Private Tales A Familiar Feeling

[Magdeline]

Monastery business. It was rare for Maggie to take on monastery business, and quite frankly, she liked keeping it that way. It wasn't that she disliked the order. Her... sworn brothers and sisters. Or even what they stood for. The wyld lands and the small folk. Life, and the death it took to keep it fed and taken care of. The Dusk and the Dawn.

She just wasn't a forest person was all. Preferred the lonely range of the rocks. It was quieter up there. Colder. She liked the cold. The chill and how it crept into her bones that always felt so hot. But the bird song was nice. Nothing quite like the sound of countless little birds chirping in the wind. Flitting here and there as she strode.

Armored as she was, encased in the orichalcum plate she had inherited. It fit her figure like a glove. A form that, were it regular steel, may have compromised the structure. But this ancient thing. It was almost as if it was alive all its own. With its own heat that spread across her limbs and trace the chords of her flesh.

Tired flesh at that.

Which made the telltale sign of white chimney smoke, puffing gentle and cottony up into the air in steady wisps all the more welcome. As well as the company it promised to bring. Maggie could already feel her face warm some at the thought. But she stopped along the trail, and let out a long cool breath. The ruby at her chest glowed some. Gillabree always had a way of, well, just making everything feel that much more bareable. A stop at her cabin, made most of the trouble well worth it.

The memory of the healer's touch, stitching and tending to angry red wounds. The care. The grace.

Maggie laughed. Silly. It was just a bit of rest. A cup of tea and some time off her feet before she moved on. Back to the comforts of her tower. The howl of the wind and the myriad tones of warm and cool greys. She went on, a little lighter in her step as she grew nearer to Gillabree's cabin.

 

[Gillabree]

The forest was very… quiet. Not really, though; there was always something chattering or trilling, and the trees rustled, their constant murmur becoming a sensationless drone that was forgotten into the background. "Quiet," like a death by poison in one's sleep.

Speaking of poison, she lifted another bottle from the shelf and turned it over to inspect the label: Nerium oleander. Gillabree's script was straight and neat, like much of the cottage she lived in. Everything had its place and very few things were out of order. Bottles, jars, boxes, and sachets of ingredients lined the shelves of the cooler northern wall. A generous library of texts in almost a dozen languages crowded floor-to-ceiling shelves. Even more herbs and medicinal plants hung from the ceiling. There were enough pots and bowls and mortar and pestles tucked away to prepare both medicine and feast for an entire village without reusing a single receptacle. Then there was the cabinet of medical instruments, all meticulously organized so that Gillabree could reach for the exact tool when needed.

Precise, meticulous, orderly. Nothing was out of place.

She sighed and replaced the bottle. It was too bad Gillabree hadn't kept her kitchen as thoroughly stocked. Even the plentiful greenhouse and garden were comprised primarily of plants for medicinal use. She would need to venture out, perhaps stop in at the nearest village market to do some trading.

Ever mindful of her large wings, the avariel carefully turned around in the small space. She tended the fire and checked the pot that was boiling over the flames. Fish stew with carrots pulled from the garden and the garlic hanging overhead.

I don't like fish.

"Then why do you have fish?"

There was no answer to the snappish question she asked herself. She straightened with a frustrated huff.

"You'll learn to like it. Fish is good for you." She smirked, but the patronizing grin was foreign on her comely features.

Satisfied with herself, she hoisted a basket of wet laundry, carried it outside, and began hanging it on the line. She fluttered her wings, somewhat ungainly and off balance as she bent to withdraw garments from the basket, but hummed a merry tune to herself as she worked.

 

[Magdeline]

Yes, how are you, Gillabree? Been some time, hasn't it? Me? Well, you know. Knight business. Bandits taking up camp along the Dragon's Teeth. Had to give a report on their movements to the Captains. Why did that require me to come to the monastery? Good question. Why did it require me to come to the monastery?

"Guess things are just... getting all the more serious," the sworn knight said to herself, voice crestfallen.

It had been months since the Sworn were called to gather. Months since they all sat at Council, and heard the tellings. The Everwatcher. The enemy sealed in the Loch. Whose tendrils spread throughout the Valen. Reached all the way to Alliria.

Maggie wondered if Gillabree had been given a report. Steadfast as she remained, as an ally to them, even in retirement.

The tiefling sighed. Her short strides carrying her up the woodland trail, until the sun came upon her full in a clearing. She shielded her eyes. Saw the clean sheets of laundry, snapping like flags of peace in the wind. Proud wings, unable to hide behind the snaps and ripples of the fabric.

She couldn't help but smile, and her steps hurried a little more. "Hail! Syr Gillabree!" she called out, and waved to the avariel.

 

[Gillabree]

She was pondering the way to the village, mapping out the familiar ground around her cottage and considering what she might be able to get, when a voice called out. A thrill ran up her spine and she whirled around to see a pale figure clad in vibrant red armor. The woman was smiling at her, and called her by name as she approached at a hastened pace. She frowned in confusion.

Maggie!

Gillabree clamored in excitement and recognition. Memories rushed to the forefront of her mind. It was her colleague – her good friend Magdeline from the Knights of Anathaeum.

The tension eased from her figure and she smiled back. Raising a hand to wave, she deposited the clothing into the wicker basket and approached the gate.

"Hail, Syr Magdaline!" she echoed back, a lilt of laughter in her voice.

Maggie will know what's wrong. She will help me.

No. No, she wouldn't – couldn't. She guarded herself and prepared to tread carefully. Magdaline could not suspect that something was awry, or else… No, she wasn't even going to entertain the idea. She'd already come so close to failure; she couldn't lose it all now.

"What a lovely surprise! You are the last thing I expected to see today," she called over the remaining distance, which was growing narrower and narrower all the time. Was she going to hug her? Was it too much to hug her? She'd let Magdaline take the lead on what was appropriate. Trying to act normal, she opened the gate and stepped out. Her wings fanned gently and hung low and heavy.

 

[Magdeline]

Thing. She couldn't put a finger on it, but the word... Thing. It had caught Maggie off guard.

Such a small thing to notice. A single word that came from such familiar lips. No no. What was she thinking? Well, that was the problem, wasn't it, she was just over thinking. She shook away the blankness of her expression, and made her way up the path to the cottage. In the clearing, until there was but an arms length between them.

Gods, she was beautiful. Oh, she was probably staring. Maggie's eyes looked away. She smiled, laughed. Why was she so nervous? "I am glad to know my approach is welcome, Syr Gillabree," she said, rocking on her heels and her toes. "It's been some time since, well," she flushed some thinking on the last time she'd visited. And the time before that.

Gillabree gave the best hugs. Big and soft and warm and so...full.

Affection was never easy for Maggie to share. Definitely not things like hugging. Not with how oft she wore her strange armor. But that never really seemed to deter the towering Avariel. And how Maggie did love that about her. How warm and open she was.

But, the hug wasn't coming. A strain showed in Maggies' eyes. A slight frown at the edge of her mouth, pulled down by nervousness. She laughed some, a cold and tight sound. "Oh, wel... Um... I hope I am not intruding?" she asked straightened her spine some, as if to show off her want to be embraced. But she quickly shrunk back. Maybe... maybe something had changed since she had last visited.

How selfish of her to presume. Why would Gillabree want to hug her anyway? Oh... gods this was getting weird wasn't it? "I... I just wanted to stop by and say hello, you know, since I was this far west and, well, I've oft enjoyed your easy company... Gillabree," she said tenderly. Did she say too much? Damn, she didn't want to look her in the eye. Her face flushed.

 

[Gillabree]

"It has been too long," she said, putting on a warm smile. Those came so naturally. There was a slightly awkward lull and her heart raced. Was this normal?

"Oh, of course you're not intruding!" She was. This was a lot more than she had been prepared to deal with today. "I'm so sorry. Where are my manners? You've traveled so far. You must be tired! Please, come in, Maggie. I'll put on the kettle."

This was most inconvenient, but the avariel stepped aside and gestured through the gate to the cottage. She shut it behind them, and as soon as they stepped indoors She went about putting on the aforementioned kettle. Navigating the room with care for her bulky wings, she busied herself at her cabinet.

"Would you like tea? Coffee?" she asked, putting on that radiant smile once more. She set out two cups with a gentle plink.

The irritating voice in her head was quiet. It made her suspicious.

 

[Magdeline]

Hot, then cold.

She could almost feel the words turning the air about her. Or maybe, maybe it was just her own skittish nature? Her own worries getting the best of her.

Take people at their word, Maggie, don't doubt every other breath.

"I, well," she looked back. to the road. Again to the cabin. Remembered the chair that was so well worn against the window. The smell of tea that wafted about the warm room. The comfort. A quiet nod. Glad that Gillabree insisted.

She always made things so easy.

How could she say no?

So in she went. Smile kept across her lips, to dumple her cheeks, a warm little secret just for her as Gilabree walked to the cabinet and made things ready.

Then the Avariel smiled with all the warmth of the sun.

"Tea would be lovely," the armored knight confessed, with a flutter in her chest that seemed to lift her up.

See. Nothing to worry about.

She saw the two chairs by the window, their legs made of a blueish wood. The bright gold whicker that laced their seat, in fine repair.

"Still have that Seretan black, perchance?" she smiled as her finger traced the chair's back. She walked about it, and thought on the past times she had stopped by. "Oh, and whatever happened to that old tome you'd found?" she asked brightly.

 

[Gillabree]

Thank the gods Maggie lost the air of suspicion and came in with her. She nodded with another one of those smiles that seemed to put her guest at ease. Gods, that felt too easy. She took note of the way Maggie's eyes darted away and color played on her milk-fair cheeks. What was this, then? Gillabree flared, bright and hot with anger and… was that embarrassment? She grabbed onto the surge of memories, of moments not unlike this one. There were several.

Oh, this was good.

She looked through the cabinet for the Seretan black, then held up the can with a little shake.

"Sounds like enough for two!" She flashed a beaming grin over her shoulder, bumping a stack of mixing bowls with her wing. Whoops. They wobbled precariously but she managed to stop them. Laughing awkwardly, she started the tea.

Maggie asked about a tome, and she used her task to her advantage.

"Hmm? Which tome is that? I have a lot of tomes." She laughed as she put the kettle over the fire.

Straightening, she grabbed and hand towel and went to sit beside Maggie in the other chair under the window. Her wing gently brushed against her knee and shoulder in the small space as she tucked them in place around the chair. Both had been made to sit comfortably with or without the extra appendages.

 

[Magdeline]

Maggie sat upon the wicker seat of the chair. Leaned, forward some, to keep her armor off the wood.

Jagged and spiny as the strange red plate was, it almost fel like a second skin to her. Part of its magic, she had come to think.

Gillabree called back. "Oh," a little laugh she stiffled behind her hand, "Of course, it has been some time after all," she nod and welcomed the rush of air that came with the adjustment of Gill's proud wings. Took a moment to let the radiance of the sun play cross each proud plume that fanned and stirred, ever so, as the Gillabree came to sit.

She remembered to breath. Smiled with a new warmth across her face.

"You'd mentioned an old tome you had found, amidst the roots of an eld tree, with letters far older than any human settlement, and, too whimsical to belong to any dwarf," she let her hands settle on her lap, sat a little straighter as she dared look at Gillabree.

Her eyes traced across the curve of her chin, along the swell of her lips and the point of her button nose, until they settled upon the gold of her eyes.

Maggie's lips moved, and she worked the dryness from her mouth. "You thought it may have been from one of the elven peoples, Sky, Moon, maybe even Avariel," she had seemed so excited then.

How Maggie hoped she had not put such passionate work away.

 

[Gillabree]

Memories stirred. Her unwilling mind squirmed and Gillabree recalled the book she had told Maggie about.

"Oh, that one." She waved a hand in a fluttering gesture toward one of the bookcases in the cabin. "It's giving me some trouble, but I think its origins are older than I first suspected. Fascinating!"

She studied her. She didn't want to come on too strong, but Maggie's throat bobbed and her eyes blazed a trail down Gillabree's face. Her pulse raced and her mind reeled. Was this happening? Gillabree couldn't ignore these signs, but she'd never notice them before. Had this attraction always been there, subdued and just waiting for the right moment? Was this honest or was it being forced by the situation?

Only one way to find out.

Bracing her elbow on the arm on the chair, she shifted to cross her legs and leaned closer. They were friends, after all. Her powdery gold lashes batted against her cheeks and she smiled. Her sandaled food brushed against shimmering red armor.

"I'm surprised you remembered it with such specific detail," she ventured gently. Her smile softened and she let her gaze trickle down Maggie's sharp, narrow features before settling on her own hands. She pressed a smile anew and lifted her gaze once more to Maggie's

"But I don't want to talk about books right now. Tell me how you have been. I want to hear all about your adventures. I've missed you dearly."

She laid her hand on Maggie's arm. The kettle began to hiss.

 

[Magdeline]

Maggie blinked. A small “Oh,” escaped her lips as she sat up straight in her chair. Her brows tented as a strange worry worked down the base of her stomach.

A thing that felt cold. Bracing. Made her all too aware of Gillabree.

It was a small thing. Made up of smaller isms that fed her worry. Trouble. Fascinating. That one.

At their word. At their word. She reminded herself. Fingers tightly wound about their own bones. Until Gillabree shifted the whole round warmth of her weight. Leaned, all the closer. A flutter of her eyes that caught Maggie’s attention like a lark to the flutter of a butterfly’s wings. Maggie’s gaze shift in turn, traced heavy lines across full and pillowy curves that looked so inviting.

Oh to be enveloped by-

A touch down below her waist. A feeling that pressed through the porous chitin of her plate. The red armor almost breathed in the sensation. The sunfire gem, transfixed upon her chest, hummed with light as she drew in her breath. Her eyes widened by a fraction as she stared at Gillabree.

Had she been staring? Had she done something wrong? Her spine felt stiffer, her breath held in her lungs.

Her words jumbled behind her mouth. Tongue tied as a golden gaze pinned her to her seat. Gillabree’s hand against her arm. The kettle hissed.

“D-d-dearly?” she stammered. A nervous curl turned up the corner of her lips. A titter, high and tight, from her throat. “I, well, I missed you too, Gillabree,” she said coyly. Her eyes darted away. The whistle of the pot screamed and she nearly startled out of her chair.

Got up instead, her hand over Gillabree’s though she didn’t know when that had happened. “L-let me get that?” she said, and nod. Her fingers cupped, too eager, against Gillabrees. The supple leather that gloved her gauntlets, too thick. But she tried to be gentle.

Her boots knocked against the floor and she began to rummage through the cupboards. Everything was still in its place. “Still take yours with a bit of honey?” she asked.