Medieval warfare is breaking out in the town below, vikings are raiding Paris, Again
its a medium sized raiding crew, though that doesn't comfort the villagers whos homes are currently burning
the leader of the band gestures and those around him nod and scatter, they spread the message,'anything that isn't nailed down, and everything else with it'
Fenifnir sees the fires in the horizon, they must be a 30 minute sprint from here, he had to make it in 20. For his little painter he would have tried to ride a bear and make it in 10, but it didn't matter, so he dropped his thoughts and flew across the ground like a Robin through treetops. He was goin to save his painter from this nightmare if it was the last thing he did.
Marin could tell that the town was in quite a stupor from his studio, he didn't know why because nobody was usually up at this hour but himself and his work. Perhaps there was a festival that he had forgotten about, it had happened before. Marin did his best to re asure himself. But nothings more of a brick through a window of ignorance like a brick through the window of your house. He couldn't believe that the whole town was getting raided, he was in the best flow he had all month! He needed to finish this portrait, he couldn't have a reference but when he was in perfect flow he could always see the face seared in his heart.
He weighed his options carefully. He could either leave now, leaving his masterpiece unfinished and possibly stolen, or, he could finish it and then leave. He was almost done. He also did promise to have it done the next time he saw his muse which, after this nonsense with the dutchess and now this very still happening raid, was exactly where he was planning to go. So then it was settled, it must be finished.
Fen collapsed at the edge of town on the wall of an outhouse. Gasping braking into panting till finally a steady wheeze. He made it, now where to the studio? The dancing fires on the roof forcing his eyes to adjust. He hadn't been here that long ago had he? The studio used to be at the edge of town but he couldn't spot it anywhere. Five years can't change that much can it? Had he really forgotten where the studio even was? The question crushed his chest more then the sprint did. He couldn't have forgotten anything else, could he? Or is his mind finally playing tricks on him? He could have imagined all of it? While his breathing was now steady his heart beat was somehow the only thing he heard. No. He was going to find his little painter, he knew in his heart that
He was still here, and he wouldn't let those damn skäbs touch him. So he started his search.
That's it, its finally done. Five years and 10 tries its finally done. It was just so, him. It didn't just look like him. Marin had figured that out perfectly by the third try. But now, it finally felt like him. It felt like walking right by him, his giant laughter and his ridiculous grin. It captures way he saw every thing on the horizon as a chance at something new and amazing. The way that he can say the dumbest thing and make it sound like hilarious gospel. The twinkle in his eye as he look at everything with joy. He was sad that he didn't get more time to admire it but he had to stuff it in a scroll holder and leave soon. He chose to leave by window rather then deal with what he assumed were murderers and thieves going through his possession downstairs, he had a package to deliver.
The smoke is starting to make it hard to see. Not only was it bad enough that its in the way and you can't see through it. But it's gotta screw with your eyes too. He didn't know how many alleys he had rammed through, but it was enough to make them blur together. But he knew he couldn't stop, he couldn't stop because if he didn't save his painter no one would, and that could not happen. So he searched street after street, going is loops and spirals and zigzags oh my. Crisscrossing every inch of the city as he could and then he found it. He saw the thatch roof at just slight too high a point. He saw the odd amalgamation of wood and paper for walls. He found the home of all of his hopes, dreams and deepest desires, on fire.
He stood there, blinking. Hoping beyond hope that there was some strange soot in his eye. That there was some malfunction on his end, for surely this house could not be on fire. But, as the the tinderbox studio collapsed in on itself, reality hit him. He thought for a moment he died. He almost wished he did. But then a noise from behind him. "Fern?". He spun like a top, and his little painter was a few feet before him. He hugged him before either of them realized it. "Its Fen, you know that you jerk". "I know its Fen is technically short for Fenifnir but I also know Fern still suits you better, and why am I the jerk?". Fern pulled away for just a moment and looked Marin in the eye. "You see me staring at your burning house collapsing, possibly killing anyone inside, namely your oblivious ass, and you wait till after I have a HEART ATTACK to say anything? I call that a jerk move!" "Wait my what?" Marin pushes by Fern and "oh that burning, OH SHIT MY HOUSE!". Fern, seeing Marin for the first time in far too long, laughs.
The odd couple make their way out of the city in one piece. But don't make it to Ferns boat until nearly dawn. By then both men are terribly exhausted, but they plan ahead. "So where would you like to go?" Fern asks. "Well where are you headed?" " Well I don't see how that's really relevant, you aren't a detour, ill take you anywhere you need to go, I know you don't have relatives in France but no matter the distance, I'll get you home safe." He smiled, hoping that his favorite aunt or cousin was in Bangladesh so that it would be a long trip. "I don't have a home, as you astutely pointed out the studio burned down." "Well surely you must have some one somewhere." "Nope just me, myself and I. Oh but that does remind me," he pulls a tube out of his bag " it took five years but I finally did it. This painting will definitely convince you that I am the winner!" " The winner of what?" Fern racked his mind but he had almost no idea what Marin was talking about. " The Bet!" Marin face grew into a devilish smile. Fern remembered several bets, but he wasn't sure which his companion ment. "You said that no one could ever convince you that you look good! You swore up and down the day would never happen, but even though it took five years to make, it looks exactly like you. And its lovely." Fern then realized what Marin had in his hand. "Wait your telling me that you spent the entire time we were apart, painting a portrait of me, from memory?". Marin grinned sheepishly, "well when you put it that way, I guess it does sound a little redic-" Fern kissed him right there. He didn't even realize that he was until Marin was sliding his hands down to Ferns wrists. Fern pulls away almost reflexively " I'm sorry, I'm not sure what came over me. I must just be-" Marin wrapped Ferns arms around his waist and leaps into his embrace, catching himself with his legs around Ferns hips and a hand on the back of his neck. "But I already told you, I won the bet, so I get the wager, and I'm sure you forget, so I'll remind you". Marin kissed Fern. It felt like lightning had struck and fused them together, so no force on earth could tear them apart ever again. Kiss followed kiss and sock followed shirts and pants. And by daybreak, they had finally fallen asleep.
