Though the dark was deep with the retreat of the moon, and the shadows welled from infernal pits, one lone man plodded on without worry, dressed in fine wear tarnished only by the wear of the woods. There was an energy to this man, one that was resonant with that of the forest, which gave his stride a sense of confidence that belied that of the man who entered this forest hours earlier.

But the way of the woods was long, a path tempered for reflection. Such content could not last under the meditation of this man, and with each step his bearing was chipped away, until it was that of a tired veteran who long weathered this world. Such was the man who cleared the treeline unto a courtyard of stumps, those hewed by his own two hands for the livelihood of his home.

With a sigh, the nightly sojourn gave his attention to the field of stumps, then to the pristine pile of firewood stacked beside his home. A quaint little cabin, not built by him but renovated many times by he and his one set of extra hands at home. Callused fingertips touched the spiraled face of a nearby stump, dragging over the rough wooden surface.

His one daughter would not be waiting inside the darkened cabin, he remembered. Neither would she. He knew better than to catch himself up in the past he once lived, to relive the hopes and joy of his youth, for now the gnawing absence only ate harder away at his consciousness. And to already be promised to return for the same treatment the next night...

He found it fortunate when, upon turning his eyes to the sky above his home, he saw a pale grey that heralded the approaching sunrise. An empty bed would only aggravate the ache; at least he could distract himself in the labor required in rural life. He did have to sigh over that silly Fae girl though, whom had urged him to speak all through the night. A late dinner and early breakfast would be welcomed now.

Inside his home, it was dark as he left it, so the man set about opening the many windows to allow the early light to leech away the shadows it could. As he did, he noticed a small contraption sitting upon his mantlepiece. A small smile cracked his features, and he was urged to approach it, giving a courtesy study of the trinket.

Ymiragard, his Ymira, she was still the most beautiful woman in all the world to him. He made a quip to the elf about a desire to preserve her beauty immortally in a statue. This was as close as he could come to it. He had invested in one of those newfangled gnomish devices – a photonical stainer, if his memory was clear – which could capture a nearly perfect image on special parchment. Next he saw her, he hoped to snap a few shots of her and their little family.

It may cheapen his immense efforts of holding her image spotless in his mind, seared in by meticulous attention, but he felt he was allowed a proper memento.

Just as he was about to replace the device on the mantle, his eyes caught something in the waxing light. He stepped closer to a window, holding the stainer close, until the wind was punched out of his lungs.

The device had been used once. A picture was waiting.

That was not a true statement before he left earlier that night. That meant Mally must have come home, then used it for her own amusement, despite his direct command otherwise and extensive explanation for its purpose. But that made little sense, because as mischievous and wily as Mally could be, such impish behavior was not her way. Which left another option...

The man looked out his window, to the lightening, monochromatic sky, and then he raced suddenly to his bedroom, throwing open his simple door with a bang. For two heartbeats he stood there, eyes wide and lips parted. But his eyes did not deceive him, for indeed there was his simple bed, made even simpler by a theft of its sheets and blankets.

Finally, he turned once more and fled out of his home, the gnomish device forgotten in his wake. He fled the empty home out into the morning light, a light muted by a dull overcast. Fellion ran because, without realizing, perhaps this had been a weird day.

And the world was grey.

XxX

"Mother, why did you lead me away? I wanted to hear what happened when you caught Da."

At the rim of a forest, a mere few miles from the single nearby home, a mother and her child walked in the early twilight of a cloudy morning. The child was still young yet, quite so, and the crown of her head was barely above her mother's waist. They dressed as though hunters, and leading them was an energetic worg of ashen fur that seemed determine to assess each stone with its nose before proceeding.

The daughter continued, her voice seeming both moody and intrigued, "And how did you know Da would say those lines when we returned?"

The mother was not quick to answer, though she hid her smile from her child. Nimble fingers, freed by fingerless gloves, tugged and pulled at strands of shocking crimson hair that seemed defiant to the wan world, idly finishing up a little braid that would mix with the rest of her long mane.

But the reason she knew when it was safe to bring her daughter back to continue hearing the story of last night, eavesdropping from the distant shadows, was simple. She knew the man who spoke those words, and she had the fortunate of catching him early into his banter with the svartálfr. He was a man who loved little games of speech; of course he would use the same words he had tried opening the tale with.

"And where are we going, Mother?"

Being raised with that man, it was inevitable that their daughter would be in habit of running her mouth like him. It was just something she would have to tolerate. In reply, her profound voice offered, "The red fox is tired. It is time for the little bird to do the chasing."

The child shifted her longbow hung around her shoulder, taking quick steps to keep apace. "But I thought the bird never gets what it wants?"

"This time, he might, child. This time, he just might."

An End, but not quite The End.

AN: Don't be fooled, that's the end. There is so much more that could, and was suppose to, be said of Fellion and Ymira, but between work, school, and other priorities, I needed this story to end. Still, depending on its reception, I might come back to it one day.

So I realized something as I was writing this. Fellion is actually a villain – in the same vibe as Richard Rahl from Sword of Truth. Less delusional about it, but, well, the best villains are those that don't seem inherently evil. He would do anything for her sake, and he did, consequences be damned. His selfishness condemned thousands, a nearly direct antagonist to the stand of the good people that fought the Kvaldir in the war. And like all villains, he feels – and can even seem – justified in his decisions. The life of the woman he loves and the lives of a thousand innocents. He dictated whose was more important.

Damn, I really did want to get into that. There are some good, squeamish moments in his past, where the reader has to stop and ask his/herself if that was really the right choice. And then ask his/herself if s/he would do any differently.

Anyways, this story was a headache and a half to write. Every chapter after the first two was written and rewritten and rerewritten, and for each improvement found, something was lost, ultimately leaving me less than satisfied. This will have to do, as I don't have much time anymore.

So, if you've gotten this far, I want to thank you for bearing with me. I hope you enjoyed. Normally, I don't ask for reviews, but in this, I made some risks by stepping away from the source material, using my own ideas for Fae and such, so I would appreciate any positive or negative feedback on that. I don't think I can write fanfiction forever, so I need to start branching out.

Some numbers for this story: It's about 68,000 words, written (and rewritten) over the course of 6 months. As this story wasn't written strictly for myself, it was a bit difficult to write to a silent audience, but now that I'm finished, hopefully some folks will be lured in and enjoy it as I did.

Finally, I'd like to mention a little dissatisfaction for this. In the original concept, there was far less certainty to the relationship between he and her. They were to be minor antagonists to each other, until one day they went from battle to sex, nearly by accident – too much passion and too little reason. It was something that neither of them really managed to come to terms with, just sort of using each other but unwilling to stick around, yet there would be little moments of assurance done in actions. An odd moment of saving the others life, or a look to the other that wasn't their usual. It was to come to a head when she shows up to just drop off a daughter that he never knew they had, and he straight up put his foot down when she tried to leave right after.

You can see some of the original concept in the first chapter, but the idea was lost as we went along. I won't complain over what I have here, but I do wish I had kept true to the original. Despite my meticulous care not to, I feel like the "proper" romance started getting a little too fairytale-y. Oh well. The idea is still there for another day. And, if I ever continue this, it might be a little more obvious that this young couple is far less certain than they seem.

Just the reflections of the author. Once more, thank you for putting up with me, and I hope you all enjoyed.

-Sub-Zero879