The Talk

"So, uh, about that talk," said Olaf, sitting down on the plush, slightly evil looking sofa across from where Marci was all but swallowed by a plush matching armchair.

They were still in her library, just moved over to one of the many comfortable reading areas. A conjured fired crackled in a carved hearth, that had reliefs of several weird, slightly squiddy figures that Marci had initially assumed were some kind of demon, but which she not suspected might be what a 'Far One' looked like.

Through the Shard she could feel the Dreadfort coasting through the sky, its dark, pyramid-like structure swarming with kobolds as they repaired and upgraded defences, fine tuned the powerful cannons, installed shield-emitters that Marci had designed and put all the spellcasting demons capable of manufacturing them to work making, and generally preparing for the next inevitable confrontation.

Within its depths, she could already feel Anke and Jolanda, who despite bickering constantly actually seemed to be getting on rather well, working with Rafferty to send out expeditions to the various remote ruins that, without a party full of fairies or winged demons, or a flying fortress of doom to act as a base, would have been very difficult to delve.

They were headed for the far west of the central mountain range—for 'Hēodþonloc,' or as she'd transliterated it 'Headthonlock.' The site of some kind of ancient ruin from an era when the Middle Realms had been far more advanced than their current state.

She knew that 'weird' items showed up here and there, and that there were a few archaeology sites that archaeomancers were always arguing about, and she'd heard theories about the 'Glorious Civilisation of the Ancients,' but she'd—apparently arrogantly—dismissed the ideas as just superstition and folk tales.

She'd sort of just assumed, since her people were so long lived, that they'd have some kind of record of the south if it had once been far more advanced. But that wasn't the case, and Pawla had suggested that her people had still lived in the Feywilde when the war had occurred. That placed it, if Fairy archives were accurate, more than eight and a half thousand years earlier.

But that wasn't her focus right now. Her focus was on Olaf, who seemed just as nervous as she did. Her heart fluttered, and she felt a shot of fear run through her.

'Don't fuck this up,' muttered the negative part of her mind.

"We should," she agreed, sitting up and giving him a smile. "I love you Olaf, and I think you love me. That fantasy-"

"We don't know if that was 'real,'" he said. "It was some weird Feywilde magic; it could have just…"

He trailed off, clearly trying and failing to come up with an explanation.

"I think it's what I want," said Marci, tapping her sternum. "Deep down." She paused for a moment. "What about you?"

He exhaled. "Yes," he admitted. "Not, you know, in the next year—I'm not done with adventuring. But that… that sounds like a nice way grow old."

He paused, and turned to look at the flames.

"Well, I'll grow old. You'll probably still look the same…" he said. "Marci, I never asked you this when we were together, I thought it would upset you, but… have you thought about that? I've heard that most fairies don't go for other species because we don't live nearly as long as you do. I know Anke will live longer than me, a few centuries, but even elves don't live as long as fairies…"

Marci's first thought was to brush off the concern, maybe crack a joke. But that was the Marci that had refused to let Olaf close, who had pushed all of her worries down until they had erupted like a geyser and she'd been so distraught she sought refuge in the bottle. That was the Marci that had made this mess, and needed to be kept on a short leash.

"Yes," she said, forcing herself not to shy away from the terrifying thought. "I do… I do worry about that. I worry about many things. But I've never regretted meeting you, falling for you, and I've thought about you every day since we broke up. I lost- I lost your poems, when I bonded with the Shardfort, but I had them all, in my purse. I used to read them, all the time."

He looked surprised and touched. "My poems?" he said. "Those were just… none of those were particularly polished-"

"I loved them," said Marci. "I'm sorry if I didn't convey that properly."

Olaf's ears swivelled to be slightly further forward, and he blushed adorably.

"But what I mean is, yes, I've thought of that, and I don't think it's a good reason to avoid a relationship," said Marci.

"And what happens when I die?" he said. "When you outlive me for centuries and centuries? Millennia, potentially?"

"Then I'll mourn you," said Marci. "Probably for a long time. But I'd rather that future than one where I regretted not having been with you. What's the phrase? It was in one of your poems, err, 'Love's journey is… it isn't the destination? Dammit, I've forgotten how it goes."

"'Love's journey doesn't need a destination, it justifies itself with each new step,'" he said. "You've thought about that a lot?"

Marci shrugged and managed a small smile. "A bit, yes," she said. "And, you know, I am kind of smart—I think fast."

"And so modest," said Olaf, returning her grin for a moment before it faded. "Marci, what happened? What was the trigger? You weren't drinking for so long… doing so well…"

Once again Marci was filled with the overwhelming desire just to shrug and brush off the comment. But that wasn't good enough: not for Olaf, and not for herself. That had been a very hard-learnt lesson, but she knew that now.

"I don't know if it was one thing," said Marci, wiping a tear from a burning eye. "I guess I was stressed with my mastery, and I wasn't sleeping well, and then we were arguing more and I should have told you, but I couldn't-" She caught herself. "No, that's not right. I was to scared. I thought… I think I thought you'd think less of me. I thought I could make it all go away if I just toughed it out, and then I couldn't, and I was… I was ashamed."

She looked away, feeling intensely stupid when she put it like that.

"Oh Marci," he said, sitting forward and taking her hand.

"I know," she said. "I'm stupid."

"You're not stupid—you're the smartest woman I know," he said. "I've been thinking a lot about what we spoke about, before; and you're right, I could have helped you more. I know I have a tendency to tell you off, and… and it was hard, fighting all the time. I was frustrated, and… and I should have found a way for us to work through things, take a break if needed, maybe. Checked in. And I didn't; that's my fault, and it wasn't kind."

Marci squeezed his hand.

"Neither of us covered ourselves in glory," she said. "But I'd still like to try again. I can't promise I'll never fall down again, but I can promise that I'll try to be honest with you, tell you how I'm feeling. Not bury everything. If… if you give me another chance."

"Marci, I don't…" he said., closing his eyes and letting go of her hand.

Her heart lurched. Had she pushed too hard? She'd pushed too hard, hadn't she? Stupid! Stupid, stupid, stupid!

"I'm with Anke now," he continued. "And… and we're happy together. It's not… it's not hard, like it sometimes was with us."

Marci's eye twitched as she forced herself not to say something extremely snarky. But that wasn't going to help her right now—actually, it probably never helped her. She had to show she was sincere about trying to do her best, which meant not falling back into the old, lazy habits of 'irresponsible Marci.'

Kindness, that was what she needed right now, whether or not Olaf took her back or not. So, instead of saying something along the lines of 'that seems like it could cause issues' or 'and Anke's OK with that?' So, instead, she took a leaf out of Tissa's book: up front, unvarnished honesty without a hint of malice.

"But you didn't dream of being with her," said Marci in the most controlled voice she could manage. "You dreamt of me. Us. She dreamt of money, Olaf. You never struck me as shallow."

"Shallow?" he said, his voice sharp, his ears flattening and his tail swishing. "I'm not- yes, she's attractive, and I do like that, but that isn't the most important thing to me-"

"I don't mean like that," said Marci. "I mean that she's shallow. She likes you because you're hot and you're the head of the party—authority is like catnip for an elf—and I think you like her because she doesn't push you, and she doesn't push you because she doesn't care enough about having an opinion on anything but money to disagree with you. I think Anke is comfortable, easy, but I don't think you really admire her: that's a shallow relationship, that's not a relationship that makes you better." Marci shrugged. "I admire you: your thoughtfulness, your creativity, your fairness, how you just keep on going. And I think, even if I have many failings, you admire me too. But maybe I'm wrong."

Olaf looked away, his tail bushing up and flicking. A flurry of emotions passed over his face: anger, irritation, worry, and finally a kind of resignation.

"No," he admitted in a small voice. "You're not."

He fidgeted, Marci not really sure how to respond. This was what she wanted, him realising that Anke wasn't good for him, that he belonged with her. But it didn't feel good, it felt awful.

"Fuck," he said, putting his head in his hands. "Fuck."

He got up and began to pace, his tail swishing wildly too and fro.

"So what?" he said, his voice sharp and a little accusingly. "I just dump Anke? We get back together?"

"What do you want me to say, Olaf?" replied Marci. "I want you to be happy; but of course I want to be with you, and I think you want to be with me."

He shook his head. "Sorry- sorry, this… you haven't done anything wrong," he said. "This is my problem. You just… I need to think about this."

"Again?" said Marci. "Olaf, what do you need to think about? You just admitted you don't admire Anke. I don't want to hurt you, but if you didn't admire me, or at least parts of me, then I wouldn't want you to stay with me. And I'm not saying that to try and manipulate you, that's me being honest. You're too good of a person to stay with Anke."

"I don't want to hurt her," said Olaf, tears rolling down his face. "She's not- I know you don't like her, but she's not one dimensional. She's a person, with hopes and dreams and… and she loves me. I know she does."

No snarky or snippy comment rose to her mind, no jab or gleeful remark came to mind. Instead she just felt so bad that Olaf had been put in this position. And… and even Anke, it was clear that she enjoyed being with Olaf, and given that it had started before Marci had come back into both their lives it couldn't have just been to spite her. She'd be heartbroken, and she'd hate Marci even more—for the first time, perhaps with a degree of just cause.

Even if Marci didn't think she'd done anything wrong, that she had been right to finally open up and be honest, it would cause Olaf pain, and that sucked.

"I won't rub it in," she said after a few long moments. "I'll try my best not to."

Olaf looked sceptical.

"I will!" said Marci. "I've- I've been trying to be nicer to her, OK? I realised that it was fucked up, now that I'm essentially her boss. I'm trying to be responsible now—don't look at me like that, it's true!"

"You, yesterday, handed Anke to a child and told them she was a doll," said Olaf, crossing his arms. "Less than twenty four hours ago."

"That- well- look, I was under a lot of pressure!" protested Marci. "And I said I was sorry!"

"You still haven't got her back to her normal size, either," said Olaf. "She's still missing at least an inch and a half."

"She looks fine to me," muttered Marci.

"I don't think you're exactly an objective judge on how tall a normal person should be," he said.

"Normal!?" spluttered Marci. "I'm not short! I'm-"

"-average for a fairy?" he said with a very slight smirk.

"Exactly!" said Marci, before huffing. "Hells, I forgot how easy it was for you to wind me up. Aren't you supposed to be the responsible one?"

"I thought that was you now?"

"I said I was trying," she said. "And I am." She sobered somewhat. "I have to be; I have too much power to just… not think things through—even on the run from the South. I'm not just trying to tell you what you want to hear, I'm really trying. And… yes, I shouldn't have cursed Anke that hard, that was irresponsible. But I promise I won't do that again, I promise I'll try to be better. And- and I'll keep on doing that, whether or not you take me back."

They lapsed back into silence, and Olaf turned to look into the flames. Minutes passed, and Marci began to fidget. In her mind, when she'd imagined this conversation over and over again, this had gone much smoother. Olaf would realise that he loved Marci more than he loved Anke, and that she loved him. She'd give him a heartfelt confession, and her promise that she was trying to curb the more negative elements of her personality, and then they'd snog. But this was clearly hard for him.

Then he shook his head, and stood. Marci's heart lurched. A head shake? That meant no, didn't it? Oh hells, she'd messed up her chance, ruined it just like she always did…

"Alright," he said softly, taking her hand and kissing it. "Alright Marci. Let's give this another shot."