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winter_wisp) wrote2023-03-01 08:38 pm
"But humans don't live that long," Winter replied. "And you are human. ...Aren't you?"
"The nature of my power keeps me young," he said. "That, and how I use it."
"Ooooh," Winter replied, nodding a little. "I see. That's good, I want for you to live a very long time," he added, squeezing John's hand.
"Do pixies tend to live for a long time?" he asked.
There was quite a bit he didn't know about the different fae that peopled that realm. He'd been to court and knew many, but he knew there were many more, much wilder fae who lived freely in the land.
John wasn't ashamed to ask.
"Not as long as fae, but much longer than humans," Winter nodded. "Pixies age very slow."
"Then we have plenty of time," he smiled.
John wandered the path slower than Winter, happy to stop so the pixie could add to the basket.
"Oh! The good mushrooms," the pixie chirped, wandering off the path a little. "These are my favorite," he grinned, dropping them in the basket. "Let's find potatoes and then head back, yes?"
John nodded.
"I'm beginning to get hungry."
And cold, though he wouldn't complain.
He followed along to retrieve the potatoes, then they made their way back to the tower where John immediately banked the fire and lingered there to put on the kettle and warm up.
Winter didn't seem bothered by the cold, immediately wandering into the kitchen to prep what he intended to cook and store the extra.
"Can I ask you something? About the boy. About Q," he asked still chopping away as he spoke.
"Of course," he said, looking over at him. "What would you like to know?"
"If he's not your blood, who's blood is he?" Winter asked, glancing over at John. "He must be someone's blood."
"He's an orphan. He was lost at sea on his way to slave in the mines. But he was rescued and brought to me," John explained.
"He's learned your magic though, not everyone can do that, no? So his blood is similar to yours, yes?" Winter asked, looking puzzled.
"He does have talent," he nodded. "Magic may run in his line. But we'll never know."
"Maybe he is your blood," Winter suggested cheerfully, starting to toss mushrooms into the hot pan.
John wanted to discount that outright. It couldn't be possible. It simply couldn't be.
He scowled in thought as that idea settled in to linger and bother him.
"I imagine it's...possible," he grumbled.
"There are potions to test these things," Winter added, oblivious to John's conflicted feelings. "I could brew some."
"That would be something to offer to him," he replied.
"But only the fates know when he'll come back."
"Oh, right, he lives on the waves with the rude pirate. I hope he doesn't keep him in a lantern. It's undignified. I'm not a firefly," he added with a huff.
"No, you're not. And I'm glad you came to me, rather than be captive on his ship," he said, a bitter note to his tone as he spoke of Bond.
"You are my hero," Winter admitted quietly, ducking his head and falling silent as he finished cooking.
John sat, head tilted, a bit confused by that. He hadn't realized it meant so much to Winter.
"Hmph," he grumbled, a bit embarrassed.
Finishing off the food, Winter brought the plates to the table before fetching the kettle to pour some tea.
"Dinner," he announced proudly.
"It smells delicious. Much better than porridge," he smiled. John could cook, but without Q here, there was little joy in it. And he didn't mind porridge.
But this was much better.
"I like porridge," Winter assured him with a smile as he dug into his meal.
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