{A/N}: *makes kissy noises at this (hopefully) fluffy, filler-ish, snippet-collage-like chapter* Seriously. Attempted romance and filler, Chill!Nuada is chill, and just silly stuff. Random plot bunnies everywhere. Dsfjkhf. But Sóvat is coming soon. *insert slow growing evil chortle*

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9- Fifteen Days, Halfway There-

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She was still cumbersome. Very much so.

Bright eyed and rapid mouthed, always watching and questioning him on every little thing. A persistent, and now, welcomed distraction whom, he vehemently swore to himself, would not dissuade him from his mission. Preparations always held his attentions first, and once they were done, she was second. When the time came things would have to end, she would have to go, and the world she once concealed herself within would end…if he succeeded. When he succeeded.

For now, however, Nuada indulged in Fjóla's company with a sort of reckless abandon.

While he offered any fae creature faint camaraderie, he had always kept to himself. Many revered him, assisted him over the centuries as he traveled with a slightly anxious-fed desire and respect to please and help. Mr. Wink had been his only constant companion. The only one he trusted and truly relaxed around.

Fjóla had been tugged on the reins of his reservations, and now she had him at a complete stop. The day of her apology was the moment of him halting his hesitancy, as strange as it sounded. The dryad still blabbered constantly and floundered, his headaches increased, yet, he was nearly as enthusiastic as she in response. A week and a half flew by, and already, they had bonded in such a way it was startling to the prince.

His home was littered with dying blossoms, smelled of summer, and felt fuller than it ever did. Mr. Wink commented on it as well, between his monstrous sneezing.

"Nuada," She called for the fifth time in ten minutes. Though Nuada huffed and turned to Fjóla with a frown, her smile didn't waver. His upset wasn't completely genuine like it once had been, like her past nervousness. "Sorry, sorry, this is the last time, really. I swear…honest. It's just this one word…"

"No matter how many times you 'swear', Fjóla, it's not going to make it true. Unfortunately."

Moving from the old goblin mechanism he was tuning, he came to stand over her. During her daily visits, she had taken to the old tomes and scrolls he had. Many were in languages lost or disused, and Fjóla was ever curious, asking for a translation every second.

She blinked up at him, her bottom lip jutting out just so. "I mean it this time! Really, I'm catching on to some of the words…there's just this one that keeps repeating…" She pointed to said word, stammering to pronounce it. "Geh…Gagoo…Gigh…?"

Not bothering to hide his amusement, he recited the word slowly for her. He laughed outright at her attempt to mimic him.

"You're trying entirely too hard, your mouth is too stiff. Curl your lips with the word."

When all Fjóla managed to do was spit all over the place, Nuada, face twisted in disgust and wiping his hands on his tunic, knelt to her level. He could have simply told the word's meaning, spoke it for her so it's sound stuck it her mind as she read. She didn't really need to learn to speak it, to say it correctly. Still, he took it upon himself to lightly take her face in one hand, four fingers pressed to one cheek, his thumb against the other. Gently he pressed, her skin soft and pliant, until her lips puckered as he repeated the word, coercing her to do the same. He felt a tremble growing in her, as he tilted his head and moved it inches from her own. Golden eyes focused, unknowingly, and intently on her mouth.

Lips in the right position, Fjóla said it perfectly once he released the pressure on her cheeks, violet eyes wide and voice vaguely faraway, hands squeezing at the book in her lap. The old leather squeaking in the quick silence that followed.

An approving smile stretching his face, he nodded, murmuring, "Again."

She did, her cheeks heating under his fingers, still on her face. Sudden surprise dawned on her face, as if she had just realized how close they were. "L-L…Did I- Was that," She sighed, shakily. "Good? That was good, right?"

"Yes, you've got it." He nodded, removing his hand with an odd amount of effort. "Now, I would actually like to finish something. Any more words?"

The dryad was suddenly quiet, and only shook her head. In a minor show of affection that was becoming a habit, Nuada tapped the tip of her nose, and moved back to his little work station. There was something there, as he sat, that settled in his chest and kept a slight curve to his lips. He set to work and tried not to pay it any heed, and the apprehension to it that stirred in his gut. But it was warm and flared when he heard Fjóla shuffling behind him, mumbling to herself quietly, flushed and flustered from just a touch. Nuada nearly put a name to the feeling when she called out to him again. Just like he knew she would.

Sighing and brow raising, he turned to her. She offered no promises or swears this time and grinned, the blush fading slowly from her tan skin.

"Nuh-uh, you can't get mad! It's your fault this time…you didn't even tell me what it meant!" She chirped, wagging a finger reproachfully at him, and burst into laughter as his face fell.

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Fjóla still implores him to allow her to draw him. He allowed her to do so before, and he does so without issue now. Of course, he objected whenever she found it okay to pose him, twisting and moving him in odd positions. She showed him with enthusiasm all her finished works of him, the newer ones now fully colored and finely detailed, compared to the older ones; faded, rushed, and slightly crumpled. When she worked he'd taken to watching her more closely, as if he's the one capturing her image instead. The way her brow crinkled in concentration, eyes clear and sharp like honed amethysts. Shoulders hunched, hair lightly bouncing with the quick movements of her sketching arm, the hand of it flicking rapidly across the paper.

There were moments when she caught him studying her, hand halting across the paper, head tilting. Then she would reach out and smooth out the tense muscles between his eyebrows gently. (It looks like you're dealing with 'internal obstruction', she would say.) Her touch would linger only a moment longer than necessary, dragging down the bridge of his nose, almost tickling where his scar cut across it.

Once, she traced the entirety of it, and he let her, with a little look of silent confusion and awe at her boldness. When given touch, she was so shy and awkward, but she gave it back without worry or unease. It was very discerning, she had no respect for personal boundaries, but Nuada couldn't find it in himself to complain. Not when, once upon a time, court holdings and his sister were his major worries, and others of his kind found the royal markings strange and even unappealing.

He only watched as her eyes followed her fingers; over his nose, across his left cheek, halting at his temple. Tentatively circling and pressing into the grove of the swirling scars there. Her pinkie brushed unknowingly against his ear, and an uncontrolled shiver shook Nuada. Instantly, his brow re-tensed and he stiffened, grasping her hand and nearly yanking it away.

Fjóla looked startled, confused as to what she did wrong. But seeing his stiff and puckered brow, she sighed, dipping her head so her hair cascaded about her face. Nuada leaned in, releasing her, to apologize. Then, suddenly, her eyes were crossing, her fingers stretching her mouth, and her tongue was out and wagging. Nuada's grimace dropped the second the perturbed and shocked expression slipped into place.

"Fjóla, what in the name of-" He wheeled backwards at her horrid, pulled face, only to wobble wrong on his seat, and fall onto the floor. Prince Nuada landed with the grace of a troll on his butt, chair tangled with his legs and his hair flipped over his face.

The awkward way he sputtered and shook his head to move his hair out the way, so he could glare at her, had the nymph releasing her face immediately. Only to dissolve into a fit of giggles.

"I-I was just," She tried between breath stealing laughs, eyes shimmering with tears. "just trying to make you laugh!" Her laughter grew so rambunctious, Fjóla actually snorted.

A firm kick and a hand through his hair had Nuada's legs and sight free, as he glowered at her nearly crying and holding her sides. However, he let the frown drop into an eerily calmed look, and raised his eyebrows. Fjóla didn't notice, missed the intent in his golden eyes, and took note to his threatening tone a tad too late.

"'Trying to make me laugh?' With such a childish tactic…" And then he hooked his feet with the legs of her chair, meeting her realizing gaze as he abruptly yanked the chair from beneath her.

Fjóla, flat on her back, face full of wooden chair, legs flailing about in the air, had Nuada tilting his head back, and filling his home with the echoes of his laughter.

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While Nuada told Fjóla she could not always come and bother him, and never explained why, the days she was absent from the troll market, were the days he was as well. A majority of the time, at least.

Not hiding, acting behind false pretenses and constantly monitoring the clock, she could show him everything. She had said it with such wonder, he had to agree, when she asked him come see her again. It was past the two week mark when he visited her in her forest. She wasn't holed up in her little home. When he arrived, she was just returning from the woods; hair wild with twigs and leaves in it, feet bare and dirtied, and her eyes so vibrant-they were glowing. That feeling came back, full forced, rendering him silent as she beamed at him, bundles of daffodils in her arms.

"You came!" She practically skipped to him, daffodils still in tow as she bounced around him. Their petals dropped like offerings at his feet. "Oh, oh! I just remembered, there was something I-" She dropped the flowers and squealed, pulling him along in her dance-step, towards the forest's edge. "I had this idea, when I first came to you in the Troll Market. It was kind of random, still sort of is- I mean, you don't have to. Really, but-oh! Please say that you will try it, Nuada!"

Between her ranting and half-dancing, Nuada was dizzy. "You haven't even elaborated what 'it' is. And, knowing you, I'm not sure I even want to know what it is."

She gave a trembling chuckle, then just waved for him to follow, weaving into the cover of the trees. Her eyes were that lilac shade again, and Nuada frowned at her coyness, yet still, he followed eagerly. She had obviously forgotten his speed, because once he caught up to her, she still managed to be surprised. She gasped, eyes hinting towards an amber color before she relaxed with a smile, almost instantly. He smirked, waving a hand to prompt her to it. Coming to a cluster of oak trees, Fjóla twirled around one, in an incredibly childlike manner that had Nuada fighting not to smile.

"Frolic with me?" She finally asked, already knowing the answer, yet asking all the same just to see his expression. "Dance and flitter about with me, your Highness! It's actually pretty darn fun." She even bowed dramatically for effect, grinning and tilting her head.

"No." He said bluntly, with the best deadpan he could muster against her joking tone. He wondered at and enjoyed the simplicity of the moment. The normalcy of it. "Oh so very tempting, Fjóla, but no. I wouldn't want you doubting your skill, if I was to. I'd rather spare you that self-consciousness."

She gave a loud round of laughter, the treetops swaying with her voice.

"I'm sure you'd out do me! You already look so graceful during your training sessions…" She suddenly had difficulty meeting his eyes. "Ah- but…but, anyway, there is something I want to show you. I-I know you're all well traveled and whatnot, you're like, the smartest person I know. I'm betting you've probably already experienced it, a-and elves are all cool with nature, but I'm sure, I…I think, it's different from a-"

"Fjóla." It was all he said. And she quieted, wringing her hands nervously as he stepped towards her, until there was no distance between them. He said nothing, he let her come to it herself, willing to see what she wished to share. She looked up at him and swallowed, quickly glancing down at her mud-caked feet. Without a word, she held her hands out to him in offering, requesting.

Nuada was silent a moment, hand half-raised. "…No frolicking, I hope? You're not trying to trick me, are you Fjóla?" He jested, aiming to calm her.

"Nope. Heh, no frolicking." Fjóla's lips quirked, and she took the incentive, reaching up to take his outstretched hand. Pulling and insistent now, she lead him to the closest tree, it's trunk thick and tall, rough on his palm as she pressed it against it, and covered it with her own. She closed her eyes, concentrating with such intensity he didn't question what they were waiting for. Even when the minutes passed, uneventful and slowly.

And then, he felt it.

There was him, Fjóla and something else. It blended and stirred to life through their combined touch. The warmth bleeding into their palms, the humming echoing in their ears. He could see it, and couldn't. Feel it breathing, like colors, fresh turquoise and bright flaxen like the spring. Singing resounded, a birdsong, soft and lilting. It carried on while growing louder and louder, until it began to fade. A gentle sadness tainted it's melody, before it was gone completely, the voice, feminine, breaking off on a desolate note.

When Nuada pulled his hand away, he was surprised to find himself blinking his eyes open. He didn't recall closing them. The song and emotion of the tree still tingled within his hand, making him curl it tight into a fist as he turned to Fjóla. She held her hand pressed to her chest, eyes cast down, her breathing slightly accelerated.

"The tree's spirit. Or, an imprint of it…" He stated quietly, to not break the peace of the moment. "It is almost a shell of itself."

"Yes," Fjóla whispered. "Another dryad, receded into herself. I can't remember her name, and her presence is just an echo now, fading away little by little. She can't remind me anymore. Soon, she'll be gone completely."

She stepped back from the tree, giving it's trunk a finally pat before backing away completely. Her sorrow at her dying kind was palpable, it took hold in the prince's stomach, twisting and pulling. A heat rose fierce and swiftly in him, but Nuada was more than familiar with the feeling, and determined, he grabbed Fjóla's hand.

"Show me more," He breathed softly yet almost demanding against her hair, their sides pressed together as he turned her from the drying tree by her wrist. "Better ones, happier ones."

She looked to him worriedly, but at his intense stare she nodded. And her eyes still sparkled with excitement. "O-Okay…Okay!"

And so she lead him to tree after tree, each different and similar in so many ways. The seasons held in their essences, some filled with music, laughter, and even faint, far away stories made only of feelings. Yet, each and every one was worn- like butter spread too thin, withering, and Nuada could feel they had once been brilliant recollections. He could see it in the nostalgia upon Fjóla's face. Now, they were just scratched records.

The taint of the world even reached here, in the dryad's sanctuary, in her kin's bones and sapping the remaining life from her little forest. So far out and small, it still caught on to the imbalance of the world, it's sickness and it's magic couldn't hold. Nuada's mood soured despite the glow of the memories Fjóla shared with him. And his discontent spread, as he realized she said not a single word of regret. Not a hint of malice or upset, nothing, except for her silent sadness and acceptance. It was like she as okay with this, along with so many other things, crumbling into nothingness.

"This will stop, Fjóla," He said once they finished, voice livid and eyes burning. "Nature and fae beings will rise from this slow creeping death. Those who have forgotten will remember and this world will be redeemed, cleansed."

In that moment, Fjóla's response reminded the elf that while she was naïve, she was not stupid. She was quite intuitive and sharp when she wished to be. And without him even needing to explain, to say he as going to do something about himself, she caught on. Maybe she had vaguely understood his and Mr. Wink's conversations. Perhaps it was the way his hands clutched at her shoulders, as if she would fade herself; or maybe the way his face was taut between pained and resolute, and his voice hard with absolute promise.

Hands hesitantly rising, fingertips barely touching his jaw, she responded, "Not all death is bad, you know." His look only worsened, so she quickly continued, "W-What I mean is, uh, there is rebirth in death- a fire can ravage a forest and yet, new plants not seen for years can grow from the ashes. Things will get better, even if they are worse beforehand."

"Do you hope that is true," He dipped his head fully into her hold, like a surrender as she soothingly ran her thumbs against his cheekbones. "Or do you believe it to be?"

"There's a difference?" Fjóla breathed, and he exhaled a chuckled, the air hitting her lips. Her heart leaped into her throat, and she swallowed convulsively. They were so close, their foreheads were nearly touching.

Nuada slid his hands up, feather light into her hair. "You know there is. Now, answer me. Please…"

Fjóla thought about it , really thought about it, and without blabbering on and on and rewording herself, she replied, boldly, hands almost clutching him. "I do. I believe it to be."

Then, as if he was waiting to hear just that, Nuada responded by closing the space between them.

And he kissed her.