About a days and a half walk it had been since Fenrir had left his cabin home in the forest, and soon he would arrive at his destination; the Smiths’ cottage. Often he would make this trek, over the river and through the woods, but this time it was quite different; this time he’d meet her. He had always just been a watchful eye from afar, a silent guardian, shrouded in foliage in the guise of a wolf. Always keeping his distance, knowing well that this time is hers, and he must respect that. So he’d watch, making sure no danger would befall her, and he’d wait, until the time was his.

A feeling of uneasiness plagued him the whole trip over. The idea had always captivated him, and he eagerly awaited an end to his solitude. He came to realize, however, that it had been much easier to think about it when it was a dream of a faraway place and time. Now, now it was almost reality, and so his mind was filled with inquiry and doubt. Whatever happens, an agreement must be fulfilled, he would tell himself.

Still, he wondered how it would go over; how she would feel about him. Often he worried that the old woman never spoke of this arrangement to the girl. Fenrir did sparsely keep in touch over the years, but maybe she had forgotten, or had hoped Fenrir would forget or pass away. The promise was many years old, after all, and the thought concerned him. If she didn’t know, would she be prepared to accept it? What if she had known, but was unaware that he was a Lycanthrope? He pushed such thoughts to the back of his mind as finally he reached the outskirts of a tiny cottage.

He moved up to knock on the front door, wearing his tunic made of leather and a dreary grey hooded-cloak. When the old lady answered, he pulled back the hood to clearly reveal himself. His eyes, beard, and perpetually unkempt hair were all greyish-brown in color. Not the somber grey tint of an aged man, the color was more like that of the grey wolf. He stood before her, nearly six feet tall, a young adult with a fit and able body.

“Willow…” he greeted the woman “…have you been well?” She didn’t look pleased to see him, though Fenrir could have expected as much. She gave a nod, and then they stood there in silence for a moment. “…Is she…” Fenrir began to inquire as he peered over the old woman’s shoulder.

“She’s upstairs,” Willow replied softly. “Please, come in.” He complied as she led him into the dining room. The exuberant scent of a fresh roast filled his nose, but hunger was the last thing on his mind. He took a seat at the table, trying to calm his nerves. Shortly after, the young woman entered the room. He rose abruptly to his feet, slightly bumping the table with his tense and sudden motion. He was taken by the sight of her, for though he had seen her many times before, never so close. In his bewildered state, he could think of only one thing to say…

“…Hello…”

As she spoke, he caught a whiff of her scent. It was that of fresh flowers, and it left him feeling euphoric. Rose… upon learning her name, he was filled with joy. Forever she had just been a blurred dream, an enigma. Now, a name gave it life; now, it felt real. The sight, the scent, the sound of her voice, it was almost too much. He felt nearly overwhelmed, but managed to keep himself reserved, not wanting to seem brash or frighten the girl.

Before he could introduce himself, Willow had rushed Rose off to the kitchen. Left there alone with these sensations, Fenrir took a seat once more and attempted to sort his thoughts. The small home was very clean, neat, and orderly, and it left him feeling out of place. It’s not like Fenrir was dirty, or that he lived haphazardly, but he wasn’t nearly as refined. His cabin was more spacious, and his lifestyle more practical. The same contrast held true moments ago when Rose had been in the room. She was petite, and her outfit elegant, causing Fenrir’s figure and weathered clothes to seem rather rugged.

Thank you for coming this evening. The words echoed throughout his mind. Did she know why he was here? Was she prepared; grateful for his arrival? Fenrir smiled at the thought, wanting it to be true, hoping it could all turn out so easily. But then, his acute hearing would reveal the truth. His ears were sharper than that of a normal man, though not nearly as keen as when he took the form of a wolf or a Lycanthrope. Still, it was enough to pick up the hushed voice one room over.

Grandmother, who is that? Upon hearing those words Fenrir’s smile whisked away and a somber uneasiness filled him once again. He kept his composure as the women re-entered the room and set the table. Without much being said, they began to eat, sharing a meal in the slightly awkward silence. He tried his best not to stare at Rose, though often his gaze would find her when she wasn’t looking. She caught his glimpse a few times, so he’d blink and redirect his sight as if to feign indifference. Near the end of the meal, Fenrir attempted to introduce himself once more.

“Rose…” he cleared his throat, then faced the young girl “…my name is…”

“Fenrir.” Willow interrupted, sounding more like she was beckoning Fenrir’s attention rather than finishing his introduction. “…Perhaps…” she spoke very nervously, “…maybe you could spend some time here… and maybe… if you find it in your heart, after a few weeks… you could let the girl decide.” her choice of words vague, keeping Rose still in the dark.

There was visible frustration on Fenrir’s face. Was this a ploy? She couldn’t trust him, could she? Who could blame her, he’s Lycan after all, and most Lycan are more beast than man. Take her… a voice growled in his head, you are a wolf, take what is yours. It was always a struggle between the man and the beast. What set Fenrir apart from his kin, however, was that the man often won. Still, the beast was always there, murmuring in his ear, tempting him.

This emotion reminded him of that fateful night, from where this all began. The night where he had almost chosen to kill Willow, he had almost became the beast. She pleaded for her life, but he had orders to follow, and the events of the war ran his emotions high. Then she pleaded for the life of another, and the man won out. They struck an agreement; Fenrir abandoned the war, and returned Willow to her home.

What did his compassion gain him that night? Hated by humans and a traitor to his own kind, Fenrir had nothing and no one. His only reward would be the girl; his own chance at happiness… this… Rose. Was this old woman trying to take that away?

“…Perhaps…” Fenrir replied in confidence, mockingly mimicking Willow’s request, “…maybe you could have told her.”

“Rose, wait!” Fenrir called out as he stood up, but with a crash of the slammed door, she was gone. His frustration and uneasiness turned to melancholy as he sat back down, slumped in his chair. Fenrir and Willow shared an apathetic moment of silence. “You should have told her sooner…” Fenrir grumbled, not angrily but dejected. “She would have accepted it better… she wouldn’t hate me.”

Willow let out a deep sigh “Maybe… maybe not.” she replied, sounding a little sympathetic toward Fenrir now. “This time is hers. Isn’t that what you said back then? She deserved to have that freedom until now.” Fenrir sat quietly, not showing any signs of protest. Then his mind focused on that last bit…. freedom.

“Do you think of my bond as a prison?” Fenrir inquired with agitation in his voice.

“Is that not the deal? My freedom, in exchange the freedom of another.”

“A life for a life.” Fenrir replied “I saved you from an ill fate, so that…”

“So that she could have one?” Willow accusingly interrupted. Fenrir stood up from his chair, towering over the woman. With a fire burning in his eyes, he looked her straight in the face.

“So that I can save her from one.” He responded with seriousness and sincerity. “This world is cruel and unforgiving; many of its inhabitants malevolent and unkind. I know this better than most. She is precious and innocent, and I wish to protect some of that.” Fenrir walked past, stopping at the gap between dining room and front hall. He peered down the hallway, staring intently at the closed door from which Rose had furiously made her exit. The words struck accord within the old woman, her wariness lessened.

“…you’ll take good care of her, then? Won’t you…” Willow spoke very softly under her breath. Fenrir did not reply, for lost in thought, he did not even hear the subtle words of the old woman. It did not matter; the remark was more conclusion than inquisition. After a few moments of stillness, Willow spoke again, now in a natural tone. “I can give you her hand, but I can’t give you her heart.” this time Fenrir had heard her.

“…I know.”

~

Fenrir trailed through the snow, following her white prints and ornate scent. He contemplated going in the guise of a wolf; to watch her from afar and to give her space, as often he had did before. No, he thought, I must still give her space, but things are different now. Words must be said, though perhaps delicate and few. And so, he made his way toward her as a man.

It was not long until he came into sight of the bright red silhouette enclosed in white, set low to the ground. Carefully he made his way over, as not to make his presence known. Once he got close enough to hear her weeping, he stopped. As much as he wanted to comfort her then and there, he figured he’d better let the tears run their course. He took concealment behind a tree and patiently waited for the sobs to die down.

Fenrir contemplated what Willow had said earlier. Let the girl decide… he thought about it, about how that might be the right thing to do, about how she might accept him all the more easily. And if she said no…? He couldn’t bear that thought, he couldn’t leave this up to chance. He would just have to give her time and space, insisting one day it will happen. Finally, he approached her.

“…you’ll catch a cold out here like that…” Fenrir spoke with a loud yet benign voice, “…we should get you back inside.” It was obvious she hadn’t perceived his presence until he spoke, as a result of her dismal state and the quieted steps in the snow. She stayed very silent and still, not turning around to see him; her frigid form only being broken by the occasional sob. “Look, I think we got off on the wrong foot… I’m not going to rush you into anything, and I’m not here to oppress you. I want… I want to give you a good life.”

Finally, when Rose looked up and their gaze met again, Fenrir felt slight reprieve. Rosy cheeks and misty eyes, still she had a rather sullen look. Despite that, he couldn’t help but find her incredibly cute; a delicate red flower, made all the more appealing by the vast sea of white. It was then she began to speak.

I think I may have loved him. The words resonated in his head; words he had feared to hear. He was sure he had seen this man before, the suitor she spoke of, when he had observed her as a wolf. It was not jealously he felt so much as… guilt. To be forced away from one whom you love, is that not an ill fate? The word she used, think, was the only comfort he could find.

Wobbly, she pushed herself up onto her feet. Fenrir wanted to reach out and help, but did not dare to touch her, fearing another outburst. He still did not know how the girl felt, and he didn’t want to overstep his bounds. She spoke again, and all of it took Fenrir by surprise. Her brash remark of intimacy unexpected; her demands all of things that he felt already went without saying. Heh, she’s still just a kid… he thought, realizing he could have expected as much.

After her trembling words, he felt great relief. He thought she had hated him, yet in the short time between her passionate fit of anger and now, she was considering him. Suddenly, Rose stumbled toward him, pressing her face to his shoulder. Fenrir was bewildered, surprised again by an unanticipated event. Stunned, his arms hovered over her for a moment, until finally he decided to embrace her. He held her tightly, snowflakes now gently beginning to descend around them.

“Anything…” he said, a late reply to her previous words. In this moment, he felt something he had not truly felt in a long time… he felt happy. How long he held her, he would never be able to recall, for it seemed timeless. From this incredible joy, a drop of water had formed and rolled down his cheek. Wolves don’t cry, he heard his old comrade say in the back of his mind. Maybe… maybe I‘m not a beast… Fenrir thought.

~

Fenrir returned to the small cottage, carrying Rose in his arms. She had passed out back near the lake and he wanted to let her rest. He had wrapped his grey cloak around her, giving another layer to shield her from the cold and the falling snow. So he entered the home, snow affixed on his shoulders and in his hair.

“Is she alright?” Willow asked urgently upon seeing them arrive. Fenrir nodded. Willow quickly moved closer to examine her granddaughter. “Poor thing, she must have wore herself out. Here, I’ll lead you to her bed.” He followed the old woman to the room, and then he would lay Rose down atop her mattress. He left his cloak wrapped around her, making certain not to disturb her. Visually, the mix of grey and red seemed to go together well. The humble grey accentuated the vibrant red, while the red seemed to deliver some life to the grey.

“How did it go?” Willow asked in a hushed voice.

“...Well.” Fenrir replied with a faint smile. Willow seemed surprised, as he too had been.

“Have you decided what you are going to do?” She quietly inquired.

“I’ll stay here for now. It will be good for us to spend time together in a familiar setting, I think. I will give her as much time as she needs before I’m to show her a new home.” A sound consensus, he thought.

“Come, the guest room then. It’s a bit small, especially for you, you might feel…”

“I’ll be fine.” He said confidently, taking one last look at the dormant Rose before following Willow out of the room.

Fenrir had not been able sleep well that night. He had trouble calming himself, his body still trembling with excitement, his mind still racing. He recalled all the events that had happened, from the moment he knocked on the front door to the moment he left Rose at her bed. He was happy things turned out decently, but he worried of what the future might bring. Finally, too tired to think anymore, he drifted off to sleep.

That night he had a dream. He was his human self, and he was running through a dark forest, being chased by a wolf. He ran and ran, for what seemed like ages, until finally he had lost the wolf and came upon a clearing. Within this clearing, a brilliant moonlight shined upon a single red rose in the ground. Fascinated by the flower, he moved in to harvest it from the soil. The rose had thorns, however, so as he pulled it pricked his finger and he began to bleed.

He could detect the scent of his blood fill the air, as if his sense of smell had improved immensely. Suddenly, he was surrounded by glowing red eyes in the darkness. Up ahead, a pair of these eyes moved toward him. The moonlight revealed what they belong to; a wolf, with a coat of fur as dark as night, and a fierce scar across his left eye. This wolf then began to shape shift into an immense and terrible beast, half-man and half-wolf; a lycanthrope. It was someone he remembered; someone he knew.

“You are a wolf, Fen…” The lycan growled, in a deep and threatening voice. “One day, you have to accept that.” In an obscure angle, Fenrir managed to look upon himself and realize that he was no longer human, but instead the wolf that had been chasing him earlier. The rose he had picked lay in front of him, and now it blew off with the wind. Fenrir chased the flower, as the wolf had chased him.

The dream ended there, but his rest did not. He was never a morning person to begin with. Now, with the lack of sleep, he was sure to slumber well into the day if no one were to disturb him.

Rose’s soft, sweet voice roused Fenrir awake from his slumber. He lightly opened his tired eyes, which for some reason, perhaps due to the dream, had pupils of the wolf. If Rose hadn’t squeezed her own eyes shut, she may have noticed this odd occurrence. With a quick blink, his eyes returned to normal, accommodating that of his human form.

He saw her, nervously standing in the half-open doorway. Compared to that of the night before, Rose wore a simple dress, but she was still all the most beautiful to him. He did not speak, taking a moment to gaze upon her as she yet to realize he had awoken. He calmly sat up on his bed and face toward her; placing feet on the floor, elbows resting on knees.

“Rose…” he said tenderly, eyes half open, still in an elated drowsy state. “…are you… but a dream?” Recognizing that he was still partially asleep, Fenrir rubbed his eyes. “I mean…” quickly he interjected, realizing what he just said may have sounded rather silly, “Did the night treat you well?” The question he had first planned to ask, hoping the events of last night had not befallen her Ill.

“Breakfast?” Fenrir perked up, delighted to hear both this news and that she had slept well. It was definitely strange, not having to fetch his own morning meal, but it was kind of nice. Having just awaken, Fenrir’s muscles felt stiff. Still slightly under the haze of drowsiness, he closed his eyes without much thought, beginning to execute his normal morning routine.

Keeping his seat, he inclined his head forward. He stretched his neck; left to right. Next, he put his right arm on his chest, grabbing it with the forearm of his left. Pulling his arm this way, he could feel the stretch within his shoulder. Flipping this posture, he repeated the same stretch for his left arm.

Afterward, he reached up with his right arm. He bent his elbow, putting forearm down behind head and shoulder blades. Reaching up and grabbing the elbow with his opposite arm, he pulled it toward his head, feeling a stretch in his triceps. Again, he reversed position and repeated.

He now felt awake and refreshed. Opening his eyes again, they once more made contact with Rose.

“Oh.” He exclaimed, realizing that he had slightly forgotten she was there while executing this natural routine. Not being a morning person, he was always a bit more absent minded than his usual self early in the day; something Rose would discover in time. “Not a dream, then?” he asked playfully, trying to play off both this and his odd question from earlier. “Good.” He smiled genuinely.

After Rose had made her comment and left the room, Fenrir felt a little glum. He sat there for a moment, pressing his palm into his face. Well, I definitely gave her the wrong idea… he thought. Looking up and through a small circular window, he soaked up the sunlight with his groggy eyes. Mornings… he sighed.

He stood up and finished a few standing stretches before finally making his way toward the dining room. As he entered, he was greeted by Willow who asked if he had slept well.

“I, uh… yeah.” Fenrir replied, a little anxiously. He hadn’t, but he felt no reason to bring it up. She may have thought it was the guest room, and while it’s true it was a little uncomfortable, it was his thoughts that had kept him up. The old woman had been more than accommodating already, and he didn’t want to disquiet that with his restless night. Even the little rest he got was impaired by his dream.

That dream… in that moment, he remembered that he had one. He tried to recall what it was about, though it seemed a blur to him. He could only recall the vast array of emotions that he had felt. He pushed it to the back of his mind and continued on.

“Where is Rose?” Fenrir asked Willow, clearly able to see that she wasn’t in the dining room with them.

“She’s in the kitchen,” Willow replied, “Getting the…” but before could hear her full reply, he had already walked out of the room.

“Hey…” Fenrir stood in the doorway of the kitchen, directing his speech toward Rose, who was pulling something out of the oven. A nervous bead of sweat dropped down his cheek. “…I’m…” he scratched the back of his neck, eyes sort of shifting down and away. “…sorry if I offended you… I didn’t mean to. Mornings are... rough for me...” It was a strange sight; a modest voice and timid look on this robust man. Even he had to think so; unsure of what he was really doing.

Earlier, in his drowsy state, he had mistaken the red on her face for agitation. Combined with her grumbled comment, Fenrir felt he had insulted her in some way. He wasn’t sure how, he missed distinct details. Often he would when he was tired, so that was no surprise to him. What did surprise him, however, was what he was doing now; this clumsy impulse to say something.

Hardly having interaction over the years, and never a significant other, this was all new to Fenrir. The only true communication he had since the troubled days of his youth was with a forest dryad who often liked to pester him. His only knowledge of successful relationships all came from books he had read over the years, and so far this had been nothing like those.

Don’t say something unless you mean it, Fenrir tried to recall what it was he said, wondering how he had managed to upset her. He wasn’t sure. He let out a deep sigh, still hopelessly lost. Well, at least I apologized for it, he thought, feeling a bit relieved. Still… she looks a little cute when she’s upset, something he now came to acknowledge with the worry was off his mind. Then again, had there been a time he hadn’t found her attractive in some way?

By the time Fenrir had finished this thought, Rose had finished in the kitchen and made her way toward the dining room. Rather than asking him to move, however, she squeezed past him. This drove him crazy; being so close to her, he caught a whiff of her scent. He wanted to grab her and embrace her, as he had the night before. He was only barely able to stop himself. As she slid by, he could almost swear that he had heard her heart pounding, but figured it was probably just his.

All these emotions, these feelings he had, they spurred from more than just physical attraction. They also came from of an idea, one several years in the making; the idea that he could have someone, someone to love. But he wasn’t selfish, and he wasn’t dense. He knew that she didn’t feel the same way, and he figured she’d need time to even just accept this idea. He only hoped that one day she would, and that he might be able to express these feelings. Until then, he knew he had to keep himself reserved, and that’s tough when you’re half-beast.

Half-beast… That’s right, she didn’t even know he was Lycan yet, did she? What if she hated Lycan; what if she would never be able to accept him? When would he tell her, or would she just somehow find out? His mind raced with questions, overcome by the same uneasiness that had plagued him the day before. He took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. For now, he’d just focus on being human.

Finally, finishing this moment of quiet contemplation, Fenrir reentered the dining room. By that time, Rose and Willow had finished setting everything up. He moved up next to Rose, pulling out a chair for her.

“Please, have a seat.” He offered.

Once more, Fenrir shared a meal with the Smiths in their small cottage home. Much like last night, Fenrir felt a bit out of place in this dining room, and a gruff contrast to these two distinguished women. Unlike last night, however, it didn’t seem like a cloud of uneasiness loomed over them. It was a nice change, and Fenrir found it easier to steal the occasional glance at Rose. He wondered when, and if, he’d cease to be astonished by her image. This love was young, like a flame; very pretty, often hot and fierce, but still only light and flickering. He was hopeful that it would grow into an older, disciplined love, which was like coals; deep-burning and unquenchable.

Fenrir perked up a bit at the sound of Rose’s words. She was accepting it decently well already, he thought, compared to first hearing the news just last night. Still, he wanted to make sure she didn’t feel rushed, and wanted to let her know she wasn’t restrained.

“Rose,” he looked at her with a calm smile, “I spoke with your grandmother last night and I’ve decided to stay here for a while. I want to let you know that you may take as much time as you need, until you feel comfortable enough to leave.” Sure, that means he’d have to sleep more nights in the ill-matched guest room, but his discomfort was nothing next to making sure she felt comfortable.

“And of course, after we leave, we can always come visit your grandmother and stay a few days. I’m sure that would be alright with her.” He glanced at Willow inquisitively.

“Of course,” Willow nodded, pleased to hear that Fenrir wasn’t the type to cloister her granddaughter from the world. Turning back to face Rose, he continued.

“It’s only a little over a day’s travel. I often make the hike when I need supplies from town.”