Episode 152
Feed the Bear
“How is he?” Arisanna asks, and Cerian glances up from Uncle Quilian’s side.
“The same.” He sighs. At least that’s better than doing worse. Hopefully, Tharios will get here soon.
Arisanna wraps her arms around Cerian’s shoulders from behind, and he leans gently into her. Her touch is comforting.
“When Rafelis returns, we should eat,” she says.
Cerian’s stomach churns at the thought of interacting with Father’s warrior bands again. It’s so exhausting.
“Can we eat in here?” he asks quietly.
“I actually had a different idea. We’ll probably be here another night, right?”
He turns to look at her. “It seems likely.”
“And there’s still just the one bed.”
He glances at the bed where Mother and Father slumber. Mother truly was more tired than she let on. They’ll probably wake soon and be up for another day straight.
“So I was wondering, my plant wielder, if perhaps you could grow a small shelter nearby just for us. I’ve seen a few makeshift sleeping quarters going up around camp.”
Relief fills him at the thought of having their own small measure of privacy again. How he misses their honeymoon suite.
“I can do that.” He reaches up to tuck a loose wisp of hair behind her ear before leading her into a gentle kiss, and she doesn’t hesitate or pull away.
A throat clears near the door, and Arisanna almost falls over in her hurry to put some space between them.
Small steps. Clearly.
“Forgive me for interrupting,” Rafelis says as his lips twitch at the corners, “But there’s food to be had if you’re hungry.”
“Yes,” Arisanna says. “We should—yes. Food. Eat. We should do that.”
Cerian should probably put her out of her misery and intervene in her rambling, but it’s all he can do not to laugh.
“You needn’t stand on ceremony with me, my princess,” Rafelis says. “I’m happy to see Cerian happy. And happy to see our kingdoms forging a bond.”
Arisanna’s face pales at his use of the word “bond,” and Cerian shakes with silent laughter.
“I’m not even going to ask.” Rafelis steps closer and musses Cerian’s hair the way he used to do when Cerian was an elfling. It never bothered him when Rafelis did it.
Unlike when Tharios goaded him with his air magic.
“Go on with you,” Rafelis says. “Find a tree somewhere and grow yourself a shelter where you can have some peace and quiet. It will be crowded in here tonight.”
“That’s our plan,” Cerian says as he rises and reaches for Arisanna’s hand.
“Make sure you eat up, though, Cerian,” Rafelis says. “I mean it. You need to keep your plant magic ready for anything. I expect all my warriors to keep their magic reserves as full as possible.”
“I’m not really a warrior,” Cerian mumbles as he looks away.
“Neither was your father. You’re strong, though. Stronger than you think.”
Arisanna’s hand tightens around his, and he nods as they step outside again. The shadows have grown long, and the sun will set soon. Hopefully, Tharios and Viala will be safe in the dark.
Assuming it’s Tharios who comes.
It’s hard to fathom it being otherwise, knowing Tharios.
“Shelter first?” Arisanna asks. “Or food?”
“Shelter. So we may eat alone as you stuff me full of everything you and everyone else seem to think I need to eat today.”
That draws out her smile as she leans her head against his arm.
The warrior bands are clustered near the stone shelter, and it doesn’t take long for Cerian to find a large fir tree away from everyone but still near enough to hear if someone calls for them.
“How elaborate do you want it to be?” Cerian asks.
“Most of the others are little more than peaked roofs open to the air.”
He almost laughs. “I believe you forget with whom you’re speaking.”
“Are you really the strongest plant wielder in Lostariel?”
His smile fades as he glances away. “So the rumor goes.”
“So you could grow me pretty much anything I asked for?”
“Could? Yes. Should I, though? Growing a replica of Windhaven here in the woods would seem out of place and take a lot out of me.”
Her lips twitch as she gazes at him, and his own smile gets the better of him again.
“Just tell me what you want, and I’ll do my best,” he says.
“All right. I suppose I want a small cottage with a private sleeping room. Is that too much? Perhaps just four walls, a roof, and a door. And a bed. Don’t forget that.”
“I definitely won’t forget the bed,” he teases. “One small, two-room cottage coming up. I’m going to apologize in advance for turning into a bear while you stuff me with food.”
He doesn’t wait for her to respond as he reaches out to the fir tree, encouraging its roots to grow and emerge from the ground. He weaves walls, doors, and a roof before forming a small bed in one half and a table and chairs on the other side.
By the time he finishes, his stomach growls, and he feels the bear creeping in. But he pushes it away as best as he can.
When he looks up, several warriors watch from nearby, and he glances away. That’s the last thing he needs. An audience. As if he’s some kind of Nunian circus exhibit Tharios told him about once.
“Your magic is amazing,” Arisanna says. “Let’s get you inside while I collect food to relieve the darkness filling your eyes, my elven prince.”
“Forgive me. I—”
“Just built a cottage from a root in less than five minutes. I won’t judge.”
Relief fills him at her words, and he lets her lead him inside, where she laughs.
“What?” he asks.
“You even took the time to make it pretty.”
He eyes the decorative touches he added to the table and chairs as well as the doors. “It only took a few extra seconds. It’s not as if it hurts to make it look nice.” He slides his eyes shut and breathes out through pursed lips. “Perhaps you’d better feed me now.”
Before he says something he’ll really regret.
“I’ll be right back,” she says softly.
“Sanna, I—”
She covers his lips with her finger. “I’ll be right back.”
Then she strides outside, and he watches her go. She’s so brave. Why can’t he be like that? Walking into a throng of people without a thought?
With a groan, he shoves through the inner door and flops back on the moss bed he grew for her. Should he have made it bigger? He would have had to make the whole cottage bigger.
And even more elves would have stared.
Cerian. The freak of nature. People used to call Mother that. At least he comes by it honestly.
Fire makes his hands tingle, and he doesn’t fight his growing anger. He’s about to rear back and fling the fireballs in his palms at nothing in particular when Arisanna reappears in the open doorway right in front of him.
He curses loudly as he catches the fire before it hits her.
Why is she standing right there?
She looks terrified. Perhaps she’s just pretending to love him. What if she’s really just frightened of him and can’t escape him now?
“Next time, food first,” she says as her fear dissipates. “No matter what you say.”
He bites his tongue to keep the angry retort from spilling out.
“Here.” She shoves an entire carrot at him. “Chew. Swallow. Repeat.” Her expression softens. “And remember I love you, no matter what thoughts are parading through your head at the moment. I’m going to get your knapsack. I’ll be back.”
His stomach growls as she disappears through the doorway again.
Eat. He needs to eat. For her if nothing else.
So he does. And the bear slowly retreats.
When Arisanna returns, Cerian swallows the last of the carrot and looks sheepishly up at her. “Sanna, I—”
“This bed is surprisingly small, Cerian. Are you hoping I’ll curl up close to you again tonight?” Her eyes light up in a smile. “Because I will.”
He takes her words for the peace offering she clearly intends them as.
“That may have crossed my mind. Before you cut me off again, I’m sorry. I believe you’re right. Food first next time.”
“Scoot over,” she says.
He studies her for a moment.
Then he shakes his head.
Her brows furrow. “I can’t sit beside you?”
“No.”
“Oh.” She deflates, and he reaches for her with one of his vines.
He probably shouldn’t use his plant magic more right now, but he does it anyway as he pulls her closer.
“I can’t sit beside you?” she asks again, her lips twitching up at the corners this time.
“I have other plans for you.” He reaches for her waist, drawing her even closer until she’s straddling him. “We need to get you more elven clothes like these. I like you in trousers.”
The bear hovers at the edges of his psyche, but he holds it off.
“I think I need more food,” he whispers. He juts his chin toward the plate she set on the bed. “And I need you to feed it to me.”
“You do, huh?”
“I do. Desperately.”
“Well, we can’t have you turning back into the bear. I’d better feed you.”
“I agree.”
She picks up a fried turnip stick and sets it in his open mouth. “Are we going to share our cottage with Tharios?”
“Not a chance. Let him grow his own.”
Laughter fills her, and he steals a kiss before she offers him more food.
Did he really doubt her love?
“I love you, Sanna,” he whispers. “I don’t know what I did without you.”
“You scowled a lot.”
He pokes her, but she just grins and feeds him more.
Tharios can definitely grow his own shelter.