Strifehartwinterweek2k16.

Themes: Hibernation Or Evergreen.

If you need magic, you ask the dryads.

No human folk can weave a spell quite like they can.

If it's a cap that helps you think, or a cup that never runs empty, the dryads are the ones to ask. They're elusive and powerful, but if it's magic you need then it's a dryad you must beg the favour of.

Any man, woman or child who can't afford the gold that wizards and sorceresses ask for in exchange for their trickery only need bravery and luck, and to head out into the woods for weeks or days or merely hours in search of the dryads. Just one would do so long as their favour could be paid for in kind.

A man by the name of Strife took this advice one day. Determined and brave, he marched into the forest. The winter trail was blanketed by a sheet of snow; his footprints the only indication of direction once he lost sight of his village. The tall oaks and sycamores tried to block out the sun, but their leafless branches did nought but cast confusing shadows on the forest floor.

Strife was a middle-aged man with broad shoulders, brown hair he tied back to keep out of his eyes and hands worn with work and splinters. He was a woodcarver by trade, and a shy man in the local village. Because of his temperament, he was feeling so out of luck he was braving the trip to ask for magical assistance.

He walked all day and all night until, at dawn, he stumbled across the very creature he sought.

Strife stepped into a circle of evergreen trees, marvelling at the holly, the pines and the ivy that showed brave green colours in the whiteness of winter. While he was admiring the leaves, the creature appeared.

The dryad emerged from his central tree, bleeding out into the dawn light with a stretch, appearing like a shimmer into the world. He had long wild hair that was tangled with small sprigs of ivy, much like the tree he was spiritually bonded to. The pine was strong as was the dryad's physical form, muscled and lean, taller than most men. Greenery clung to him, painting patterns of greens and browns decorated his skin and he wore clothes made from leaves.

Startled, Strife nearly reached for his carving knife when he spotted the astral figure taking solid form, the silent appearance gave him such a fright!

The dryad paid him no mind and walked around the grove he protected, touching, and whispering to each evergreen tree. Magic worked from his voice to his fingertips, entrancing Strife with its otherworldliness until he overstepped a hidden boundary and drew the dryad's attention.

Sharp, silver eyes froze the human where he stood, a hint of anger in the dryad's face. "I did not give you permission to enter my home, mortal. Leave."

Strife hesitated and took a step back, sinking to one knee. "Forgive me, sir Dryad, I meant no disrespect! I was seeking one of your kind for help."

Curious, the creature soundlessly approached. "Why were you looking for my people?"

Feeling blessed that the fea was interested enough to ask, Strife happily explained. "I am in need of magic, sir Dryad, to win the heart of the maiden I love." He looked up into the passive expression of the dryad and pledged his case. "I heard tell that you and your people have the power to give a sprig of greenery the power to bless and bring about love. In exchange for such a gift I would offer anything in my power to give."

The dryad sat before him, tilting his head and studying the human with an intensity that brought shivers down Strife's spine. It was an otherworldly stare that didn't waver as a humans would, "This maiden will not have you?" the dryad asked.

Strife ducked his head as he cheeks coloured with shame, "I could not bring myself to speak words of love to her out of fear, and now I worry she may be wed to another and I will have lost my chance."

The dryad was silent. After a moment of contemplation, the silence scaring Strife into thinking the worst, the dryad put a finger under Strife's chin and peered into his visage for an immeasurable amount of time.

The creature's touch was gentle but it scared the mortal down to his boots. What could he be thinking? A creature as powerful and inhuman as this? Surely, he had insulted him with his words, he had brought no gift, he had nothing of value to offer, no gold or heirlooms. Oh, his desperation much have been so transparent.

Finally, the dryad stood and said: "I will give you the magic you wish for. In exchange, if I ask you for a favour it must be upheld. Failure to do so will result in my right to take my payment in kind by force. Do I have your word?" he stood in the middle of his grove, a hand open and the other closed in a fist above his palm.

Overjoyed, overwhelmed, Strife agreed. He promised. He gave his word, and the dryad's magic took hold in an instant.

Shimmering green, a plant with tear shaped leaves and white berries grew from the dryad's fist into his palm. He took a sprig and gave it to the traveller telling him that this was mistletoe, the greenery Strife was seeking. The dryad gave the sprig to the human with the advice to kiss his chosen love under the sprig, and a soft reminder to keep his promise before he melted back into his Lifetree.

Strife thought that was the end of it, that the dryad would approach him in his old age and ask for an item. He spent months after his wedding creating exquisite art and gathering valuable possessions for the day the dryad came knocking. He thought he was ready to repay whatever the fea could ask for.

He couldn't have been more wrong.

Twelve winters later he received a knock on his door. The now widowed Strife was frantic; his child had wandered off into the forest on his own and no one had found trace of him since. He had a pack prepared to venture into the woods in search of his son, Cloud, and nothing would get in his way, he vowed. His son was the world to him, his life, and his reason to smile now that his wife had passed away.

Strife opened the door to see the visitor away and saw a person he hadn't expected to see in years, "Sir Dryad!" Strife gasped.

The dryad's expression was passive as always, inhuman and un-relatable, though his eyes widened a fraction at his appearance. However, before either human or dryad could begin to explain themselves a tiny voice spoke up.

"Papa," Cloud yawned. He sat, cradled sleepily in the dryad's arms, reaching out for his Father to take him back.

So relieved, felt Strife, that he almost collapsed at the sight of his only child unharmed.

"Cloud! Oh, thank goodness, I thought you'd been snatched up by a wolf." Strife took his son from the fea's hold and felt his arms and legs for wounds, and his eyes for enchantments or curses. Cloud allowed this, chatting excitedly as he always did about how the dryad had saved his life from a scary white rabbit which wasn't a rabbit at all. Upon hearing of the kind deed Strife bowed to the fea creature.

"Thank you, for saving my son. I feared you had come to ask for your favour, and I was in no state to help with my child in danger." He was about to add that the dryad could help himself to any of his wares in exchange for his kindness but the dryad spoke first.

"I killed the changeling; it won't be kidnapping anymore children now. I will check the forest again for evil creatures so this incident won't repeat itself." He spoke with authority, and bid his farewell soon after, striding away into the forest with a promise to Strife that he would come back one day to claim what was owed.

Cloud, young and foolish of the respect he should always show the mysterious fea, shouted after the dryad and waved gleefully, "Goodbye Squall!" Cloud waved from the doorway. "Thank you for helping me." Strife saw the dryad humour him with a nod, his attitude regal and so above human interactions he was surprised his son hadn't offended the creature, and then the dryad was gone.

Strife held Cloud close, cherishing the blessing he'd received, and promised to never let him get taken or spelled again.

Years passed and his work required that he step into the woods again and again. Cloud accompanied him and sometimes walked on his own. Strife adored his boy, so innocent and good hearted. He knew that his wife would be proud of him for raising such a wonderful child.

As Cloud grew into an independent boy he spoke more of the dryad who he occasionally ran into. From the consistency of their meetings it seemed that the fea allowed himself to associate with Cloud, although whether for amusement or for gain remained uncertain. Strife was awed that his son had such a bond with a fea, both worrying and proud for his son.

Years passed this way, Cloud walking from the village into the woods and back without fear. He grew older, into a marriable young man, and he stopped speaking of the dryad he'd nicknamed Squall.

Strife was so fulfilled in life. His son was well liked in the village: a hard worker with not a bad word to say against him. Many of the village were envious of Strife's life of honest work an honest, good son. Strife liked to boast, though he was never arrogant; his son had flaws. This he knew well. For one, Cloud was admired by many maidens, but he did not return these appreciative looks. Strife worried Cloud would never find a love as he did; he spent so much time in the woods he would lose all the beautiful girls to other suitors because he refused to give courting the time of day.

Finally, in the middle of his perfect and hard worked for life, the day arrived. The day the dryad returned to ask for payment for his debt. He thought he was ready. He thought he could live with handing over any possession that the dryad could ask for. He was wrong.

Strife opened his door at sunset to find the dryad standing there, waiting for him. Before he had the chance to speak the dryad voiced his intentions.

"I have come to ask you for the favour you owe me, Mr Strife," he said, his voice deep and unearthly, sending a shiver of intimidation through the old man's body.

The now elderly man, on the brink of retirement, offered any possession he had left. The carvings, the seeds he'd gathered, the gold he'd earned - anything in his possession. But the dryad, the monstrous creature, went a step too far.

Oh, Strife was horrified and devastated by what he asked for:

"I want your son."

Appalled, Strife refused, yelling at the dryad to leave his son alone: that he'd never hand over his only child to the fea. Not now; not ever. Cloud was his son, his only family and last piece of his wife. Why would the creature want Cloud? Strife could only see one reason: the dryad wished to own Cloud like a pet or a possession, to always have him under his influence like he used to when Cloud was young and spoke of the dryad like a god.

Upon his refusal, the dryad tried to twist the story, saying that he loved Cloud and that he would want this, as if he knew Cloud better than his Father did.

What an insult! Strife knew what was best; he was Cloud's Father!

Outraged warnings turned to threats. Strife wielded an axe and the dryad retreated.

The dryad warned him that he was well within his right to ask for Cloud, reminding him of the favour he gave him decades ago to win the love of his life. Strife recalled with reluctance, but he maintained that the dryad asked too much, and vowed to never give his permission.

Magically the dryad melted away, a last warning on his lips that it would be Cloud's decision in the end, and Strife felt an all-consuming fear in his gut. What if the dryad bewitched his son to get even?

He recalled the dryad saying on the day he received the enchanted mistletoe that if Strife did not hand over what the dryad asked for willingly then he would take what he desired by force. The creature's intent was obvious; he intended to kidnap Cloud.

Well he had made a big mistake!

With the energy of a Father protecting his only child, Strife sized his sharpest axe and pulled on his furs and rushed into the trees with nothing but willpower guiding him. Strife marched through the woods, retracing the steps he'd made decades ago in search of the evergreen grove where the dryad's Lifetree resided. The one he'd first appeared from to give him the magical mistletoe. It was a dryad's weakness that the creatures jealously guarded, and Strife was confident he knew the tree.

The dawn was just looming when he found the grove, his newly sharpened axe in hand. Exhausted from his long night of stumbling through the woods, he prayed he wasn't too late to save his boy and braced himself for a tough fight.

He ran headlong, uttering a war cry as he smacked the head of the axe against the trunk of the tree. The blade sank deep, and let out an ungodly screech. Beside him the dryad appeared, screaming in anguish and crumpling as unnatural blood gushed from a wound upon his leg. He looked up at the man.

"Stop! Please," he begged.

"I won't give you my son! You will never take him from me!" Strife roared, swinging the axe again and cutting another deep wound into the dryad's Lifetree.

The dryad wept, putting up a brief fight while he still could but ultimately unable to stand when enough damage had been done to both his body and his Lifetree. He cried out at each swing of the axe, the tree above groaning as it swayed. Strife's victory nearly at hand.

He pulled back for a finishing blow when he was tackled out of the way.

"No!"

His attacker was strong; he wrestled and fought harder than Strife was prepared to fend off. He was soon out of energy and pinned to the earth. He peered up at his assailant and paled.

It was Cloud.

His son scrambled up, wrestling the axe from his grip and keeping himself between the man and the Lifetree. There was fury in his eyes and tears on his cheeks, he cried: "What have you done?"

The tree was nearly at timber, the dryad had stopped screaming, and now whimpered in pain as his ankles mirrored the damage to the tree, almost entirely felled from his calves. His breathing was erratic and he started up at the arguing kin with glazed eyes. He raised a hand.

"Cloud," he croaked.

Strife waved his arms, flabbergasted at Cloud's response, "I was saving you, my son. The dryad said he was to take you from me."

Defeat in his eyes, Cloud shook his head. "No, Father, he wanted to marry me and have me as a lover. I told him to ask you for your blessing, this was my idea …" He threw the axe away. "But now look at what you've done! You've killed him."

Before Strife's eyes he ran to the dryad's fallen side and cupped his face "Oh, my Squall; hold on."

"Cloud …" the dryad reached for his hand and held it to his face gently.

Cloud sobbed over his wounded body, Strife watching stunned and guilty as his son wept. He recalled crying those same tears when his wife had passed after childbirth, the pain of losing a loved one who couldn't be saved. He understood now. He saw why Cloud never courted a maiden from the village, he understood why the dryad allowed Cloud to get so close to him. He understood why he had won so easily, the dryad had not truly retaliated throughout their scuffle. He was no match for the magical creature and yet he didn't have a scratch upon his human body, because the dryad refused to hurt his love's parent. And now, the once proud defender of the forest was dying. His son's love was dying, and it was by his hand.

He hadn't waited for explanations or seen the signs. He understood nothing, and now it was too late.

With his last spark of magic the fallen fea pressed an item into Cloud's hand, wrapping his love's fingers around it with a whisper. Not a moment too soon. The dryad groaned as his Lifetree did, the evergreen pine unable to keep its weight upright and with a creaking wail it fell to the forest floor.

With a sickening snap both feet of the dryad fell off, looking hacked and cleaved as the felled stump on the forest floor.

He was done.

With a gasp of love the dryad disappeared from sight, melting into the forest as he had so many times before. But this would be for the last time.

Cloud wept.

Strife was silent. In that instant, he knew he had lost his son. There would be no forgiveness to be found for as long as he lived. He wronged the dryad, he wronged his son, and he returned home a broken man.

Cloud never returned.

Ten years earlier

Twelve years after the dryad had given the human the enchanted mistletoe, all was well. The dryad, named Squall, continued to protect his grove, his Lifetree, and roam the woods enjoying the natural quietness of the world when the snow came and quietened the environment. His feet didn't dent the layer of snow, he moved as silent as a phantom, absorbing the limited sunlight and relishing in the exploration he could do when the world was full of sleeping pests instead of active ones.

A cry to his right nearly startled him.

He raised his eyes and spotted a young boy standing in the middle of a frozen lake shaking, crying, and staring in fear at a white rabbit. The rabbit was showing the vicious teeth of a predator, prowling around the youth and snapping its big teeth at the boy growing larger all the while.

A changeling.

Squall frowned at it. He had no idea such an evil creature had taken refuge in these woods. Changelings preyed on children, luring them into dangerous situations by disguising themselves as an innocent and inviting creature, using a little magic to give their victim the impulsive desire to follow them until it was too late. They fed off their terror and their flesh when they died. It wasn't unheard of for a changeling to lead a youth into a hungry wolves' pack or a bear's den. These cowardly creatures of trickery were never the ones to finish off their prey. This one would see the boy drown.

The ice began to crack under the boy's feat and he wailed in terror, not daring to move.

Spurred on by the boy's sobs, Squall moved closer. The changeling was no match for a dryad of his age. As protector of these forests, he would need to deal with this changeling. But first he had to remove the child from the lake. He stepped on the frozen surface and winced a moment at the sudden separation from the earth. The lake was deep at a point, but it was nothing more than uncomfortable. He pressed on.

The Changeling saw him and hissed.

Mine! My prey! It's unnatural voice growled as Squall advanced.

Squall glared at it, eyes narrowing slightly, and the leaves in his hair and on his skin fluttered in anger. The creature retreated several paces. Cowering and reverting to its ugly form under the dryad's ire.

Disgusting creature, Squall thought.

The boy was staring at him in wonder and terror, glancing between the ice, the changeling, and the intimidating dryad as if weighing his chances.

Squall stood before the child and knelt to face him. "Don't be afraid. I won't hurt you."

The changeling seethed a few feet away.

Keeping the creature in his line of sight, he held a hand out to the child and lifted him when the boy collapsed gratefully into his arms. The ice fell away seconds later, Squall and the boy were safe. He soothed the boy as best he could having little experience with children, turning his back to entice the changeling to follow him, and the second his feet were back on the earth he put the child down and picked up a stick.

The changeling pounced, claws and teeth flailing madly to take back its prey. Mine!

The boy screamed.

Squall flicked the stick towards the changeling and the tiny twig morphed into a sharp ended javelin. With a startled shriek and heavy thump the changeling lay dead at the edge of the lake.

The dryad glared down at it. "Evil thing, be gone and never return." The body dissolved into the earth, roots coming up to claim the body below to feed the soil. Moments later it was as if there had never been a body at all.

One thing taken care of, Squall sighed. Now for the child.

Golden hair, big blue eyes, white skin from the cold of the day and one missing glove, he must have been hypnotised by the changeling from near his home. The dryad moved slowly, sitting in the snow to look the boy in the eye to appear less threatening. Unlike the animals who understood dryad's and their ties to nature, humans needed more primitive versions of communication. "Did you follow it here?"

The boy nodded, he kicked the snow at his feet with his head down, "I-I didn't m-mean to …"

"Of course not. Changelings abduct children by enchanting them; it did this to you." The boy seemed vaguely familiar. The way he acted so nervous was reminiscent of something … "Where do you come from?"

The boy looked around and grew worried again. The fear from before was creeping back. "I … I don't know. I don't know the way back; I live with my Father at the edge of the woods …"

The dryad looked at the boy's footprints, feeling their presence in the soil, and knew he'd be able to get the boy out of the woods and back to his family. He shouldn't be left in a frozen forest like this, cold and scared. He would only cause more disruption, and there might be more evil creatures lurking in the undergrowth.

Extending a friendly hand, Squall said, "I can get you home. What do your people call you?"

The boy wiped his eyes and offered a small smile, taking Squall's hand with both of his. "I'm Cloud. What's your name? Why are you green? How did you scare the monster?"

The dryad's eyes narrowed in amusement, children were so curious. Their chirpy voices moved as fast as some birds, their tones equally as delightful when not scared or cruel intentioned. "My name is Squall. I'm green because I'm a dryad. My heart is a tree."

"A tree?" Cloud echoed, his big eyes trying to puzzle out the answer as Squall led him back the way he'd come. The child's feet sank into the snow over and over, slowing their progress so drastically Squall scooped him up into his arms again. The boy didn't seem to mind; he looked around from his vantage point and pointed at things that won his attention, from birds to shiny rocks.

When a house came into view the boy sleepily pointed. "That's my house," he mumbled.

The dryad nodded and wondered if he should put the boy down; he was very tired and was dropping off in his arms. Squall never thought he'd be reluctant to let the boy go, but his presence was warm and his weight was reassuring in his arms, even his gleeful chatter had been interesting. But it was for the best he went home and never came back; he was a human's child.

Squall knocked on the human's door and came face to face with a familiar person.

"Sir Dryad!" Strife gasped.

Squall blinked, equally surprised. Ah, so this is why the boy is familiar to me.

"Papa," Cloud said from the cradle of his arms, reaching out with a yawn to hold him.

"Cloud! Oh, thank goodness, I thought you'd been snatched up by a wolf." Strife took his son back and worriedly checked him from top to toe while Cloud explained that he'd followed a white rabbit into the trees, that Squall said it had put a spell on him. When Cloud finished explaining the-in his eyes-heroic rescue Squall had done, Strife had turned a grateful look to the dryad.

"I see." He bowed to the fea. "Thank you, for saving my son. I feared you had come to ask for your favour, and I was in no state to help with my child in danger."

Squall understood. "I killed the changeling; it won't be kidnapping anymore children now. I will check the forest again for evil creatures so this incident won't repeat itself."

Strife wilted, "I owe you another debt, it seems. Whatever can I offer you in exchange?"

"Nothing today," Squall assured him. "One day I may ask. Farewell."

"Goodbye Squall!" Cloud waved from the doorway "Thank you for helping me."

Squall offered him a smile and melted back into the woods like frost from a warm windowpane.

Again, Squall thought that would be the last he saw of the humans, adult or child. But, again, he was mistaken.

In the beginning of spring he saw Cloud again, walking through the woods with his Father, picking up logs and sticks for firewood. He paid them no mind and they couldn't see him as he gave life to the trees just beginning to awaken from their long winter sleep. As he worked, the humans gathered, and throughout the day their paths crossed. When the dryad's inquisitiveness peaked, he stopped his endless wandering at a distance to watch them for amusement.

From a distance, he was content to stay, until he saw Cloud pick up a baby bird, one that had fallen from its nest. Moving obliviously onward, Strife was leaving his son behind, the boy torn between helping the bird or sticking with his parent.

The boy had a good heart. He stopped looking for his Father and instead viewed the trees for the bird's nest. Inspired by the boy's kindness Squall appeared beside him and took the bird from his hands with a smile. "Go; I've got her."

"Oh, it's you!" Cloud smiled, "You're really nice, Squall. But how can you reach her nest?"

Squall stood up, waved a hand and the tree bowed to his will, the nest stopping at chest height to the dryad. He tucked the bird back into the nest and willed the tree to its former position. The branches groaning in relief and leaves fluttering open, Squall thanked the living thing for its cooperation and bestowed it with new leaves.

"Wow!" Cloud cheered. The bird tweeted from her warm nest. The dryad understood her presence, her gratitude, and her newborn-confusion at the strange and awe-inspiring world around her just by being as powerful and wise was he was.

"Cloud? Where are you?"

The boy jumped at his Father's call, "I need to go. Goodbye, Squall."

He ran off back to his parent. Squall sighed, missing the innocent eyes and the slight presence of joy and wonder the human child gave off just as the baby bird did. "Goodbye."

The years passed, and Cloud kept crossing Squall's path. They at first had brief conversations. Occasionally Squall took the boy home after he'd gotten lost again, aware that the boy was doing this on purpose. He felt the boy's presence light up when he revealed himself, and the determination whenever he watched from an invisible vantage point. Soon Cloud was going out his way to find the dryad, and not long after, the dryad stopped being elusive for the young boy. At first, he was drawn by the boy's noise and disruption; he was the perfect prey for all kinds of evil creatures and predators. He hovered to keep the peace. But then, eventually, Cloud's determination and light drew him.

It led to a sweet and unconventional friendship.

By the time the boy had turned twelve they were good friends. Squall escorted Cloud through the woods any time he was close enough to sense, from mundane tasks of gathering wood to seeking food. Squall was fond of Cloud; he had a good heart and was bright and smart enough to appreciate Squall's occasionally dry or aged humour. The dryad was several hundred years old.

They visited each other at least once a week and Squall found himself looking forwards to the days he'd spend with the young man.

As he got older Cloud would speak of human ways, the happenings in the village, how his father was doing, and the many wars humans seems to constantly be a part of. He spoke of his Father's concerns that Cloud would never find love, that he may be lonely. Cloud trusted Squall a lot, trusting him with the story of his Mother, who had died giving birth to him, and how guilty he felt for her passing.

Squall assured him it was not his fault, speaking from decades of experience watching mothering creatures defend their children and wish for their happiness despite being gone, their presences unmistakeable and loving more than anything else. The young man seemed to finally find peace in his turmoil.

In turn, Squall described the forces in the forest, the movements of evil creatures and the rhythms of the seasons. He told Cloud of the presences that he used to communicate, invisible to human senses but in everything they breathed and touched. Eventually, Squall deemed their relationship close enough to trust the boy enough to tell him a secret. He led the boy to his Lifetree and told him that if any harm came to this tree he would feel it as if it were harm to his own body. If the tree were to be cut down, he would die.

It was a known weakness of the dryads to some humans, so dryads guarded their Lifetree's identity closely. But Squall did not wish to hide any part of himself from Cloud. Though Squall shivered when Cloud rested a hand upon the bark, he wasn't scared, and said nothing.

Cloud never spoke a word of his knowledge, as Squall knew he would.

But Cloud was changing, and so was Squall. Cloud grew tall and strong, his body toned and smooth, delicate cheekbones appeared as he lost his childish roundness, rough and warm hands, golden hair that he styled into spikes, broader shoulders, and a deep, soft voice; all beautiful in Squall's eyes. His presence matured too, the childish inquisitiveness evolved into an ever-expanding knowledge His goodness got brighter and more robust as he learnt how to interact with the world. Small patches of darkness, from pain and bad experiences he survived, grew with him, but they did nothing to dissuade Squall's fascination.

He found himself infatuated with the mortal.

At every opportunity, he would reach out to touch Cloud, the human having grown used to this habit and reaching back. Squall was silently pained that Cloud was unaware of his intentions. His presence was always so calm, peaceful and hard to understand when Cloud was nearby.

Every embrace lasted longer; every touch lingered. The few times Cloud fell asleep in his grove, Squall guarded him and admired him while he was unaware, wishing and wishing that Cloud would return his feelings. Unknown to them both, Squall's magic had unconsciously grown mistletoe above their heads in response to their silent, shared wish. Their desire to love each other reached a peak.

When Cloud woke, now a young man of twenty, he stared up at Squall and offered a sleepy smile.

"Good morning." Squall smiled. Cloud's presence was slow and sleepy, warm and reluctant as he woke up.

"Good afternoon," he corrected fondly.

Cloud sat up, looking up at the sun with a touch of confusion, "Why did you let me sleep so long?" he asked, rubbing one eye with a gentle sigh.

"You looked so peaceful," Squall replied.

Cloud let out a soft laugh, his eyes catching sight of white berries above them. His golden hair shifted in the light as he tilted his head. "Is that mistletoe?" he wondered, pointing. Squall looked up and, though he was surprised, confirmed that it was. How strange that sprigs should appear out of nowhere across his grove.

Leaning against Squall's side, Cloud said, "My Father told me that he first kissed my Mother under mistletoe …"

"He did. I gave it to him," Squall confirmed.

Cloud's eyes were wide. "It's true then? That mistletoe can magically bring about love?"

"If the conditions are right," the dryad replied, his eyes lowering to glimpse at Cloud's lips. "Magic can bring out the bravery needed to speak of a love that's already there … the mistletoe is just a symbol to hold the magic. Only bad magic can force obsession against a person's will …"

Cloud's cheeks slowly coloured pink, a colour Squall was fascinated with as he couldn't blush, and tilted his head an inch closer.

"Does the good magic work on dryads too?" Cloud whispered, eyes lowering suggestively.

Squall's eyes widened. "I …"

He meant to say 'not always because we can see through the magic and be aware of what the caster wants, which isn't always what we desire' but instead he felt, clearly, for the first time, a desire echoed from his mind into Cloud's and his immortal heart almost burst with joy. He didn't hesitate; he cupped Cloud's cheek and kissed him.

To his delight, Cloud kissed back.

His mouth was soft. His clean skin had the subtle smell of dried wood, and his blush was warm under Squall's fingertips. Squall was so happy that half the grove reacted to his magic: the trees lost all snow and ice attached to them, the branches trembled and curled excitedly, and the leaves on his skin spread to their fullest with their deepest green.

He sighed against Cloud's lips and drew back to smile at him, adoring the loving expression on Cloud's face, barely believing that it was for him. Cloud smiled too and pressed his forehead against the dryad's. "I'm so glad."

All around them the trees turned a brighter shade of green, a dryad's way of saying, "Me too."

Present day

Squall was gone. He had been slain by his own father, the man who owed him a debt well within his rights to pay. The man Cloud had insisted on approaching for a blessing: a simple, worthless blessing! For happiness. The injustice kept Cloud in place until the sun was well overhead, anguish and betrayal wracking his soul.

Cloud opened his palms once his tears had dried, there lay a single pinecone, the last of his lover's magic. "Keep this safe," Squall had breathed as his final words. Cloud didn't understand it, nor why it was so important, but dryad logic wasn't always understandable to humans. Cloud knew this better than anyone.

It was important, that much was clear.

So wrapped up in his misery he didn't notice his Father leave or the sun rise.

Cradling the pinecone protectively, he buried it in the middle of the grove and vowed to guard this place in his lover's stead.

He whispered, "No one will hurt you again, I promise…"

He had a duty now to keep his lover's resting place intact. The felled tree was untouched and filled Cloud with sorrow every time he saw it. Many days he had cried over the grove, wishing for a way to turn back time, reliving their first kiss and their last goodbye.

The seasons changed. When a year had passed and winter once again claimed the land in an icy grip, Cloud was nowhere to be found in the human's village. He had built himself a small base in the woods, trading with the village when they needed supplies, but refusing everyone's pleas to return home. The woods were his home now. The lure of humans had all but vanished from his heart, he hoped everyone would soon forget about him and let him remain at his vigil undisturbed.

During the dead of night, one year from the death of his dryad lover, Cloud heard a knock on his door. He rose from his bed and told the stranger on the other side to leave him. Cloud's voice was low and raspy from lack of use. He had received rare visitors before, but right now he had no intentions of opening the door.

"Cloud."

The young man's breath caught in his throat and, to more gentle calls of his name, he was lured to the door and outside.

Before him was the dryad he thought he'd lost. He stood tall and strong, less leaves than he recalled and his hair was cut short by his ears instead of long and wild. But those eyes, the gentle smile and the magical way Squall just seemed to know what Cloud was experiencing were all the same. It was him.

The dryad smiled and opened his arms. "Cloud, it's me."

Cloud gasped and launched himself into those familiar, welcoming arms. Their solid weight assured him that this was real. That he wasn't dreaming. He wept into Squall's shoulder and held him tight.

"How? My Father cut you down."

Squall smiled "My pine grew back, have you not seen its new leaves? Evergreens are hard to kill, though I feared for a moment I wouldn't make it, either." He kissed Cloud's brow, as the golden-haired man's tears formed for joy. "I will be weak for many years, but you protected my grove, and I was able to come back all the sooner. Cloud," the dryad held his lover's hands, "If you are still willing … be with me?"

Cloud sniffed away his tears and pressed his head into Squall's shoulder, letting his emotions speak for him to the senses the dryad had that humans lacked.

Using magic, they walked into the forest and vanished from sight. No one, no human, ever saw them again.

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