in celebration of Valentines Day, a romantic excerpt from my slow-burn romance
Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight
Stephen Strange x Teyla of Hadeeth (OC)
Teyla is Healer with empathic abilities, sent by he mother (leader of the Hadeethan people) to Kamar-Taj to hone her gift of dream divination. Her people use musical harmonies to make magic. Early in their story, Stephen witnessed her entertaining the children of Kamar-Taj with a musical charm that conjured rose petals to float all around them. It was only one of many quiet ways she won her way into his heart. At the time this interlude takes place, they have finally consummated their love for one another.
Takes place well before the events of Infinity War.
They had their picnic lunch in the late afternoon, beneath the Royal Paulownia trees, while the soft, refreshing breeze wafted the loose petals all about them. Those petals brought to mind a request which Stephen had made of Teyla well before their love affair began, and as she packed away the remains of their meal, he decided it was time to remind her. “You haven’t shown me yet, how to perform that sweet bit of magic you did for the children of Kamar-Taj, honey. I'm thinking now might be the perfect chance."
"I had believed you were just being kind, my love," she tutted, “You didn’t really mean that at the time, did you? For truely, it is a simple and very artless charm.”
Stephen sat a little straighter, determined to have his lesson. “I most certainly did, Adept. All matters of magic fall within the purview of a Master of the Mystic Arts. One never knows when they might come in handy.”
Teyla rolled her eyes and gave a heavy sigh. “You’re quite serious about this, are you,” she teased, with a sidelong look and a pretty pout, “Master Strange?”
"Absolutely,” he replied , biting his lip against breaking into a corny grin.
She finished securing the small picnic hamper and then sat down on the grass beside him, taking his right hand in both of her own. “Well, this very humble Adept remains in awe of everything you do. And the wisdom with which you wield your...astonishing powers---Master Strange.” Stephen shivered pleasantly at the reverence in her tone and how his name lingered on her tongue.
As ever, Teyla showed him a regard that left him feeling both exalted and humbled. “And I wonder what I could possibly teach that could be of any value to a sorcerer of such surpassing skill.”
“Oh, Teyla,” Stephen smiled softly in the face of her honest humility and reticence, “Don’t underestimate yourself, honey. You’ve taught me countless things since we met. Things I might never have had the eyes to see, if not for your kindness and patience and belief in me.”
Made momentarily shy by his claim, she lowered her lashes, considering his entreaty before she met his eyes again. “How can I decline such an eloquent request? Your words are as the taste of some sweet honey on my tongue. Pleasing yes, yet leaving me with the need for more.”
“That’s exactly how you make me feel,” he husked, “Filled up with your sweetness, but always, always wanting more."
Thus, having secured Teyla’s acquiescence, Stephen found that she wasted no time in proceeding. The incantation was indeed rudimentary, and he easily tapped into the energy needed to perform the magic.
But despite his encyclopedic knowledge of popular music and his former mastery of the piano, it was properly humming the run of notes that proved a challenge. She did her best not to laugh at his first attempts, which yielded only plantlike materials and nothing remotely like flower petals. "Hum it from here," she instructed him, laying her palm over his heart, "The exact tone of the notes is not as vital as the...hmmm...as the joy that you allow to fill your chest and then let flow outward."
"Joy," he scoffed lightly.
Teyla remained patient in the face of his skepticism. “Yes, my love---have you never sung out loud with no care as to who might be listening, simply for the joy of it?”
“Well, yeah,” he nodded, “Which is why it’s a good thing the Sanctum is soundproofed.”
She chuckled softly. “Well, it is the same with harmonic resonance. We take joy not only in the music but in the creation of something of beauty, even if it may only be fleeting...”
“And when you use it as a Healer?”
“We take joy in the gift of being able to heal, of course,” she replied, looking puzzled that he needed to ask, “Just as you must have as a surgeon.”
Leave it to Teyla to remind me of those happy memories, he realized, when I still look back too often with regret instead of gratitude.
After that it was easy---and the joy that Stephen let fill his chest was that which she had brought to his life with the gift of her unconditional love. Stephen played with the charm a while, gaining quick proficiency, while Teyla applauded his success, giggling and twirling beneath his colorful, prolific shower of petals. Though soon he found himself dissatisfied with how quickly they popped out of existence---enough so that he set his mind upon a small improvement.
"What’s this,” she exclaimed as the petals that landed on her hair and brushed her skin did not dissolve on contact, as the original magic worked. “How are you doing this?”
“Just a little modification, honey,” he grinned as petals covered the ground all around her feet like a soft, colorful carpet. “Dunno how long they will last, but they’re awfully pretty, don’t you think?” Pretty enough for my lady fair, he sent her way, picturing the sight of her hair spread out upon the grass, like a flower strewn halo about her head. Pretty enough to tempt her to lay upon them with me?
Oh, Stephen,” she answered breathlessly, eyes bright with happiness as the fragrant petals continued to cascade from the thin air all around her, even as he caught her in his arms. You need no pretty magic to tempt me, she whispered in his mind, but to simply lay me down. Teyla slid her arms around his back, her cheek pressed to his as she breathed against his ear, “Lay me down, Beloved, and work the magic inside of me, which only you can do.”
This is just a small part of Stephen & Teyla’s story. Their lives intersect in such unexpected ways that this makes Stephen believe they are fated for one another. Before he realizes his heart is falling, Teyla, as a talented Healer among her people, even provides him with a period of relief from the daily pain in his hands--by taking it on, in part, as her own.
Though this story remains a WIP (ugh Writer's Block!), I know the challenges and outcome that awaits them. Those not averse to WIPs can find their stories on AO3, and here on tumblr under the tags #Of Magic Miracles and Moonlight and #Streyla
Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤
Thank you so much for the tag, my friend--you know I appreciate every chance I can get to promo my work!
So, five favorites? Honestly, it's hard to choose, as most of my work remains WIPs that are currently languishing for updates. I'm going to exclude my one-shots to narrow down the field - and base this list on both the story and the quality of the writing. Hoping that they might get a little bit of love and some new readers!
Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight - Stephen Strange x OFC. Slow burn romance, older man/younger woman, mentor/student, friends-to-lovers. Pre-Infinity War. Contains Mature Content. WIP, currently 19 chapters.
A Khan By Any Other Name - Khan Noonien Singh x OFC. Adventure, danger, angst, romance. Pre-Star Trek Into Darkness. Contains Mature Content. WIP, currently 12 chapters.
The Secret of Salvation - Major Jamie Stewart x OFC. War Horse AU. WW I. Angst, prisoner of war, romance. Contains Mature Content. WIP, currently 5 chapters.
The One That Got Away - Benedict Cumberbatch AU, where he is primarily a stage Actor with some movie/television appearances. Benedict Cumberbatch x OFC. Takes place during a production of The Taming of the Shrew. Castmates to friends to falling in love, slow burn, jealousy, lots of angst. WIP, currently 18 chapters.
Scarlett and the Professor - Tumblr exclusive. An original, erotic, paranormal romance, based on a discontinued roleplay. All original characters. Takes place on an unnamed Caribbean island. Older man/younger woman, professor/student, supernatural elements bringing them together, romance, angst, forbidden desires, light kinks with foreshadowing of darker kinks. Contains Mature Content. WIP, currently 32 chapters, plus two one-shots.
moodboards under cut
(related works: Lady in Red, Though There Be Pain Love Still Endures)
Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight
Doctor Stephen Strange's life has settled into a fulfilling pattern; even as Master of the New York Sanctum, he continues his studies in the mystic arts, self-training with the library that the Ancient One amassed in her years as Sorcerer Supreme. An old alliance forged by the Ancient One brings an unexpected request to him, and he is duty bound to fulfill it. Along the way he meets with some pleasant surprises--and discovers that his heart is not immune to the effects of the gentlest sorts of magic.
moodboard by @strangelock221b
Seraphina DiPietro is wise in the ways of the world; she has to be, as she travels the California coast as a torch singer in pubs, bars and nightclubs. She knows how to take care of herself and stay out of trouble--most of the time. When trouble comes, it's usually because her kind heart overrides her common sense. Stopping to check on a handsome stranger, stranded roadside in the Mojave Desert, her curiosity is piqued as much by the classic, mint-looking Mustang, as by the driver--a tall, dark mysterious drink of water, whom she quickly learns is so much more than what he appears.
moodboard by @mel-loves-all
Major Jamie Stewart is a survivor--but sometimes he just needs to escape. The guilt, the pain, the despair; his bitter fall due to folly and hubris. It helps to survive if one has a sanctuary to turn to, a dream to hold onto. A vision of a day--and a woman--that might grant him the salvation he desperately craves.
bookcover for The One That Got Away created by @onebuttscratcher
An actress making her name for herself on the London stage, Virgilia (Vicki) Gordon vows not to follow her usual pattern: falling in love with her leading man. The work comes first and foremost--or so she plans. She never expects to develop feelings for her co-star in "The Taming of the Shrew", but with his stellar talent matched by his charm, kindness and intellect, Vicki learns all too soon that, despite one's best intentions, the heart goes where it will. Still, all might be well--but he is far from free enough to return her affections.
moodboard by @strangelock221b
Romance & Passion. Mystery & ties to the Supernatural. Lust & Erotica. NSFW material, so be forewarned. A young Scottish woman of ancient Selkie blood finds herself irresistibly drawn to her dashing British professor, with his own mysterious ties to the Sea. A serial womanizer who believes his inner darkness makes him unredeemable, he finds what seems an uncorruptable innocence in the love she freely offers--eventually coming to wonder if her light might be enough to save him from his demons.
genre: pre-Infinity War, slow burn romance, older man/younger woman, teacher/student to friends to lovers
characters: Stephen Strange, Wong, Teyla of Hadeeth (OFC), Moraine of Hadeeth (OC), additional OCs as Kamar-Taj staff
rating: general audience to begin with, later chapters contain 18+ material
Ngl - I'm really hoping some of the authors in the Doctor Strange x Reader community will be kind enough to give this a read.🥺🥺 Even more so, a reblog - because I'm quite proud of my writing in this work, and I believe it deserves some love. Maybe some love could see me on my way to updating, even finishing, this WIP. It's lain fallow for far too long!
Chapter One
“Stephen, it’s nearly time.”
Wong’s voice pulled him from his scrutiny of the thick, weathered tome that had become his latest project. Since the passing of his mentor, the Ancient One, Stephen Strange was one of very few left in Kamar-Taj who made a regular practice of studying the advanced manuscripts, spell books, and obscure histories, which she had amassed during her centuries of service as the Sorcerer Supreme. His eidetic memory served him equally well in this pursuit, as it had in his previous vocation; as one of the world’s most talented and successful neurosurgeons he had learned the lesson early on—that knowledge was power—though the power he sought now he would wield for a even nobler purpose than those of his previous life.
“Remind me, Wong…it’s nearly time for…” Stephen let his voice trail off with the question, focusing just a few moments more on the script marking the page before him.
“For the arrival of the emissary from Hadeeth, Stephen,” Wong replied, “As well you know. Need I remind you that our alliance with Hadeeth goes back nearly four hundred years?”
“Not at all, Wong. I’m acutely aware—down to the smallest minutiae—of the terms of our accord the with the Hadeethans, having familiarized myself with every scrap of parchment the Ancient One left behind, detailing the particulars of our relationship.” Strange closed the leather-bound book before him, stretched a mite, and then rubbed thumb and forefinger upon his closed eyelids. “I’ve got a rotten case of eyestrain in the process, but I suppose I’m as ready for this as I can ever be,” he grumbled, “Although I’m not entirely certain why I have to be the one to meet with their envoy. A Master with years of experience—and not one with barely twelve months--would surely make a better representative of Earth. Let alone Kamar-Taj.”
Refusing to be pulled back into the ongoing debate, Wong remained impassive. “Of the Masters left in Kamar-Taj, you are the best qualified by virtue of your life experience. And in the absence of a Sorcerer Supreme, a Master of one of our Sanctums is the best that we can offer.”
He clapped Stephen on the shoulder, “Accept that you’re destined for this bit of diplomacy, Stephen. It can’t be anywhere near as complicated as navigating your way through the human brain to excise a pin point sized tumor.”
Strange rose to his feet, favoring Wong with a scowl, “As usual, Wong, your vote of confidence is underwhelming—but I will do my best not to provoke a diplomatic incident with an ally that has had Earth’s back for hundreds of years, and in some hairy situations.”
A young attendant placed the tray with fresh-brewed tea and a sampling of Nepalese delicacies on the low table before him. Without a word, she filled a cup with the hot liquid, and set it down beside the pot, before sliding a plate of almond honey cakes closer at hand to him. Stephen nodded, murmuring his thanks—though he was a little too nervous to partake of one of his favorite dishes. Instead, he stirred a bit of honey into his tea, briefly reflecting on the first cup of honeyed tea he had partaken in this very room, barely more than a year ago. With a shock to his system, he had been quickly educated as to how very much he did not know about the world, the universe, and the human mind and spirit; and since then, he had learned much more than he would ever had imagined of things he’d never even entertained as plausible. He considered himself a work in progress, truly humbled for the first time in his life, when he took into account how much he still did not know.
Yet, he had earned the respect of his peers here and—just moments before her death--the Ancient One had appointed him Master of the New York Sanctum. Strange took that responsibility ever seriously, having seen and experienced for himself the sort of assaults from other dimensions which Earth would be prey to were it not for the ancient protections provided by the band of sorcerers, bound in service to mankind.
The man he once was—before the accident that had deprived him of his livelihood, and the purpose by which he defined himself—Doctor Stephen Strange had the hubris to consider himself the best his specialty had ever known, and the ambition to pursue the loftiest positions of influence and power in his field. Now, as he split his time between New York and Nepal, he was in a constant quest for knowledge that would enable him to do this job to the best of his ability, while never seeking glory for himself. He would not—could not, in fact—allow himself to aspire to the title of Sorcerer Supreme…although more often than not these days, he was given--by some silent agreement (to which he was no party)--the deference and the responsibilities that came with that designation. Today, he would prefer to be a mere rank and file mage—but he could not turn his back upon the service that was asked of him.
Stephen rose when Wong appeared in the entrance way, ushering a stately, robed woman into the room. “Master Strange, allow me to present Mistress Moraine of Clan Kayolo, member of the Hadeethan Ruling Council,” Wong gave her a nod of respect, before moving to Stephen’s side.
Following the formal protocol which the Ancient One had chronicled, Strange bowed at the waist before speaking. “Welcome to Kamar-Taj, Mistress Moraine of Hadeeth. We are honored by your presence, and offer hospitality and friendship to you, and any others under your protection, for however long you sojourn here.”
She bowed in reply, and recited her opening remarks smoothly, her rich voice that of a woman accustomed to oratory, “The honor is mine, Sir. On behalf of my people, and in the name of our alliance, I accept your hospitality, Master Strange.” Moraine paused, studying him closely, before adding, “May the worlds we serve continue to benefit from our partnership.”
Strange motioned her to take a seat, then sat himself, while Wong moved forward to pour tea for the Hadeethan woman; the ensuing silence enough to allow Stephen an observation or two. She was definitely dignified (royalty was the first word that came to his mind), aloof and otherworldly; she wore her thick, silver hair loose and unadorned, for surely nothing could flatter her more than it’s natural glory; and the only subtle sign of age he could discern, were small crinkles at the corners of her pale grey eyes--but since he knew the average Hadeethan lifespan was upwards of 150 Earth years, they gave no clue regarding her actual age. There was a palpable feel of strength of will about her, as though her spine were made of steel. Moraine appeared—in short—to be a power to be reckoned with. He vowed to tread carefully regarding whatever topic she had arrived to discuss.
She sipped her tea, then nodded her approval, “Ah…it’s been far too long since I sampled this welcoming taste of Kamar-Taj. Though I regret I shall never raise my cup with the Ancient One again.”
“Her loss remains a heavy one for us to bear, Mistress Moraine,” he replied, a truth he felt most keenly every day, “And nothing would make me happier than for her to be here in my place.”
“I bear the condolences of my people for the dread passing of a wise leader and constant ally,” she told him, “And for myself, I share in your grief; for I had known the Sorcerer Supreme from my youth—as a teacher, then a mentor, and at the last, a friend.”
“I envy you that,” he admitted, “We all miss her guidance—but we have done our best to go forward as we believe she would see fit.”
Moraine narrowed her eyes, looking for the truth in his reaction, “And you do not seek to guide in her place? To bear the mantle she wore for centuries?”
Stephen shook his head vehemently, “I assure you, I am not that man. And honestly, I can’t think of anyone who could fill her shoes.”
She nodded, pleased with his reply, than raised her cup. “It is always so with the best of leaders. May we all do her proud in the service we provide to our worlds.”
“May we indeed,” he echoed, drinking from his cup as well.
Formalities now aside, Moraine was swift to reveal the surprising purpose of her visit. “I come on a personal matter, Master Strange. ‘Tis my hope you will entertain my request, if not for the sake of relations between our worlds, but for she whom we both miss.”
“I am certain we can accommodate you, Mistress Moraine. The resources of Kamar-Taj are at your service.”
“Even as I had anticipated,” she asserted, wearing a small relieved smile, “As you may know, Hadeeth has a good share of practitioners of the mystic arts. And in our culture, this is a thing well-known, even aspired to. In fact, by long standing tradition, the majority of those who sit on our ruling council are skilled in magic.”
Strange nodded, having gleaned those facts from the Ancient One’s notes, “Magic being the primary reason our worlds are well-suited as allies.”
Moraine bobbed her head in a brief acknowledgement, then continued, “On Hadeeth, we have found that the aptitude for magic, and the strength to wield it properly, are most prevalent in certain bloodlines. As a result, it is not uncommon for a particular clan to hold a council seat for several generations.”
“I take it that is your own experience,” he inferred.
“It is, Master Strange. But seats are not granted automatically—and those aspiring to them must pass a series of tests, unique to the individual.”
“And these tests involve the use of magic?”
“Exactly so—and thus arises my need for your assistance,” she admitted.
A bit perplexed, he might’ve asked, but Moraine had anticipated his question. “Not for myself, Master Strange—for my daughter, Teyla.” And then surprising him, she added, “A daughter of both our worlds.”
Not having known such a mingling of their races was even possible, it took a moment for him to respond, “You’re asking that we train her here, in Kamar-Taj?”
Moraine’s face took on a pleasant sort of softness, clear sign of the depth of her feelings for her child. “She has ever been my greatest treasure, and from the moment in which I discerned that she possessed aptitude for the mystical arts, I had planned to entrust my own best teacher with her tutelage.” She lowered her eyes, her voice become sorrow-tinged, “Who could have anticipated that such a plan would go unrealized?”
Stephen remained speechless, moved by her quiet show of grief. In the months since the Ancient One fell, he had learned things about her he had never expected—always making him long for the fruits of the wisdom she might have shared with him.
Having set aside her sorrow, Moraine looked to him again, firm of purpose, “Teyla’s skill--her strength—lies in the healing of body, mind, and heart. And though this ability is a miracle in itself, it does not suit well the sort of trials she is likely to face in the fullness of time.”
The doctor in him wanted to ask more of Hadeethan healing magic, but the situation would not allow for it—though he made a promise to himself to learn more of their practices when possible, with an eye towards the exchange of knowledge that might enable him to fulfill again that purpose of more than half his lifetime. “What training would best prepare your daughter for these future trials?”
Moraine looked please at his show of willingness, “She will need to develop defensive skills, for both her own safety, and for those who may someday fall under her protection.” She paused, gauging his reaction, and then concluded, “Teyla also possesses a small degree of prescience, although she is not yet capable of employing it at will. She dreams, yet cannot tell when the images may come to pass; she has strong, yet unpredictable, flashes of intuition, which she finds difficult to interpret. This gift is useless to her until she can cultivate the proper wisdom and discipline.”
“There are no teachers on Hadeeth that might guide her?” he asked, “Seers are rare, even in Kamar-Taj. I can’t guarantee our knowledge is enough to guide her beyond the most rudimentary training.”
“They are rarer still, on Hadeeth,” Moraine shrugged, “So rare they come but a handful of times in each generation. Though I am her mother, I haven’t even a touch of that gift.”
Stephen nodded, considering her request a moment. “We will do our best, Mistress Moraine—but in this case, I can make no promise.”
“I understand, Master Strange. And with this understanding, I will entrust you with Teyla’s further education. For the sake of our alliance,” she reminded him, “And for all the hopes a parent has for their child’s safety and happiness.”
They had concluded their meeting by settling upon three Earth days as the interval until Teyla would arrive at Kamar-Taj. “Of course, we’ll need to see what magic your daughter is already capable of, before we proceed with any training plan,” he cautioned her, as he and Wong escorted her back to the courtyard for her departure. “Please be sure she understands what lies ahead.”
“Oh, she is already more than prepared for that,” Moraine told him gratefully, “And she has spent a share of time on Earth--living with her father for several years--so you should find she will easily acclimate to your world.” With that, she drew on her sling ring—the magical tool which the Ancient One had shared with the Hadeethans, in consideration of their partnership—and conjured a portal back to her home world. Stephen could discern very little of what lay on the other side; a room half lit with what could be daylight, vague shapes that were likely Hadeethan furniture.
Moraine turned his way, and bowed low, and then rose to meet his eye. “Please keep in mind, Master Strange, that some of the tests Teyla may come to face are dangerous. I beg you to see she is properly prepared to survive, beyond the training I have already given her. I will be in your debt, and Earth’s, for the remainder of my days—and look forward to the day when I can be of service to your world, in return.” She stepped into the portal, and raised her hand in farewell, closing the circle before he could utter a word in reply.
“Well, this should prove interesting,” Wong observed, “How much experience do you have dealing with teenagers?”
“Barely to none,” Stephen confessed, “And I hadn’t counted on being asked to play a schoolmaster to a rookie sorcerer.”
Wong chuckled, amused at Strange’s befuddlement, “I’m thinking diplomacy will turn out to be child’s play, compared to the task you have ahead of you.”
“Yes,” Steven agreed grimly, heading back to the library to continue his studies of earlier. “And I’d much rather be navigating my way through the human brain, then babysit an angsty adolescent.”
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Stephen Strange x Teyla of Hadeeth /Of Magic Miracles and Moonlight
That came to her character very naturally--and honestly, arises from my enjoyment of writing elevated speech when the scene/character calls for it (no surprise, as Shakespeare is one of my earliest writing influences, and I am, after all, an Actress at heart 😉). While her native tongue (Hadeethan) is a more formal and quite poetic language, thanks to having lived on Earth with her father for several years, Teyla also has a fairly good mastery of USA English. Thus, when swept up in the passion she and Stephen share, she feels such an urgency, such an immediacy, to express the fullness of her heart and her desires, her brain takes whatever shortcut it can to share it all aloud.
And as you've read their story, you may have noted that Teyla and Stephen have developed a sort of mind bond that allows him to clearly get the gist of the Hadeethan she mixes in.😁❤️❤️🔥
Thank you so much for asking, my friend. Though it's been ages since an update to any of their three WIPs, they are alive as ever in my heart, and I pray some day to give Streyla the fullness of story they deserve!
Stephen encounters the woman he loves (detained on her home world) in a surprising dream...
Teyla smiled as she stepped into him, and though Stephen knew they met in a realm of dreams, of spirit, the sweet, familiar scent of her hair and skin filled each breath he drew, putting to shame the fragrance of the moon blossoms around them. He wanted to taste her scent on his tongue, wear it on his skin, embed it in his very cells. She lowered her lashes as she brushed her lips on his, laying both hands against his chest.
How blessedly real it felt—and how he ached for more! He took her face in his hands, kissing her soundly, sinking into the dream as deeply as he could. The silk of her tongue against his, the little sounds she made in reply to his bold advances, the press of her body against him blessedly, sinfully real...
I'm watching The Two Towers while I scroll, and all the romantic & angsty Arwen scenes (especially the ones that seem as dreams) have me in a soft, longing, romantic mood. So, here's some romantic Stephen Strange from an old WIP. Mayhap someone out in tumblrland might find it pleasing. From chapter fifteen of...
Of Magic, Miracles, and Moonlight...
...wherein Stephen goes to sleep longing for his woman, detained for now far across the galaxy ~ and her own longing for him is enough for them to meet somewhere in a dream...
(contains some mature content, although not explicit)
Finally, Stephen slept; he’d gone nearly seventy-two hours without a wink of sleep, so that his head had barely touched the pillow, and he was out like a light, falling swiftly and deeply, exactly as the needs of his body dictated. Likely he dreamed throughout those many hours--as the dusk outside the New York Sanctum changed first to the deep dark of the night, and then to rosy dawn, and finally to mid-day--but he did not remember them upon waking. Only one stayed with him, and he wasn’t even certain it was a true dream--for when he awoke from it, it had seemed so vital, so true to life (and to his heart’s desires) that he wished it was reality.
In this dream—or vision…or perhaps it was a sending from the mind and heart of his woman, who remained upon her impossibly distant world—he stood in the midst of the grove of keyanna trees which she had shown him before he took his leave of her. Their fragrance was as lovely as he had remembered, surrounding him as the gentlest of breezes whispered against his upturned face and through the errant locks of hair that hung perpetually upon his brow. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, filling his lungs with the trees perfume, and feeling the warmth of an alien sun kiss his face. It was good, so very good; a pause from his responsibilities and cares, a welcome respite from the burdens that he bore—not that he ever complained aloud, but some days…well, some days he wished for just a few hours without the worry that came along with being a Sanctum Master, and the constant knowing of the countless threats that existed to humanity, in all its blissful ignorance.
How relaxed he felt, how at peace, thinking this was as close to a vacation that he’d likely get in a very, very long time. He wasn’t even wearing his usual tunic and breeches; just the same sort of casual attire he adopted on the nights when he and Teyla stole what time they could with one another, away from the confines of compound and sanctum. It occurred to him that the moment lacked only one thing—the most important thing—the one thing that was the most crucial of all to his happiness.
As if summoned by that thought alone, Teyla called out his name; Stephen smiled, hearing her as much in his mind and heart as with his ears--as he so often did these days. He opened his eyes to look for her, and saw her approaching from a distance, with a dreamlike grace that made his knees weak. The bright sunlight streamed through the flower-laden branches, painting her skin with a soft, healthy glow; the wind stirred the trees gently, wafting the pale lavender petals around her, leaving some to be caught in her unbound hair. Stephen covered his heart with his right hand; it felt so full of love and joy at the vision of his sweet woman that it seemed like it might burst, if he allowed it to.
Clad in a pale blue shift that was gathered beneath her breasts and fell in soft ripples mid-calf, Teyla walked barefoot through the drifts of fallen keyanna blossoms. Her eyes were set upon him, and she was smiling a beckoning smile, pure with her love for him, as she held out her arms to motion him closer. “Stephen… Beloved,” she called to him, like a perfect piece of music meant for his ears alone, and as an irresistible whisper in his mind. “This is the place, my Beloved; the place where I would lay with thee, beneath the bright sun, beneath the sister-moons and diamond-stars.” Stephen swallowed hard, awe-struck, love-struck, feeling her quiet beauty in his blood, recognizing his weakness for her, and happy that of all the souls in the cosmos, she was the one that had claimed his heart. “This, Stephen; this is the place where I would gladly give myself to thee.”
His dream-self recognized with a soft pang of regret that she had meant it to be the place, and thus was surely no small part of the reason that Teyla had brought him to the grove, so vividly awash in Nonya’s beneficent light. Once there, she had revealed that she’d dreamed of them together in this place; dreams in which they lay together skin-on-skin. And swept up in that longing, she had then shown him her desire.
As he pondered the meaning of his vision—astounded at how real it felt--Teyla closed the distance between them easily, and stood before him, soft and sweet and oh so willing. Why, Stephen could taste her willingness on the very breeze that caressed his skin, feel it in the way the sunlight danced through the keyanna leaves, hear it in the rapid beating of his heart. She smiled serenely, and with perfect understanding of everything he was feeling—including his suspicion that something, or someone, might prevent her from returning to Earth—she whispered his name as she draped her arms around his neck. “Dismiss that fear, Beloved, for I will return to thee—no force in the universe can keep me from your side for long.” Teyla rose up on her toes—as she so often needed to do when she faced him in the flesh--to reach his lips and kiss him tenderly.
“Of course; how could I think otherwise?” he answered, relief flooding his veins--finding her dream-form substantial enough to embrace; not the mist of some sweet reverie, but the real woman whom he ached for with every breath he drew. “Am I dreaming this, or are we somehow here together?”
“We are together, my love, in a realm somewhere between dreams and waking.” How wise she was, how patient and loving; his Teyla, his beloved one, and in that moment he knew he’d be willing to sell his soul to have her be his forever. “Oh, my love, my Stephen—know you not that I already am?” Her smile dazzled him, as he accepted the knowledge from her mind to his, that come what may, her heart had chosen him, had committed to him eternally as was the ancient way of her people; only later, as he considered his dream-vision upon waking, did he realize that Teyla’s mother had bonded in the same way with Walter Charles--which had to account for much of the beauty in his creations featuring her.
“Yes. My sweet Teyla,” he smiled, drawing her against him, patient enough for the future that awaited them together. He let his face hover over hers, drinking in the purity of the love and trust reflected in her eyes, and letting it fill him to the brim, refreshing him as no twelve-hour sleep ever could. He took her offered lips with his, slowly and softly to begin with, tasting all that she promised, her devotion, her desire. Tasting all that she offered him; a lifetime spent at his side as lover and helpmate; as his ‘better half’ in the parlance of Earth. Stephen had never desired such a profound connection to another soul in his old life—but now, it seemed essential not only to his existence, but to the accomplishment of his mystical purpose.
When he broke from their kiss, Teyla sighed against his lips, then buried her face against his neck, breathing him in, humming contentedly. “What comes next, honey?” Stephen stroked her hair, soothing himself as much as he did her, “How long do you think it will take until can rejoin me on Earth?”
She sighed hard this time, delivering regretful news, “I cannot say with certainty, Beloved. To fulfill my obligation, and for the sake of my people, it may be several days.” Teyla hesitated briefly, before quietly admitting that Moraine might present a further obstacle to her departure from Hadeeth. “She will use every entreaty at her disposal to keep me close—but I will show her, Stephen—I will show her that I know my own mind and heart, and that I will not be dissuaded from the course I have chosen.” She spoke gently, but with full conviction against his ear, “The course that you and I have chosen together.”
Despite her avowal, Stephen wanted to hold onto her tighter than ever—but strangely, he began to feel their embrace weakening. Teyla answered before he could ask. “I will be called to Council chambers shortly. I regret I must turn my focus from thee now.” She backed out of his arms just enough to face him squarely, “And you, my love, must rest yourself, return to your world, and focus on the duties that await you.” She kissed him once more, and faced him with a knowing smile, before brushing her fingertips from the edge of his hairline to between his eyebrows, tracing a wee circle there. His sight began to dim, as true sleep overtook him, and as he exhaled his exhaustion, he fell away from her arms.
Upon awakening—and after mulling over his dream-vision, wishing with heartfelt immediacy to find his way back to the keyanna grove--Stephen’s first impulse was to check the Sanctum library for any texts that might explain his extraordinary experience. It had been far too real to be the mere fantasy of a man missing his lover, every sensory detail vivid enough that it seemed he could still taste Teyla’s kisses on his tongue and feel her tender caress against his cheek, while he swore that his room retained traces of scent from the keyanna trees. But as ever, his needs and wants were secondary to his duties, forcing him to set that quest aside until far later in the day.
Instead, he made his first order of business sending messages along to Wong and Master Salma, explaining Teyla’s absence from Kamar-Taj, and that he could not give them a timeframe for how long she might be detained upon Hadeeth. Though she had assured him in his dream that she would return, Stephen was left to wait—just as they were--with no clear idea of when to expect her.
His daily duties kept Stephen busy for a good part of the afternoon and early evening, so that he didn’t see himself clear to visit the library until after wolfing down a late supper. Fortunately, his gift of eidetic memory was crucial to his research, and in less than a couple of hours, he thought he had answers enough to understand what he’d experienced.
Lucid dreaming. That seemed to be the closest explanation for what had happened. Certainly Teyla had initiated it, across the immeasurable distances between them, enabled by her empathic gifts to reach out to him in spirit as he never could have imagined possible. In his studies since his first day at Kamar-Taj, and through a multitude of experiences since becoming a Master, Stephen had learned how powerful pure thought could be, capable of bridging time and vast distances beyond even the speed of light. But he had never imagined it affecting him so personally, so intimately. And now that he knew it was possible, he hoped he might reach out to Teyla in return.
Each night that followed, he settled into bed, relaxed enough from meditation to practice the techniques he had studied, his mind and heart focused on reaching her, spirit to spirit. But each night, to his disappointment, sleep took him before he even came close to succeeding.
By the fourth morning, Stephen’s exasperation with such failures—coupled with frustration that their separation seemed to be stretching on indefinitely—left him irritable, to carry out his responsibilities perfunctorily, while being uncharacteristically curt with those around him. Watching over the multiverse from his privileged vantage point of the Window of the World, he was tempted for the first time to use that auspicious tool for his own benefit, to hone in on Hadeeth and discover how Teyla was faring, and if indeed there was any hope she’d be free to return to Earth soon. Wisely, Stephen denied himself that urge, knowing that the use of magic for such a selfish purpose would ultimately rebound bitterly upon the user, and sometimes even exact unanticipated collateral damage.
On day five, his concern for her welfare far surpassed his need to have her at his side, as he imagined Moraine holding her daughter hostage of sorts, believing she was doing a mother’s service to a misguided child’s heart. Intellectually he knew it couldn’t be so, but the tender heart Teyla had awakened within him worried all the same. Even knowing that he might cause damage to Earth’s alliance with Hadeeth by acting rashly, Stephen had to tap into a lifetime habit of discipline—the selfsame that had forged his brilliant path to medical supremacy--to resist conjuring a portal directly to the People’s Citadel, or to the homey little cottage which Teyla called home. This fifth day, as he went about a Master’s tasks and continued his perpetual watch for threats against humanity--all while waiting for the night to come again--felt like the longest in his memory.
Exhausted in spirit and low on optimism Stephen took to his bed, thoughts of Teyla fixed in his mind’s eye, sending everything he felt for her out into the universe. Not trying to force his way to achieve his aim, and expecting nothing from the universe in return. And perhaps that was the simple, missing element needed to span the realities that lay between them.
His dream-self opened his eyes, and she was finally there before him, making his doubts and concerns evaporate like thin wisps of mist by day’s new light. They stood in a moonlit meadow, surrounded by Teyla’s talat akeylum, countless fragrant blossoms fully opened and nodding almost imperceptibly in the light breeze. The night was deep around them, filled with the lulling nighttime sounds of whatever small Hadeethan creatures and insects called the meadow home. The three moons rode high and brightly in the sky, one full, one half, and one a silvery crescent, their combined light painting the scene with lovely clarity—though that loveliness paled for him, as his eyes drank in the bewitching sight of his woman, the most exquisite blossom of them all. His Teyla.
For a moment, Stephen forgot how to breathe, overcome with awe, his heart beating like a trip-hammer in his chest. Even clad in the simple homespun robe she had worn at their first meeting, her hair piled up in a loose bun once again, Teyla stole his ability to reason. “Oh god,” he whispered, memorizing the details of her face as though he’d hadn’t already committed them to memory dozens of time; he breathed hard to keep his voice from breaking with emotion, “I miss you so much, honey…it feels like years since I’ve touched you…held you. Why haven’t you returned to me?”
She smiled and gave a little sigh before she answered. “My love--though I tarry here, all my soul is bent upon returning to your side. To your arms.” She stepped into him, and though Stephen knew they met in a realm of dreams, of spirit, the sweet, familiar scent of her hair and skin filled each breath he drew, putting to shame the fragrance of the moon blossoms around them. He wanted to taste her scent on his tongue, wear it on his skin, embed it in his very cells. “Stephen…Beloved…our time draws near, and I swear that your patience with me will find true fruition.” She lowered her lashes as she moved in to brush her lips on his, laying both hands against his chest.
How blessedly real it felt—and how he ached for more! He took her face in his hands, kissing her soundly, sinking into the dream as deeply as he could. The silk of her tongue against his, the little sounds she made in reply to his bold advances, the press of her body against him blessedly, sinfully real.
Soon enough, he had loosed the knot on the neck of her robe and tucked his fingers beneath the material to slide it from her shoulders. Teyla lowered her arms and shimmied the cloth away, leaving her robe to hang loose around her waist, laying her torso bare to him. Stephen nearly growled, grown desperate with hunger, grown rougher than he meant to be, raining fierce kisses on her dainty neck and slim shoulders, relishing her surprised gasps and how readily she yielded herself to his raw need.
He planted one hand against the small of her back, trapping Teyla against him, while she wove her fingers in his hair, purring deep in her throat when he cupped her breast in his free hand. He was certain the fury of his kisses had to be bruising her tender flesh, but she offered no complaint; she began to kiss his neck instead, her lips ever soft but insistent. She drifted one hand down to slide beneath the sleeve of his tee shirt, massaging his flesh firmly and surprising him when she murmured against his hair, “Please, Stephen…let me feel your skin against mine…I need to feel you…I need… you…”
He released her for only as long as it took to pull his shirt over his head, greedy to have her softness against him at last, no longer questioning how she could feel so real in his arms, nor how this dream, not-a-dream, surpassed any erotic dream he had ever had.
He pulled her to him, losing himself in the heated press of her naked flesh against his, in the divine sensation of her flawless little breasts rubbing against his chest, her tightened nipples evidencing her desire for him. Teyla moaned and let her head fall back as Stephen laid open mouthed kisses upon her throat, tasting the salt of her skin upon his tongue. She shuddered his name, sliding her arms beneath his to grip his shoulders, becoming her softest self, softly pliant as he lowered her onto a bed of moon blossoms.
He paused, hovering over her, mesmerized by her half-lidded eyes, her sweet parted lips, the quickened pant of her breath, nearly convinced that he had somehow transported bodily to her, and that Teyla lay beneath him at last, and for real. “I would I were, Beloved,” she told him, her smile bittersweet and piercing his heart, “I would couple with thee now, have you sate yourself inside of me…” Stephen took her welcoming mouth with his, a frisson of lust hastening through his blood when she slowly traced her tongue along the inner edge of his lips. The small part of his brain that remained rational, that knew this encounter was closer to dream than truth, was clouded by his desperate desire to know Teyla in every possible way.
“So beautiful, so perfect,” he panted as he kissed a path down her neck to her sternum, while she arched into his hands, whimpering softly at the greedy insistence of his grasp, and crying out when he circled her areola with the tip of his tongue, then tickled the stiff bud of her nipple before drawing it into his mouth. Teyla laid one palm on his cheek, and anchored her other hand in his hair, encouraging his play to continue.
He felt her beneath him as fully substantial; she moved against him as he touched her, arched into his caresses as lovers do, and he wondered how far they might actually go in this dream-like state—and if it was fair to Teyla to do so. She was touching him now as she never had before, sweeping her hands across his bare skin, sparking every nerve of his body with the ache to sink himself inside her. Stephen groaned hard, impatiently grinding his hips into hers, the thin material of his pajama bottoms unable to conceal his lust. Frustrated as much by the layers of cloth between them as by the knowledge of the actual physical distance separating them, he exclaimed shamelessly, “I want you…all of you…so badly, baby,” then licked his lips, craving her every flavor.
“I know, my love,” she assured him, “Even in my sleep, I have felt you wanting me, as far away as you are—and as I have longed for thee as well.”
Wanting her to comprehend the depth of his hunger, of his keen thirst for her, he raised his head enough to look into her eyes. “Teyla, my darling…my dear one...this is so much more than physical.” He read eager, equal desire in her soft, dark eyes. “I need you, honey. I need your presence. Need you at my side, filling my days with your patience and kindness…filling my heart with…with the wonder of your love.”
She nodded in quiet understanding, drawing his face close, and kissing him tenderly, “Even so, Stephen; you have become the cool shadow wherein I find my soul’s ease.” She murmured against his lips, “I shall have no peace of mind, no rest until I am with thee again.”
She drew his tongue into her mouth, giving such patient, gentle suction that the sensation surged through his solar plexus, his loins, his throbbing erection. Stephen grunted into her mouth, concentrating on stilling himself, fighting the urge to come—knowing that Teyla, in her innocence, was likely unaware of the power she held over him.
He rolled to her side, pulling her along with him, allowing some small space between them as they lay face to face, space enough for him to catch his breath and to restore his reason. Teyla blinked open her eyes, the trust there unwavering, silently signaling she would follow his lead wherever he wished. Stephen kissed her brow, as she snuggled against him, the raging of his blood receding a bit as he traced small, soothing circles along her cheek and the side of her neck. When he had calmed a bit more, he trusted himself to speak. “When, honey?” He sounded exhausted to his own ears, worn and ready for the oblivion of sleep. “When will you return to me, Teyla? Give me some hope I can hold you…and love you…for real, sometime soon.”
She was silent a moment, considering the most honest way to answer him. “No more than two days, Beloved. I have submitted to the repeated questioning of the Council, and they have gleaned all they can from my vision.” She did not mention that Moraine had applied what pressure she could to keep her on Hadeeth, but Stephen felt the truth from her nevertheless. “I am certain there is no more that I can do to provide for the safety of my people.” She moved in to kiss his jaw, unable to resist that smallest affection, while pressing one warm, soft hand against his chest. “I shall leave it to their wisdom, and follow my heart back to its home.” Her voice quavered, and Stephen knew that she was staving off tears for his sake. Teyla slid her hand to rest over his heart, adding softly, “Here, my love, is my heart’s true home. I will not be fully myself until you hold me in your strong, loving arms.”
He threaded his fingers in her hair, kissing her brow, feeling himself start to fade from her side, “I don’t want to leave you yet,” he whispered, “I’d just be happy to sleep here with you in my arms.”
“I know,” she sniffled, moving her hand into his hair as well, preparing to kiss him farewell, “But you are weary, Stephen, and cannot hold this form much longer. I have not the strength to hold you here myself, though I would if I could—believe me, love, I would!” Her kiss was pure and powerful, and sent visions into his mind of all the sweetness that they would share once she returned to Earth.
A few stolen minutes more was all they had, and Stephen—his blood fully cooled--held her chastely, exchanging quiet kisses and reassurances of what the near future held for them. Though he could feel himself withdrawing slowly from their shared dream as a sort of numbness overtook him, Stephen was surprised that Teyla faded away completely before he did—perhaps because the brunt of sustaining their connection had fallen upon her, and drained her more vitally. But she managed in those final moments, to charge him with preparing a special place for them, a bower that might suit a hungry suitor and his willing, waiting lover. Still caught halfway between the dream-world, and his own reality, Stephen rolled onto his back, watching wisps of clouds pass across the full moon, breathing deep the sweetness of the talat akeylum—and as sleep finally stole him completely back to his body on Earth, he began to imagine what sort of place might be worthy of the sweet gift that was Teyla’s promise to him.
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@mousedetective
Not tagging anyone else today - simply offering this to anyone longing for taste of Romance.
genre: pre-Infinity War, slow burn romance, older man/younger woman, teacher/student to friends to lovers
characters: Stephen Strange, Wong, Teyla of Hadeeth (OFC), Moraine of Hadeeth (OC), additional OCs as Kamar-Taj staff
rating: general audience to begin with, later chapters will contain 18+ material
The Sanctum was quiet, and Stephen hadn’t thought to set his alarm—so he wasn’t surprised that he’d slept later than he had in…well, probably since medical school. No, that’s not quite right, he reminded himself; post-accident, they’d dosed him up for both pain and sleeplessness, but he had never awoken in the hospital feeling completely refreshed, as he had this morning. He’d battled depression, too, in those post-operative months, alternating between mourning his loss of purpose and angrily lashing out at the world for failing him where he just knew he would have succeeded in managing a cure enough so he could work again. He’d had plenty of days when he had slept twelve hours plus, feeling like there was no point in leaving his penthouse (growing emptier of furnishings week by week), let alone his bed. Discovering the world of the mystic arts had rejuvenated him, and he applied himself religiously to learning everything he could, soaking up knowledge and skills like the thirstiest of sponges—just as he had in his university days. Since the Ancient One’s passing, he seldom slept more than five or six hours a night; so much to do, so much to still master, a Sanctum to oversee—but it was a life that he loved. Even more fiercely than his life in medicine.
Moreover, he knew exactly why he’d slept so soundly. He had needed to, certainly—and his young Hadeethan Healer had given him an unexpected peace with her understanding and unconditional forgiveness, effortlessly reading his truest need. Astounding, especially considering the burden of grief she was carrying. The grief he was sole witness to. He needed to find her at once.
Stephen dressed quickly, anxious to see how Teyla was faring. He stopped by her room; the door was open, so that he could see that she had made her bed, but she was nowhere in sight. He hurried down two floors to the common room, just off the kitchen, where most of Sanctum occupants took their meals. Two of the Sanctum retainers were clearing away the breakfast things, but they paused to greet him; one asked if he would care for something to eat, and he politely declined.
“We have a guest staying with us for a few days,” he told them, eager to locate her, “A young woman from off-world—she’s been training at Kamar-Taj…”
One of the women was nodding in recognition, “Yes, Master Strange. Teyla, right?”
“Yes…you’ve seen her?” he asked, a sense of relief settling over him.
“She was here earlier. She had some tea and a little to eat. That was about…hmmm,” the retainer looked to her partner for confirmation, “About an hour ago.”
“Do you happen to know where she went?” Though Teyla was comfortable enough on the city streets the day before, Stephen would’ve preferred she wait for him before returning to her father’s loft.
The women consulted silently, before the second answered him, “She told us to tell you not to worry, Master Strange—and that she would not leave the Sanctum without your permission.”
“Oh.” Surprised, but secretly pleased that Teyla had anticipated his concerns, Stephen thanked them, and then turned to leave. Since she had to be somewhere in the building, a quick locator charm would make her easy to find.
He discovered her in the rooftop greenhouse, speaking with an Adept who was tending to the plants, herbs and greenery that were vital to spell work. The hothouse also contained a modest assortment of fruits and vegetables—grown year-round to help meet the dietary needs of the Sanctum residents—as well as a bee hive, situated at the far end near a section of flower beds. Teyla seemed very absorbed in the conversation, with the Adept explaining in detail the uses of the various florae.
Stephen approached them quietly, not wishing to interrupt until a convenient moment arose. The Adept—a young man named Dominic--noticed his arrival, and broke off his lesson in order to tender a respectful greeting to the Sanctum Master. Teyla immediately looked to Stephen. The moment was sunny, warm, bright—and though he knew that she still mourned, there was a light in her eyes which spoke her gladness that he was near.
“Teyla,” he said simply, a world of gratitude and affection compressed into two syllables. He felt his smile grow—nearly certain that he had to look like an utter goof—and she answered with a tilt of her head, and an endearing, bashful sort of smile. Stephen felt like he had stopped time, even though the Eye of Agamotto rested safely back in Kamar-Taj; his heightened awareness brought him the realization that something vital had changed between them. Though he was still Teyla’s teacher and mentor, he couldn’t help but think of her less as a student, and more as an equal…as a friend…as a soul who’d seen his past pain and ongoing insecurities and somehow…somehow understood. Without a need for words, without a call for explanations.
Amid those musings, he watched her eyes widen, and time began again–with Stephen well aware that she had read him once more. You’ve got to stop doing that, Teyla; some secrets need to be revealed slowly. He sent the thought her way, testing if she was actually reading his mind, or just his emotions. Her expression did not change, but she beckoned him closer, her voice echoing slightly in the confines of the greenhouse. "Are you well this morning, Doctor?” Her greeting was solicitous, her manner deferential.
"I am, Teyla. Very well, indeed,” he grinned, “I had the best sleep of any I’ve had in many years.” But you knew that already, didn’t you, my dear? You gave that gift to me.
"I hope you do not mind, Doctor Strange, but I was impatient to explore your domain," she informed him, "And Dominic has been kind enough to show me about the garden. I had not expected to find such a lovely refuge atop a city building."
"Hmm...I never really thought of it that way, but I suppose that's true." He came to stand beside her, dismissing the Adept with a small nod. Dominic moved off, continuing his inspection and care of the next section of plants.
Stephen leaned close, lowering his voice for privacy sake, "How are you today, Teyla? Was your sleep restful at all? And is there anything I can do for you?"
"I am..." Teyla sighed softly, "I am...acclimating...to my new reality--one without the love and wisdom of my father to guide me." Her voice broke, but she mastered her tears before they could claim the day, "But I carry him with me now, as never before--and I believe his spirit survives, merely in another form, so that someday I will look upon his face again."
"That's a lovely thought, Teyla," Stephen said, astonished at her resiliency, "It took me decades to discover that truth." She looked to him, breathing in his sincerity as a comfort and as a fortification, "That we are so much more than random bits of material in an indifferent universe. That thought has given me strength in even the most dire circumstances."
She bowed her head, whispering so that he barely heard her, "Even so, it shall for me."
He placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, "You're not alone in this, honey. Whatever you need, you only have to ask. Even if it's just a shoulder to cry on."
Teyla raised her chin, her eyes focused on his. As soft as they were, Stephen also saw her resolve to move forward despite her sorrow. "thank you, Doctor Strange. You have been a true friend to me--and I will remain forever grateful."
He shrugged modestly, "You are very welcome, Teyla of Hadeeth. Though I think I owe you a larger show of gratitude..."
Her brow creased slightly, annd her eyes flitted from his to look past him, drawing his attention away. "Something is wrong," she murmured, tilting her head toward Dominic.
The Adept stood several feet away, hands on hips, closely scrutinizing a row of berry bushes. He shook his head, snorting in frustration, then headed towards the far corner of the hothouse. A row of weathered gardening tolls leaned against the glass, beside an old wheelbarrow. Dominic retrieved a spade, and then returned to the plant he had been examining. Curious, Stephen went to join him, with Teyla following right behind him.
Dominic motioned to the bush, and Stephen saw that the fruit was badly discolored. "That's some kind of fungus," he informed the Sanctum Master, "I’ll have to uproot it, or the rot will spread to the surrounding plants.”
“Is that really necessary?”
“I’m afraid so, Master Strange. This one won’t survive much longer,” the younger man pronounced, “Just look at the currants—they’re inedible. And they’d be useless as part of any potions or simples.”
“Well…if that’s our only option,” Stephen conceded, “No use wasting time.” He motioned for the young man to continue.
The Adept nodded, and turned to complete the chore. Teyla stepped forward and laid her hand upon the spade handle. “Wait but a moment please, Dominic. I believe I can work a cure upon this bush; I have seen similar sickness in fruit-bearing plants on my home world, and I may have a remedy.” She looked to Stephen, eager yet respectful, “If you would allow it, Doctor Strange. There is a Hadeethan spell that may be of some use here. I have worked it at least a dozen times.”
“You think it might work on an Earth plant?”
“We cannot know until I try--but I should act quickly, or the damage will be irreversible,” she urged him confidently.
Curious to see a practical application of Hadeethan magic--and remembering the surprising charm of the floating flower petals which Teyla had created for the youngsters of Kamar-Taj--Stephen stepped back, allowing her the space to work. She took several deep breaths, and then kneeled before the bush, exploring the leaves and berries with the lightest of touches. Gingerly, she cupped a cluster of the pink currants in hand, and bent her face close, breathing them in as though seeking their scent. She exhaled softly over them a few times, and Stephen was amazed to see their mottled pink and grey skin turn lavender for several seconds, before reverting to their sickly color. "Yes," she said quietly, addressing the plant itself, "I see the ill and I believe that I can remedy your distress."
Stephen glanced at Dominic, who appeared equally impressed with the plant’s response. “It’s probably worth a shot, Master Strange. Otherwise it’ll be a total loss.”
“Alright then,” Strange decided. “Teyla, please—do what you can.”
She nodded, grateful for his trust, and then turned her attention to the task before her. Teyla placed her hands palm to palm, as though in prayer, while resting her fingertips against her lips. She began to hum a simple run of notes, repeating it several times before stretching her hands over the leaves and berries, and gliding them in a circular pattern which grew wider with each pass. The circle became a figure eight, her hands confidently weaving to and fro as the notes she hummed rose in pitch and volume. A pale blue light began to emanate from the narrow space between her hands and the currant berries. Stephen noted that it was less vivid than the blue that had accompanied the fall of flower petals which she had conjured for the young Novices, but coupled with her music, he realized it was a form of magic far different than that practiced by the sorcerers of Earth—a magic unfamiliar to him, even with his many forays across the multiverse.
Beads of perspiration had broken out upon Teyla’s brow, yet her concentration remained unwavering. After several minutes of her sustained ministrations, her soothing melody rose in a crescendo, and then declined into silence, and the blue light pulsed several times before appearing to recede into the plant itself. Teyla breathed a heavy sigh as her hands fell to her sides, and her shoulders slumped enough that Stephen thought for a moment that she might collapse. “Teyla—are you alright.”
Her head bowed, she raised a hand, stopping him as he approached her. “A moment please, Doctor,” she responded, sounding as weak as she looked, “I need just a little more time to recover.”
Stephen drew closer, thinking to help her to her feet, and Teyla turned to him with tired eyes and an ashy pallor. She took his offered hand lightly—aware of the near constant pain that lived there—while advising him, “Sir, I will be myself again in short order. But look, and you will see that the blight has been eradicated.”
And indeed it was, for the currant berries already looked more wholesome, their dull, murky pink transformed to the appealing translucence of pink champagne, the leaves and stems grown to a healthier green—and remarkably, fresh tendrils were unfurling themselves along several branches.
“Incredible,” he murmured, gently helping Teyla to stand, encouraging her to lean against him as she began to recuperate. “It’s more than cured,” he observed, “The whole plant looks…rejuvenated. What is this magic, Teyla—and will you teach it to me?”
Despite her weakness, she laughed softly, “Are you so eager, Stephen Strange, to be a student once again?”
“Learning is a lifetime adventure, Teyla—that’s a truth I’ve been lucky enough to discover firsthand. I have never turned away the opportunity to learn something new. Never in medicine, and never in the mystic arts. But this,” he declared, incredulously, “This is a combination of the two.” He shook his head, imagining the things he might have accomplished as a doctor if he’d had such magic at his disposal. “When can we begin?”
“You flatter me, Stephen Strange, implying that I am fit to teach a Master any kind of magic.” Her tone was gentle indulgence, and it occurred to him that that she might be teasing him just a bit. “But if that is your will, I will try the best I can, providing you are patient. Ever patient,” she reiterated, “For the forests of Nalor did not spring to life in a mere cycle of the sister-moons.”
“And Rome wasn’t built in a day,” he chuckled, drawing a pretty smile from her. The color was returning to her cheeks, and she drew away from him, no longer needing to lean against him to remain upright. Stephen would’ve let her linger there beyond her immediate need to, but Teyla had already turned away, moving to rejoin Dominic in his rounds.
Curious to confirm the full success of Teyla’s cure, he plucked a few of the currants from the bush, and popped one into his mouth. It burst with bright, sweet flavor the moment he broke the skin, so that he quickly consumed the others--thinking they were among the sweetest berries he had tasted in his life.
Knowing that she would be well out of her depth dealing with the financial and legal matters left behind in her father’s wake, Teyla had asked Stephen to contact her father’s lawyers and the Columbia Art Department Chairman on her behalf, so that he had spent a couple hours consulting with them by phone. She also informed him that she felt strong enough to return to the loft unaccompanied; observing her carefully, he judged that she was ready enough to face whatever tasks lay ahead for her there—though he insisted she travel there via portal. Stephen felt doubly responsible for her now, and ensuring that she was only an easily conjured portal away, was the best compromise at hand.
After addressing a few vital Sanctum concerns, Stephen visited the kitchen to pack enough hot lunch for two (with the cook shooing him out of the way as she bustled about her mealtime preparations), and then used a portal to join Teyla at her father’s place. She greeted him warmly, though he could tell she had been crying once again—as he had known she would need to, choosing to do so in the privacy of her home away from home. They dined at the kitchen table, with Stephen telling her that she must eat the full plate of chicken and pasta with pesto, which he doled out for her, reminding her that she had barely eaten in the time since they had arrived in New York. Obediently, she made her way through the meal, while he filled her in on the details of the financial and living arrangements her father had provided for her.
That done, he turned the topic back to her little morning miracle in the Sanctum’s greenhouse—giving her a welcome distraction from the grief that lay beneath the surface waiting for a quiet moment to break fresh upon her heart.
“It is not a magic exclusive to Hadeeth,” she started, “Though rarely found—according to my teachers--it is practiced by at least a few dozen cultures across the multiverse. Its primary purpose is for healing, although you were witness to that minor charm I demonstrated for the young ones of Kamar-Taj.”
“That was a sweet little bit of magic, Teyla,” he reminded her.
She lowered her lashes demurely, genuinely flattered. “It is quite elementary, Doctor…”
“Stephen, please, Teyla,” he urged her, “After last night—how you helped me—we don’t need to be so formal now, do we?”
She raised her eyes to meet his, surprised but clearly pleased, “As you wish…Stephen.” Again, he found the familiarity of her use of his given name…quite pleasant…and the little smile that graced the corners of her mouth, gratifying. She nodded graciously, and then continued, “Such spell-making relies upon the practitioner to engage in what we call empathetic magic. To not only discern, but to feel the subject’s condition and needs, and to bond with them enough to experience it themselves--to some degree at least.”
Of course, Stephen realized, that’s what makes it a perfect magic for you. “But there must be a cost of sorts to that,” he surmised.
“Indeed,” she admitted, “But oh, Stephen, it is a beautiful price to pay, to be of such service to those in need.” For a heartbeat, Teyla nearly glowed with the joy of it.
“So break it down for me, Teyla. Tell me how to make a start.” Stephen patted her hand, then left his atop hers, enjoying the soothing warmth which was ever present when his scarred flesh came in contact with her skin. “Teach me. Please.”
She studied his face carefully, and nodded solemnly. “I will do my best, Stephen,” she promised him, “For I see your desire to learn is honest and true.”
“Now—as you surely know,” she began, “All life—from the lowliest insect to the most accomplished and powerful Master of the mystic arts…”
He grinned at that, appreciating the humor of her not so subtle reference.
“…all life possesses a unique energy. By attuning one’s own energy with that of the lifeform in need of healing, one can establish a harmonic resonance—a bond that enables a Healer to read exactly what injury or illness that lifeform suffers.”
“Harmonic resonance,” he repeated, making the connection, “The notes you hum?”
“Yes, in a large part, though there are other factors that bear upon the resonance as well.”
“And once you’ve established that bond, how are you able to heal the damage?” he challenged her, “How do you set things right?”
Patiently, she expounded, “Well, that is…hmmm…that is somewhat trickier to explain. Let us call it a temporary exchange of energy. And by this means, the Healer takes unto themselves a fraction of the damage…a shadow of the symptoms…an echo of the pain, where necessary.”
“That’s why you were weakened after you healed the currant bush?”
Teyla nodded, “Though as you witnessed, I did recover swiftly.”
“The side effects on the Healer—they’re only temporary?” Stephen considered how revolutionary introducing such magic into regular training at Kamar-Taj might be, where those with the aptitude could make a difference in the suffering of hundreds of lives in the same span of time in which medical professionals might only help dozens.
Teyla hesitated, cautious in reply, “Most often, yes; they are brief and rarely debilitating.”
“Which means there is a degree of risk?” He had wondered about the downside of the promise of miracle cures—knowing well enough that nothing in the mystic arts came without some cost.
“The relief we offer to those in need far outweighs that risk,” she insisted, a little defensively, “At least for me and my fellow practitioners.”
“Risk nevertheless,” he asserted, easily reading her—for once—and what she left unspoken. “In extreme cases, I’m betting you’d be putting your health and life on the line.”
Teyla nodded, “It is true. But the work that you do, Stephen…the work that you and your fellow sorcerers do…is already far from risk free.” She gave him that small, knowing smile—the one that told him she knew much more about him than she had ever dared to say aloud—and asked frankly, “Did you not lay down your life a thousand times over to protect and preserve this world, and every living soul upon it, from a most ancient, implacable malevolence?”
Stunned to have her mention it, Stephen’s mouth went dry. “How…how do you know this?” Was it something she had read in him—or something she’d been told about?
Her soft, brown eyes held infinite patience—and unabashed admiration. With a wisdom beyond her seeming years, she told him, “You may not speak of your ordeal at the hands of Dormammu, but the story is already legend in Kamar-Taj, and on worlds far flung from here. Yet you remain fully humble, even perplexed at times by the deference paid to by your peers…”
His mouth fell open, but he was speechless--transfixed by her gentle regard, and unable to muster his usual sort of blithe reply.
“…and even the lowliest student here holds you in high esteem for that great and painful sacrifice,” she concluded. “Truly, Stephen, would you now claim that the cost you paid was not worth what you accomplished?”
Stephen closed his eyes; he could not deny those facts, though he did his best to avoid the memories of that time, and all the pain that it entailed. The truth was he had made that choice with no compunction, never factoring in the price that he would have to pay. And given that choice again today, he would do the same in a heartbeat.
Teyla brushed her fingertips across his knuckles, knowing his answer without him speaking a word. “So you do understand, Stephen—why there is no question of choice. Your example is an inspiration to all those who study at Kamar-Taj. To those who have learned of your deed across the many dimensions.” She leaned nearer to him, her breath like a soft caress on his cheek, and his heart sped a little faster as he wondered if a third kiss was in the offing. Realizing that if it were, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself from returning the favor.
Instead, she lowered her gaze, so that his heart lurched with disappointment—and she added shyly, “As you inspire me.”
He was silent a moment, a mix of emotions swirling through his thoughts--not the least of which was berating himself for wanting to kiss a very vulnerable young woman. Not the time or place; he told himself--and certainly the most inappropriate thought I could have, given her condition. Stephen shook his head, declaring adamantly, "I'm no hero, Teyla--please believe me. I am, in fact, the farthest thing in all the worlds from that."
She sat back, her eyes narrowed in such keen study of him that he felt his heart was laid bare. "As you say, Stephen. Though I perceive a destiny for you, in which your courage, brilliance, and selflessness will become the stuff of legends."
"Well in the meantime," he scoffed, feeling the heated blush of embarassment (and shame at his fleeting thought of kisses) color his neck and cheeks, "I'm just a man reaching through a fog of uncertainty, to try my best to do the right thing."
"Of course," she smiled, her faith in him unfaltering, "One day at a time, one deed at a time. Your destiny will find you whether you believe in it or not."
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