughts wandered. On one of her return passes, closer to the camp, she heard a noise she at first didn’t recognize.

THUNK

Elisandra’s tiny ears twitched and she stopped, suspended in mid-air, her wings as fast as a humming bird, keeping her steady and quietly stabil just across the stream from the camp. Another deep dull thunk, and then the princesses words traveled to her on the breeze.

"Have fun," she said to the boughs above. "Remember I tried, dryad. I tried."

THUNK

Suddenly the little fae knew exactly what the it was that was adding the note of dissonance to the otherwise harmonious forest song. “Aica!!”, Elisandra let out a growl of frustration and flew as fast as her wings would carry her.

Vesta emerged from the deep cover of trees and into the clearing by the side of the stream, hidden within the folds of a thick cloak, Elisa could see she was still exhausted. It would take more than one simple meal to help them regain the energy lost over the last few months of running.

THUNK

Another jarring jolt returned her attention to the current target of her ire. She flew fast and carelessly, darting in and out of branches until she saw him, just as he once again let loose with his knife, sending it ruthlessly into the living stem of her beloved home, injuring it over and over again without mercy.

“Stop!! What madness is this??!!” Elisa flew fearlessly at the prince just as he reached the old oak and pulled the sharp steel from her trunk. Taking two handfuls of the man’s tightly bound hair, she pulled as hard as she was able. Yanking his head back and hovering just above his head, staring down into his eyes. “WHY are you attacking my home??!! Are you truly addled?! The tree is not going to hurt you!! I see the gods were ungracious when bestowing intelligence to you!”

The tight knot of his hair came loose, tilting to the side and Elisandra ended up with several long strands in her hands. “You will stop this abuse at once Sir or you will find yourself banished from these woods as most humans are!!”

Tossing the strands of hair into his face, she thoughtlessly turned her back on Aica and went to inspect the damage he had callously wrought to the dark russet ridges of bark. His weapon piercing the protection of the trees thick skin and penetrating the vulnerable surface underneath.

Looking back over her shoulder to continue ranting at the thoughtless human she almost lost her anger entirely. Standing there speechless, he looked comical and for once...disheveled. His hair hanging forward over one eye, apparently momentarily stunned but from the look in the one eye she could see, that was about to change.

 

[BennyQ]

As Aica collected the knife after a throw, he saw Vesta awake and moving, though he didn’t focus on her for even a single heartbeat as he turned on his heel and repeated the throw. When he retrieved it again, she was gone but it was of little concern. He knew she would attend to her functions, cleanse her, perhaps even find berries or roots to grace their breakfast. As for Aica, his concerns were much higher and greater, like finding a means to reclaim his home, so they would never have to sleep under boughs or upon moss again. Alone, numb to all else, Aica threw the knife and his feet moved instantly to follow, hand clasping the hilt to pull it out of the wood.

And then the sound of screaming came upon him. Not violently however. More like the…buzzing of many wasps. Or the annoying circling of a fly upon one’s head when slumbering. Aica at first assumed he was being beset by foes, his first thought of Vesta alone out there before he realized it was just the little forest sprite. Yet this time it brought more than words and acorns to bear. It attacked him! Grasping his loose strands of hair, those not caught in his bun, the creature pulled back, causing him to hiss and gritted his teeth, one eye shut to the pressure, as it chided him.

Knife in hand, his first instinct was to turn and slash. Yet he was stopped, remembering from his distant youth how as boys he and his brothers used to once fight, with no rules or governing of conduct, with hair pulling being among the many pains they inflicted upon each other. This…strain was no more than a pinch. It barely hurt in fact, especially compared to what he endured recently. The creature ended up undoing the knot of the bun and his hair fell loose, half over his face, before she abandoned his work, flying to her home of a tree to inspect the damage he had done. How was he supposed to know it was her home? It looked to him the same as all the others about.

Yet Aica did not react still, watching her intently, recalling then what Vesta had said and his own thoughts before he had slept. A king should be gracious. Aica loosened his grip on the knife, not intending any further action with it.

He took three steps forward and bent slightly at the waist, coming level with the sprite, the wounding of the tree trunk behind her. For a moment he watched her, one grey eye unimpeded by his brown hair, the other peering from a shroud of hair. He could see her now, in the fullness of her appearance, not moving or fluttering. She had two wonderful wings, a pretty face, a fulsome body, with trickles of some light about her limbs. Aica had never seen such a creature before and in that moment his eyes held belief and understanding. She was real, her kind was real, and therefore all the myths and legends must hold some weight to them.

“You’re right.” Aica declared after a moment of staring. “For someone who has lost his own home, I ought to be more respectful and less despoiling of those who still have that luxury. Only stupidity or ignorance will excuse me and both do not reflect well on who I am. So I apologize, little wisp.” Aica said to her, giving a dip of his head before returning to his full height, now peering down at her. “Banished from these woods…” he repeated with a chuckle, a very macabre and sorrowful one, glancing down at the knife in his hand. “Even the wilderness of my kingdom does not want me. Perhaps Vesta is right. There is nothing for me here.”

He placed the knife back in his belt and proceeded to sit down on that very spot, crunching dead leaves beneath him upon the dirt. He swept his hair back with a hand and proceeded to redo the knot, tying a rudimentary bun with the long strands. Vesta did it best of course. “Tell me then, little wisp. Why help us anyways? Humans come and cut down wood for fire, wood for their homes and all manners of things. Why bring us here to your home then, feed us, have us sleep here, if most humans be forbidden? What makes us so different in your mind than the rest? Is it because you know who I am? It is an empty title and name, one which will get you no favours anytime soon.”

Aica finished the bun, resting an arm over a bent knee, the other behind him supporting as he leaned back, his grey eyes ever upon the creature, waiting for her answer. What motive or ambitions drove her? “Do you intend to use us in some witchcraft, for some blood magic?” Aica then inquired, very suspiciously.

 

[Whispered Secret]

Still hovering in front of her home, like a warrior guardian ready to defend the innocent, Aica sudden mood change took Elisa by surprise. Tilting her head to the side and squinting her eyes, she peered at the man now reclining on the ground, unexpectedly civil and polite...though still obviously suspicious of her existence and abilities.

She had listened as he berated himself and watched him put his hair to rights, feeling a shard of guilt at her less than controlled reaction. Both Aica and Vesta had lived through a terrifying ordeal. Painful and unjust was a mild way to describe the horrors they had survived not too long ago. She had only picked up a watered down version of the occurrences from bits and pieces that had trickled in from the villages before finding the couple. Those along with the vague hints and slips that Aica and Vesta let slip during arguments or the uneasy whimpers of their nightmares gave her a foggy image of the trauma the royals had survived.

Now he sat patiently, showing her a hint of the man she was sure he used to be, and Elisa once again let go of her anger. Moving closer, she hung above the princes folded knee, her body swaying calmly on the wind. As soon as Aica removed his resting arm, she gently stepped onto the rounded cap, her small feet balancing comfortably. From her perch on Aica’s knee, she was relatively eye level with the Prince without having to further exert herself. The early morning scouting along with her mad dash home had sapped much of her energy, so she preferred her feet to wings for the moment.

Since he was being semi-formal and polite, Eli decided to follow the princes lead. “My name in Elisandra, I am daughter of Alcyone, and granddaughter of Blathnat and Amaltheia, leaders the Angelmoss Resolution Prince Aica and I wish you no harm.” taking a deep breath, she sank down, sitting with her knees pulled up under her chin, trusting Aica to keep her roost steady while they spoke.

She took a moment, staring up into the morning sky, watching as a flock of sparrows used the dusky morning to feed, soaring lazily on the air currents as though tethered to each other, flying in sync until one or more broke the pattern and dove, capturing a meal of whichever unlucky insect happened across. She was unsure how to answer Aica’s question...Eli didn’t understand this need she had to help them either. Mayhap it was the loneliness of the last several years that guided her actions. Mayhap finding people in the midst of catastrophic circumstances was diverting her from her own insignificant issues and mayhap...just mayhap, if she could help them get through the seemingly insurmountable obstacles, then her own would feel easy in compare.

But that wasn’t something she was willing to go into with the prince.

“I’m bored.” Elisa simply replied, shrugging one little shoulder and smiling her best friendly smile. “There is word in the villages of what has occurred, and though many are outraged, whispering with anger and disgust in hidden corners...none seem to be taking any action. When I found you both wondering in the woodlands, I didn’t understand who you were...it’s rumored the entire royal family were murdered, so you understand why it took me a moment,” she was babbling, trying to find a way to ease his suspicions without making herself vulnerable.

Taking a deep breath and letting it out with a soft sigh, Elisa tried to control her tongue. It was difficult to reign herself in, it had been a very long time since she had someone other than the creatures of the forest to communicate with.

“Anyway, most humans are encouraged to keep their distance. The villagers close by understand that they can enter the edges of Angelmoss and collect deadwood, berries...whatever they need as long as they don’t encroach or begin to reside within the woodlands. Humans have a tendency to be destructive, prince Aica, and my kind protect that which protects us.”

The sun was finally gaining strength and warming the morning air. Animals foraging, birds screaming and tittering, announced the reawakening of day while all the night creatures snuggled into their homes to sleep away the sun filled hours.

“I don’t want anything from you Sir, I didn’t lend my support because of a title or promise of favors. You have nothing that I have need of, be you crowned and on the throne or in a dirt hovel sitting on the ground. I found two persons, fighting valiantly to overcome the treachery of those they trusted, and thought to ease their burden for a night,” a soft tinkling laugh escaped, recalling his final inquiry. “And I promise you, prince Aica...I have no nefarious plans for you or your blood. I have no witchcraft or power other than my ability to communicate with nature's beings,” she conveniently dismissed her one extra talent as being of no consequence and continued.

Now it was her turn to ask questions.

“So tell me, what are your plans. Will you wander the woods until you run out of luck and fall prey to some creature? Perhaps you have decided to hide and live out the rest of your lives as commoners….or are you going to stop running and start planning some way to take back your home, prince Aica?” Elisandra met the deep grey of his eyes and winced slightly at the light lines drawn beneath his steady glare. “You ask my intentions...well, now I ask you of yours.”

 

[BennyQ]

The creature drifted closer and for a moment Aica feared it was preparing some sort of spell or ensnarement. Where the hell was Vesta when he needed her? Even though his wife’s powers were currently restricted, she still possessed a hell of a lot more understanding about such things than he did. However, the little wisp merely fluttered onto his knee, no taller than his calf and introduced herself ever so politely, causing his lips to almost, almost, quirk into a smile. “Well Elisandra,” he replied, as the creature took a moment to observe her surroundings, “My name is Aicanassë Larenzac, Prince of Ostavia, third son and child of late King “ He introduced himself, with a measure of pride. And why not? Names is all he had left in this world, even if there was only shit attached to them now.

Being told the sprite was only dealing with them out of boredom did not win her any points. Aica’s expression immediately went dark and he tensed up. My life and troubles is now entertainment for fuckin’ forest nymphs? Maybe this place does need a forest fire...to renew itself.

Anger and disgust...now that was news to Aica. The overthrow had happened so fast it felt as if the whole world was against him and his family. But to hear that not everyone was happy with it was somewhat comforting, though it was quickly washed away as it still amounted to the same…nobody is doing anything to help us. What use is anger and disgust if not acted on?

The creature might have thought she was babbling. To Aica this was all news, news he was not aware of. And he was thoughtful on it.

She had a genuine spirit of kindness which he could tell, whatever her description of her intentions were. He still didn’t trust her to not use magic when his back was turned though. He still half suspected Vesta used some sort of witchery herself during their marriage. How else could they not have had any children?

Mere kindness, though grateful, was not what Aica needed. Or at least he thought so. Now Elisandra wanted to know his plans and he felt his anger spike again. How many times had he this same argument with Vesta? His expression nearly broke into a snarl before he controlled himself, suddenly shifting and displacing Elisandra from her perch on his knee as he rose to his feet and brushed himself down, as if it would make a difference on his dirty, ragged clothing. His plans? To wait for some sign, some hope, that might help him reclaim his birthright and take revenge for his family...and wife?

Aicanassë had no idea.

“Revenge.” He answered, with all the spite, fury, and promise of threat he had in him. It was darkly muttered, so that even to him the bright sun and cheerful chirping around him faded as if to a far distance. “Don’t tell me what I already know, wisp. No creature is more deadlier than any human and I have survived the worst they could throw at me. I will not hide, here or in some other safe place, as my wife so desires. I will stay and fight until the last breath emits from my body. And any who stand in my way will receive only my blade in their wretched guts. This I promise you, wisp, and anyone else who doubts me.”

Aica drew his knife and held it in his hands, wishing so much it was a sword. He had it out in his mind, a plan, a strategy, and it all hinged on a simple object once so common. A sword. The instrument of war and death. That was all he needed. From one he could birth many. “You’ve given me much to think on, Elisandra. And I thank you for it, for what you did for me and my wife. I will not forget it, you alone being the first to aid us while so many stayed away.” Aica said, glancing at her momentarily, a finger tapping the side of his brow to emphasize how her kindness will always be remembered there, before returning his focus to the need at hand. Death.

“But if you do not intend to help me further, then I think we have no more business. Unless you know where I can find swords, spears, even a bow, I do not know what else there is for us to discuss. I have a need of only revenge and death, things which do not belong in your happy forest.” Aica said in a lower tone, sighing as he kept his eyes upon the short blade resting in his palms.

 

[Whispered Secret]

Catching herself in the air after tumbling from her kneecap perch, the tiny sprite observed the man in front of her. Frustration, anger and desolation. Elisa could feel the many tones of emotion tinting Aica’s words as he answered her query. Above all else, the desperate need for vengeance was a charcoal streak of darkness corrupting his soul, the very essence of his being. Until the prince started on a path to correct the travesties done unto he and his wife, she doubted he would be able to focus on anything else.

Her hands flicking at non-existent dust on her little moss dress, dislodging a few delicate white blooms onto the forest floor below. “Well, I’m relatively certain this camp belonged to hunters before they themselves became the hunted...but if anything lay buried still, it will most likely be damaged or destroyed,” swaying lightly on the breeze and absently finger combing her long strands of hair, Eli tried to think of some way to help the prince onto a path that could advance his cause.

“Do you know of the village not far to the west from here, perhaps a half day's travel? Well, I think it would take you half a day...yes well, it’s the settlement I hear most of the rumors and stories about humans...and where I heard of you and Vesta,” she was unsure of where her information would lead, but thought perhaps Aica might somehow recruit people to his cause. At least if they could get them away from the dangers in the town. “It’s probably not safe for you to enter yourself, the leader is a tyrant that keeps the villagers under his control with fear and terrifying tactics, but if we lead a few of them away, you might be able to convince them to join you?”

Aica got very quiet, making Elisandra a little jittery. She could tell he heard the information she had handed him, but she wasn’t completely confident he was capable of logical reasoning after everything they had encountered. “You can’t of course just barge in and start making demands, you understand this price Aicanassë? The despot in control has drafted all the strong males and formed a private garrison. The few that have disagreed or rebelled have been disposed of, or their families threatened,” flying closer to the mullish male, hovering so close she was glaring into his left eye.

“I understand you have been accustomed to a degree of obedience before any of this happened, but don’t be fooled into thinking you can easily invade the bully’s territory and start commanding everyone. You should take the time and plan how best to approach this opportunity, speak with your wife perhaps? Vesta seems to be more than a figurehead, Sir, and gaining her advice or opinions would not hurt anything, yes might even give you a smidgen of patience you are currently lacking.” Eli didn’t wish to wound the delicate frame of civility they were tiptoeing on, but she needed to attempt to keep him from flying off in a fit of wrath. Watching Aica’s expression, the little fae worried she’s made a grave error.