“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.”
Blank Member
- Last Seen: MIA
- Joined: 11 yrs ago
- Posts: 15 (0.00 / day)
- VMs: 0
-
Username history
- Blank 11 yrs ago
Status
User has no status, yet
Bio
User has no bio, yet
Most Recent Posts
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.”
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.”
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…”
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…”
Name:
Fenrir
Age:
Human Appearance - mid 20s
Lycanthrope Age - mid 40s
Likes:
Night, Compassion, The Rain
Dislikes:
Mornings, Destruction, Solitude (He despises his solitude, but has chosen to distance himself from both his own kin and humankind after the war.)
In
[Casual-Advanced] Fairy Tale Romances with A Dark Twist (looking for male partners)
→
11 yrs ago
Forum: 1x1 Interest Checks
The Red Riding Hood plot piqued my interest, I'd love to give it a shot if you'll have me.
© 2007-2024