Post by Fogwalker of the Walking Stone on Sept 1, 2023 20:11:33 GMT
Co-written with the tastiest lumbersnacc Marto Copperkettle
It’s long into the day when Marto and Fog finally find themselves back in New Hillborrow, back in their room at the Hearth and Road.
Fog knows he’s been unusually quiet since Enlace, knows he can’t process forever. So when they finally arrive he stops fiddling with Mist’s ring, curls himself onto his favourite floor cushions, and looks up at Marto with a soft smile.
“Thank you. I kind of got wrapped up in everything that happened today, but I have to say I’ve never been more grateful that you were at my side.”
“Hey now,” Marto sets down his armour case and comes over to Fog. Taking their face into his hands carefully, mindful of the still sensitive scar. “You’ve been there for me, Fog. It’s about time I get to return the favour. Although…” Worry dashes across his face, “I can’t say I like what happened. I am glad you learned Mist wasn’t what Keeper Tamara feared they were.”
Fog lifts their hands up to Marto’s arms, almost anchoring himself there. The glass of Mist’s ring presses against skin when he does, something Fog was so used to before but it sticks out to him now. “You don’t owe me favours Marto, not like that.”
“Perhaps ‘favour’ isn’t the right word… But you know what I mean.” Blue eyes search their face. “I hope you do, at least…”
“I do know, I do. And I just wanted you to know how much you mean to me, though perhaps I don’t know how to put that into the best words sometimes.”
There’s a pause before Fog’s own look of concern, but slightly tinged with sadness. “And I’m not brushing off what else you said. Not talking about it won’t help… I can’t say I liked what happened either, there was a lot that happened today that I didn’t like. I’d certainly considered that Mist might not have been a good person before the memory loss. But that other possibility I never considered, that such a good friend was a lie. I… I think it would have broken me if it was true.”
“Another reason I’m glad that isn’t the case,” Marto says. He lets go of Fog, taking their hand with the Mist’s ring instead and settling down beside them on the pillows. “But neither Mist or you are out of the woods yet.”
He pauses, unsure how to put into words what he wants to ask. The question is clear on his face and Fog reads it, clear as day as Marto laces his fingers through theirs. He always likes to do that, his way of reaffirming he is here to support them.
Fog responds by slowly running his thumb over Marto’s knuckles before saying, “No we’re certainly not. In fact I’m worried I’ve drawn us deeper into them.” His eyes unfocus slightly as he remembers what happened, his voice quiet and distant.
“When I was under that ritual of Keepers Tamara’s, it only pulled together very fragmented memories of Mist’s encounter with Sehloho. I know they were Mist’s and not mine, but seeing Sehloho circling and their claws reaching for me, then the pain. It really felt like they were seeing me and not Mist in that moment.”
They lean down to gently place their head on Marto’s shoulder, also adding, “And that poem as well, I just don’t know what to think about first…”
There is another long pause. “Does it feel like Sehloho is still present with you, even now?” Marto asks very quietly.
“No, once I awoke from the ritual I felt no connection thankfully. It’s just you and me here… and well Mist.” Fog wiggles the fingers of his hand clasped in Marto’s, where Mist’s ring swirls silently.
The breath Marto had been holding releases on a soft, airy chuckle. “Mist is part of the package deal, just like Gwen and Fionn are.”
They sit in silence for a little bit before he speaks again. “As for the poem, I can help research it if you’d like. Maybe there’s something in one of the three libraries nearby that can help decode it a little. Yeah?”
“Yeah, I would appreciate that. And I can perhaps ask around with people, books tend to make me sleepy.”
Fog lifts his head up. They look contemplative as they ask, “What do you think of it? If I’m honest I’m too focused on the ‘Friends die, Cattle die part’ to consider much of the rest.” Barely above a fearful whisper he adds, “I am the Friend, are others too? Have I stupidly endangered others with my curiosity…”
There is a faint hollowness, or rather the memory of it, that flits like a shadow across Marto’s face. Seeing the scars cutting down Fog’s face made a phantom pain twitch on the left side of his ribs.
“Even if that were the case, it wouldn’t change my being here. Nor, I’m sure, would it for others who care about you,” Marto says, the words low and heavy. “Beings like this, who come coupled with poems of warning and malice… they are best not faced alone.” He comes close but does not touch the raised skin on his partner’s face with his thumb. The flash of anger and worry is brief and bright, but unmistakable.
“If anything changes, if you have any dreams or visions or- just anything… You’ll tell me, won’t you?”
With that look Fog reaches up again to slowly bring Marto’s hand away from the scar, their fear disappearing. “Of course I’ll still worry about the people I care for but I will certainly not face this alone, there is no joy in being isolated and I will not let this Sehloho do that. I will not let them in like that.”
“And I promise you’d be the first to know if anything else happens.” He leans down for a brief kiss before flopping back onto the cushions with a sigh, still holding onto Marto’s hand as they loosely curl around him. “Though dreams involve sleeping, and I’m not sure how easily that’ll come to me tonight.”
As they curl around him, the shirt Fog wears lifts up just a little, exposing the skin and fur beneath. The soft hairs barely touch his pinky but it changes Marto’s mood entirely from one of worry to one of wanting.
“Hmm, well, I can think of a few things I could do to help you fall asleep easier…” The words trail off as Marto’s strong hand brushes down Fog’s side slowly, coming to rest on their hips.
There’s a slightly coy grin from Fog as he moves his arms to rest against the cushions above him, crop top riding even further up his midriff. “Um hmm, I would love for you to share those ideas. Or better yet, show me if you’re willing to do so.”
“I am more than willing, so long as you pay attention, and keep your hands right there…”
That night Fog dreams of the memory of meeting Mist for the first time, deep in the bitterly cold forests of Hartsvale. They’re running for their life like they remember, breath burning in their lungs from the effort, but they can tell something is immediately off. The sky is a surprising deep red, and the creature giving chase lets out a loud hawk-like caw when it didn’t before. Then a voice calls out, dreadfully close behind them. “I know it all, where you hid your eye. Cattle die. Friends die. So too, must you die.” Then the dream abruptly ends.
Fog jolts awake, consciousness hurtled from the frosty memory of his old home to the soft warmth of reality. It takes a moment for their breath to steady, the cold sweats to stop, to remind themself that it was just a dream. A dream that felt very wrong, but a dream nonetheless.
Once a bit calmer he turns to the side, where Marto is still sleeping peacefully. Fog takes a moment to admire him in the soft morning light, moving a stray piece of golden hair out of his face before gently shaking his shoulder.
“Marto… Marto, don’t panic but something happened.”
“Nnng, wha…?” One still sleepy eye peeks open and then closes. Before both jolt open, more awake and alert. “What? What’s wrong?”
Fog keeps their hand on Marto’s shoulder to help calm him, to keep themself calm. “I had a dream, it seems Sehloho wasted no time. But I don’t think there’s immediate danger, it felt more like a warning or a declaration than anything else.”
“Are you sure?” the halfling asks, sitting up properly. He runs a hand through his hair, searching Fog’s face for anything that might say something they cannot. “I don’t mean to make you worry but you know I’ve had my dreams invaded before. It’s never just a warning…”
“I think so, but then perhaps not… I’m not familiar with matters like this.” He goes to fidget with Mist’s ring, but it’s still in its place nearby and so he plops his hands in his lap instead. “Let me tell you what happened, what I saw, maybe that will help.”
And so he does, recites the dream exactly as he remembers it. What was similar to his memories of that encounter, what was different, and most importantly the choice words the voice recited from Sehloho’s poem.
Once finished they sit there, visibly unsure of what to do or say next. It is a long minute before Marto speaks..
“I wondered, and worried, if these scars meant Sehloho’s attention would turn to you…”
There is no accusation or look of reproach. Just acceptance of a fear coming to pass.
“I think we should try to find out all we can about that poem. Then, whatever our research yields, we go back to Enlace and speak to Keeper Tamara.” Marto takes Fog’s hands in his hand and holds them close. “They may know how to guard against Sehloho, and if not, maybe they can give us further insight on all this.” He dips his head to catch Fog’s gaze. “How does that sound?”
Fog meets his gaze, undeniably worried but they still manage a small smile. “This sudden attention feels like a hunter setting sights on prey, which I’m used to experiencing, but this is quite the intense version.”
As he continues to hold Marto’s gaze it’s impossible to hide the appreciation he has for the man before him. “And that sounds like a fantastic plan. Surely this isn’t the first time it’s happened, there must be information out there. That poem has obviously been around for time and time means others must have mused over it. In the meantime the scar means I get to try some new makeup techniques at least.”
Marto’s eyes snag on the new marks on Fog’s face. “I might be one to talk, but… is there a reason you wish to keep the scars, Fog?”
There’s a curious look from Fog at the question, they consider a moment before answering. “We all have our reasons, nothing wrong with being intrigued about another’s. But it’s kind of the same reason why my family, my tribe, have the tattoos we do. When certain events happen to us that have such a significant effect on our lives, that feel personally important, we mark the occasion with ink. No two firbolg’s tattoos will ever be the same, and if you ever see someone from my old home heavily tattooed then you know they’ve led quite the eventful and storied life. It’s something to be proud of. Most people’s marked events are happy reasons, but not always.”
He waves a hand over to the tattoo on this left shoulder of dark swirling mists gathered round two pinpricks of light, bright eyes watching in the darkness. “The one I have is of that day I met Mist actually, when I barely made it home alive. So for me it’s in a similar vein, it’s not ink but it’s still a mark of something significant to me.”
Sheepishly he adds, “Sorry, that was a bit of a lengthier explanation, but that’s why I want to keep it. Though I understand not everyone would, some marks are too painful a reminder and that’s okay too.”
“And some marks go deeper than skin…” Marto says in a low voice. He shakes his head, cupping Fog’s face in one calloused hand. “Thank you for telling me. I… understand. So you have nothing to apologise for, okay? Not to me, and not ever.”
Fog leans into the touch, eyes soft and considering. “Okay I won’t… As long as you won’t either, marks or no marks and ridiculously amazing eyes and all.”
Almost overwhelmed by feeling, Fog wraps his arms around Marto’s waist to hug him. Face buried in his neck so that their voice is slightly muffled as they speak.
“I really do adore you Marto Copperkettle.”
Marto reciprocates the embrace, burying his own face into the soft brush of fine, dark hair. “I don’t know what I did to have you in my life, but whatever it was, and Yondalla willing, I will keep on doing it.” His arms squeezes just a little tighter as he dives deeper into the hug. “I love you, Fogwalker.”
Marto can feel their breath stutter on his neck briefly before a kiss is placed there, lips smiling against the delicate skin. “Please do, but I can assure you I’m not going anywhere. I love you too much to do so.”