The Fayfolk and the Forester

Doran just shook his head and resigned himself to ignorance, even in the face of an answer. Sometimes, the answers were less clear than the things in question. "I don't think I'll ever understand how you fayfolk live. The life of trees. The strength of bird songs. The power in names. It's another world entirely."

"Dear woodcutter, 'Neath is another world. This one, yours...it's just different, like a painting of 'Neath. You see things, but we know them. All the things in your world, we know their true nature."

"What of me, then?" he asked cheekily.

"In time, I will show you," she deflected easily. "But for now, we'll wander more. I still have to thank you for my apple. With any luck, I'll have a tree of my own some day that you don't turn into kindling for your hearth."

He sighed, following in her regal wake. "Will I never be forgiven?"

She flashed him an impish grin. "Not in this life, you won't. Not until I have my apple tree." Their path led up the embankment and into the clearing beyond, summer sunlight casting a warm glow across the sparse trees ahead. It made Maenyr's dark hair stand out against the greenery all around her.

"What if I gave you mine?"

"Your apple tree? You can't; it won't have me."

Doran's brow furrowed in confusion. "It can do that?"

Maenyr laughed to herself, as if a child has just asked her why birds could fly but deer could not. "It can. And it won't. You planted it, pruned it, raised it from birth. It belongs to you."

"Could you not pick it's fruit?" he offered.

"It won't allow me to take what is yours. I've tried." Her eyes looked into the middle distance. "It refuses."

"It refuses?" Doran couldn't imagine how a tree would refuse to have its fruit picked. Could it raise its branches out of her reach? Attack her? Had he missed something in the years he nurtured the tree and helped it grow?

"It does," the fay confirmed.

"How could it stop you?"

She shrugged. "It could call my name. Command me."

"Could it call mine?" He had begun to wonder over the years what was in a name. Not his given name, but the true name he apparently had that separated him from the rest of humanity. Or all the rest of creation. There could be more men named Doran out there, but Finn had once told him that there would only ever be a singular Doran.

"It could call your name, yes. You've spent enough time with it, put enough of yourself into its life that it knows your nature. It understands who you are."

"What would that do, calling my name?" he asked.

Maenyr shrugged. "Anything it wanted."

"And it would kill you for picking its fruit?"

"Probably not, but it would punish me. It belongs to you. And it wants to." She played with a locke of long, black hair and let out a little sigh. "I have come to understand its resolve in this regard, if without meaning to."

"And when I'm gone, who then?"

"You should know how set in their ways the trees are. Once they decide to take root, they're rooted. Only the earth below them can change that." Her tone turned playful again, signaling that their conversation was going to take a turn in a different direction. "Besides your axe, of course."

"I remind you that I give twice I take," came the counter.

"Trees do not take kindly to falling upon the altar of iron, woodcutter."

That was surprisingly...insightful. "I'll remember that. For what it's worth."

"More than you know." The fay reached out and took him by the wrist, pulling him with otherworldly vigor across the field. Her small frame commanded him, light in touch and immense in its will. He felt lighter on his feet now, uplifted somehow. Was it her will or her fay magic? The wind?

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"To my favorite place under the stars."

He looked up at the sky, dotted with lazy clouds moving at their own leisurely pace, unaffected by the fay's insistence. "But it's mid-afternoon."

"The sun will give the moon its place eventually. Come, I promise it's well worth the last apple of summer." She raised an arm out toward the woods ahead, flashing him an inviting little grin. Doran acquiesced and allowed her to take him across the valley. Maenyr couldn't have been happier if she had every apple of the whole year, beaming with pride in her uncontested rule of the valley. Along the way they stopped to pick wildflowers and adorn the fay with a crown of ivy and dandelions. Her dark hair gleamed beneath the yellows, purples, and reds woven into its length.

She seemed happy now. It wasn't often that she came around out of anything more than curiosity. If this day was his last, he could think of far worse ways to spend it. He chuckled a little to himself at Maenyr's unbridled self-satisfaction.

"A queen if I ever saw one."

She spun around on her toes, depositing a flower behind Doran's ear. "Does it follow that you're my oathsworn?"

"Not unless you ask."

"Then I ask, will you serve me?" She held a hand out, delicate fingers splayed out for him to take.

He took them gently. "No."

At that, Maenyr's expression went blank. Surely, that wasn't the answer she'd been preparing for. In fact, refusal appeared to be so ridiculous an idea that the fay broke out into laughter. She withdrew her hand and vaulted backwards into the underbrush, crouching low to hide everything but her crown behind the foliage.

"Will you chase me, then? If you will not serve me then you must be a usurper."

"Are you the prize?" Doran asked.

"Perhaps I'll tell you if you catch me," she offered, shaking her hiding place theatrically. Doran approached the bush with a leisurely gait, closely watched by the fay's keen eyes. She made a hissing noise as he drew close.

"You'll never catch me, Doran. Not like that."

Doran plunged his arms into the bush, only to come back with the ivy crown without Maenyr in it. She came to her feet a few steps out of reach, cloak of greenery now covered in a mask of decayed undergrowth. The forester leapt her previous hiding place and gave chase, much to the fay's delight.

She bounded ahead of him, easily finding the hidden footing ahead. Doran nearly caught her once, but only managed to catch her cloak as she disappeared out of it one moment and reappeared mid-leap from a tree ahead the next. She flashed him a challenger's grin and he continued the chase.

Even so, he knew there was no sure victory at the end of it. In fact, he knew he was going to lose this game from the very start. She gained more and more ground, disappearing into the hollow of a tree only to appear hanging from a branch elsewhere. The ground he lost, she gained, and soon he was just following the ink-dark streak of her hair through the leaves and tree trunks.

"Are all fayfolk so fleet-footed?" he called.

"Only those of us who want to be!" she replied casually from just over his shoulder mischievously.

He kept running.

Eventually, he broke through a series of low-hanging branches weighed down by remarkable growth and ivy. On the other side, he came upon Maenyr in little more than a short, thin gown of mossy leaves. Between them stood a stag nearly as tall as Doran, ivy and flowers handing from its antlers. Its head lowered in challenge and the fay's grin behind grew ever wider.

"Am I to prove which of us is better suited for Anlach?" Doran asked.

"How badly do you want to catch me?" tossed the fay back to him.

"Perhaps I'll tell you if you catch me." Doran repeated back to her from before, much to Maenyr's confusion. "You like having a hunt turned on its head, don't you?"

Doran spun on heel and retreated back through the veil of foliage he'd just come through. Behind him Maenyr shouted something indistinct as the forester's footsteps thundered against the ground. Suddenly, the fay lunged from a tree beside him, nearly catching him in the side. He twisted out of the way and continued at pace, hearing her dissatisfied shouting in his wake.

He made it as far as a field with her giving chase, continually ambushing him from a blind spot nearby, each time falling just short of her goal. Free of the trees and all Maenyr's apparent places of attack, he turned around and panted wearily, watching his pursuer creep up from the remains of a stump as wide around as a round shield. Her eyes were alight with righteous determination.

"It is unwise to deny a fay their fun."

"You're not having fun on the chase? A hunt turned on its head?"

"A hunt?" She rolled her eyes. "As the owl hunts the mouse, perhaps." She disappeared in an instant and Doran felt a presence come to life behind him. "The field was a poor choice of arena, little mouse."

Doran turned around and Maenyr pushed him to the ground. She planted herself over him, as if looking down at a fallen foe on the battlefield, savoring the hard-won moment. She looked quite pleased with her work.

"Fallen here beneath the eyes of the huntress," Doran declared. In response, Maenyr knelt down on all fours, putting a hand on either side of his shoulders. A cascade of dark hair shadowed the sun like a misplaced streak of midnight in the late afternoon. The fay's pale forehead rested on his, green eyes staring into him piercingly. "And now, my quarry, the hunt is over."

"Where to next?"

Ever light on foot and in mood, Maenyr stood up, offering him a hand as she did. "Wherever we'd like." The forester got to his feet and they continued through the woods, now flanked by the curious stag from before. He had since shaken off his adornment and now possessed the bare, regal antlers his nature deigned appropriate.

"Have I got a new companion now?" Doran asked, reaching a hand out to the stag. It obliged by letting him run his hand down its flank.

"Companion?" questioned the fay beside him.

"Our third man here."

"Shagul is a poor substitute for my company, woodcutter."

Doran grutned, "Forester."

"Just the same." Her tone match the one from this morning. Doran looked to the sun through the sparse canopy. It was getting late in the day. Dusk would be tugging its cousin to bed soon and the sun would yield its place to the moon. After that, there wasn't much left for Doran to do but wait for the inevitable.

At a hillock clear of trees, Shagul departed their company, inclining his antlers respectfully toward Maenyr before bounding off into the woods again with the unconcerned haste that red deer possessed.

"What was that for?"

Maenyr arched a brow knowingly. "If you recall, I'm the last fay in the valley. Some know to pay homage." Her tone flattened. "Others test my patience and chop down my home."

A sigh escaped Doran's chest. "If I lived a hundred lives I couldn't please you after that."

"You could try," came accompanied with a shrug.

"That is a vain endeavor for the span of a single evening."

"Who knows? Perhaps you'll succeed. I have been known to forgive, should an appropriate offering be given."

"Should I be picking more apples then?"

The fay bit her lip and murmured, "It would serve you well not to get my hopes up, woodcutter." He pondered if in the entire valley that there might be a single apple tree that would let her pick its fruit. Finding one might make up for the wrongs of the past as a parting gift. He stared at the sky as if it would shine a beam of light down upon his mark. The sun maintained its decline toward the horizon blooming with color, a final gift of its own before it departed for the horizon. It would be night soon.

There's no time left to wait.

"Maenyr."

She turned. "Yes?"

Doran leaned forward and kissed her on the mouth. She was soft, like fresh moss under the rain. She didn't move as he pulled away gently, stock still in her complete surprise at his brazen move. He was silent for a few moments in the face of her stunned, sun-gold expression.

"Come what m-"

He was facing the sky before he could blink, thrown to the ground by the fay's unexpected strength. She followed him down with a wild and predatory look in her eyes, landing on all fours. A cascade of clover erupted from beneath her hands, entangling Doran's body from waist to chin.

"You sneak!" Maenyr snarled viciously, baring her teeth. "I waiver for a moment and you steal what was five seasons in the making! I..."

She kissed him with ferocity, biting hip lip as she clasped his head in her hands. Doran tried to raise his arms, but the thousand clover footsoldiers in 'Neath's employ kept his hands to the ground. The fay's kiss was interrupted by the necessity to breathe. He tried to speak, but she refused to hear it.

"Mae-"

"No."

"M-"

"No." Her ravenous mouth engulfed his, tasting and taking whatever was in reach. He could do little else but reciprocate, and even then, her pace and vigor were so great that he had trouble keeping up.

She finally pulled away, panting heavily a finger's width away from his face. Her breath was hot on his lips. Her cheeks were flushed red with arousal. "I will have you in this moment, Doran. And I will not be denied."

"Let me embrace you."

"You may when I have taken my fill. You stole a kiss from a fay. One who waited patiently for thirteen seasons while you dawdled with this and that. Birinost. Finn. Tuina. Gera. Your fires. Your mint! The chickens! Your tomb-home! My ever-oak!" She slammed a fist against the grass. "I could have had you in my ever-oak!"

"I didn't know you were waiting," Doran offered, mildly amused with her exasperation.

She kissed him again, this time with less intensity and more depth. She sat up shortly after, letting out a frustrated sigh.

"You know," she began with resignation. "I was going to kiss you under the full moon, all the stars above watching, and say that I loved you. It would have been without equal, here or 'Neath. Remembered forever. But now..." Maenyr leaned down and put a finger to Doran's chin, tilting his face up to look directly into his eyes. "You have turned thief twice now. And that I will not forgive in a hundred lifetimes."

"What will you do with me now?"

"I will make you know why the stags bow when I approach, the goats come when I call, the trees bloom when I rise, and the humans obey when I wish it."

"And what is your wish, lord in the valley?" Doran asked in an appropriately subservient tone.

Maenyr tipped his chin further to accentuate her control. "I wish for you to want me."

"You needn't wish for that." Doran smiled genuinely, despite himself. "I already love you, Maenyr."

At that, the fay's expression slackened a bit. She sat up slowly, putting a hand to her mouth as the last light of the sun crossed over her glimmering green eyes. The clover around Doran's broad frame eased in its hold and he pushed himself to sit up with her. She merely stared for several beats with tears rolling down her cheeks. Even in tears, her beauty was unmatched by any woman Doran's eyes had ever known.

"I love you, Doran," she whispered.

"And I love you, Maenyr," he replied.

The fay threw her arms around him and smothered him in a kiss, melting against him as his arms snaked around her slim, ivory body. One of her hands balled into a fist in his short hair, tugging him deeper into the kiss. He obliged, tilting his head to the side to allow her tongue to meet his. She suddenly pulled his head back, biting his bottom lip with a sensual moan.

Breathless, she asked, "How long?"

"Since Tuina called the rain."

She met his eyes with a bemused expression. "That was over five summers ago."

He nodded, her hand still gripping his hair like a vice. "Five, yes. Almost six."

"You have loved me and said nothing for five summers?"

"I have." There was no hesitation in his voice.

Maenyr's lips curled into a devious smirk and she kissed him again, letting her tongue rove across his teeth playfully. As he leaned in, she pulled away with a soft giggle, snapping her teeth as their eyes met again.

"It is most unwise to hide from a fay what she wants."

He chuckled. "I am not a clever man."

"Nor are you a fool." She looked away and then back after a moment of thought. "Not anymore, in any case."

"Your wish, lord in the valley, is this one's duty," Doran returned in a dramatic and overdrawn way.

She couldn't help but roll her eyes, as she always did. "I wish for all the love that you possess. Now and forever. Beneath the stars and the elm and the willow and the ever-oa-"

This time, he caught her by surprise with a kiss of his own. She protested for a moment, but then squeezed him tightly with both arms. Her clothes seemed to disintegrate around her, leaving her body naked in the dim and pale light of the retreating sun.

Doran felt something grabbing him from every available location, realizing that the tangle of clover beneath him had returned to its previous duties of entangling him. He let go of the fay and let her servants do their work, finding his shirt rising off his body and his boots coming off without trouble. They pushed and prodded him until he was positioned above the fay on all fours, bare and naked as she.

He stared at her ivory face, eyes glimmering up at him with the same unbound emotion as when she'd received his confession of love. He put a hand to her cheek and she inclined her head toward his palm, warmth spreading to him like a soothing memory of happiness.

"I am yours, Maenyr, with everything that I am. Even if only once, I give myself to you."

"I have waited long enough, woodcutter." She wrapped her legs around his waist and eased him forward. She started to tremble as they touched, but continued to pull him with slow, purposeful resolve. He penetrated her in one smooth motion and she gasped in surprise.

Doran blinked hard at the feeling. Her body clenched as he seated his arousal completely inside of her; a bolt of pleasure striking its way through him in a single, long line. She held him there as her breath returned to normal, feet hooking around one another against him.

"How th-"

Her lips drowned whatever words intended after that with immediate ferocity. Doran pulled back and she yanked him back down, digging her heels into the small of his back. He started a rhythm between them, but she gripped his broad back with both arms, raking her nails across his skin as a wild part of her finally broke free.

She moaned into his mouth, sending vibrations through his entire body. Hand hands scrabbled across him erratically, trying to find a place to hold as they moved and shifted against each other.

"Give me everything," she demanded.

He obliged.

Their hips met with a loud smack and Maenyr's entire face darkened a shade. She broke their kiss and put her face to his as their pace quickened and his thrusts deepened, each stroke pounding at her small, slender body. Her breath was ragged and uneven in his ear, bringing him new enthusiasm as her voice cracked at the deepest point in every cycle.

She bit his shoulder and let a growl wrench itself free from her throat, arms locking their bodies together tighter than he could imagine she had the strength for. She shuddered uncontrollably and screamed into his shoulder, keeping him seated completely inside of her body.

The forester refocused for a moment as she clung to him. His body begged to continue, but he waited. Every part of him was in a glow of pleasure. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so alive.

"Are you alright?" he asked after Maenyr's silence drew on.

Her jaw unlocked and she relaxed against the grass, panting heavily. She focused her eyes on him and gave an inexplicable expression, as if she knew neither of them had an answer for that. "I have...have never done...that before."

"Made love?" he ventured. Surely she has.