Night had fallen by the time Bertronius reached the lodging house after the meeting with Scrudton. The maniacal energy that had propelled him tirelessly through the streets of Susselfen during the hours before was now replaced by a heavy weariness. Despite the complaints of his aching limbs, he still felt a warm glow of satisfaction: he had really accomplished something here! It wasn't as if he had achieved his ultimate goal of avenging Jarthen, but at least he had found something that his colleagues had missed – certainly luck and happenstance had assisted in his discovery, but he was the one that ultimately drew the appropriate conclusions.
Bertronius hoped that McNab would be around so he could tell him all that had happened that day, but when he walked into their rooms it was dark and silent except for the soft sounds of someone snoring. Peeking into McNab's room, he saw the haggard spy sound asleep for what seemed like the first time in weeks. He was sleeping peacefully, more relaxed than Bertronius had seen him since they left the front months ago. Though part of him wanted to tell his mentor immediately, Bertronius silently closed the door.
He's needed a rest for so long, I can't wake him now. The news will keep until morning, he thought to himself, a feeling of genuine concern washing over him as he thought about his old friend's many travails. Feeling more satisfied than he had in a long time, Bertronius clamored into his own bedclothes and was sound asleep himself in moments.
Elcrona nudged Sellior had in the ribs. “Ye ha’en’ heard a damn word I’ve said, ha’e ye?” she asked pointedly.
“Oww! Wha’ was tha’ fer?” Sellior asked, rubbing the spot where she had jabbed him.
Elcrona sighed. “I was tryin’ ta tell ye tha’ ye had no righ’ ta go an’ meddle in me affairs, but ye’ve been too distracted tryin’ not ta look at Moshel ta listen ta me berate ye abou’ ‘tit.”
Sellior grinned. “He talked ta ye then, eh? Wha’ happened?”
She shot him a look of utter frustration and gave his shoulder a playful shove. “No, I’m not tellin’ ye anyt’in’ till ye go an’ talk ta him.”
Sellior’s smile faltered. “I can’, Ellie. I just can’.”
“Well, do ye want me ta go intercedin’ on yer behalf like ye did for me?” she asked with pretend innocence. Sellior laughed and shook his head. “Then ye’d better go an’ talk ta him yerself. ‘Cause if ye don’, I will.”
He looked at Elcrona and saw her face had set in a determined, self-assured way. He had known that look since childhood – she was utterly and totally serious and could not be reasoned with. It was the same look, he noted, that had driven him into the Rebel Army against his better judgment. He sighed and stood up, casting a final baleful glance her way. “Atta boy, Selli!,” she called after him.
Sellior slowly walked to the workbench where Moshel was putting together the second long-distance messenger bird. With each step, he felt his heart beat a little faster and a little louder in his chest, and felt his palms begin to sweat. Moshel was hard at work, completely focused on the gears and cogs strewn about him, and seemed not to notice Sellior watching him a few steps away. Sellior was grateful: he never tired of watching the silver elf at work, as his nimble fingers deftly flitted about and the quick flickers of emotion that dashed across his face when he had small successes or met tiny obstacles. It seemed to Sellior that Moshel was at his most open and vulnerable when preoccupied so. He hated to intrude, but he knew Elcrona was watching him like a hawk and had set her mind so that he didn’t really have any other choice.
He knelt and gingerly placed a hand on Moshel’s forearm. “Moshel, can I talk ta ye?” he asked. The physical contact seemed to greatly startle Moshel, who jumped quite a bit, dropping the cog he was measuring in the grass. Sellior stammered out an apology as Moshel took a few deep breaths to recover.
Having regained his composure, Moshel picked the cog up and placed it in the workbench. As he turned to greet the red elf, he saw the panic written on Sellior’s mortified face. “Sellior, what’s wrong? Is everything alright?” he asked.
“Not’in’s wrong, I jus’…well, I was wonderin’ if ye’d take a walk wit’ me,” he responded sheepishly. “I’m sorry ta ha’e startled ye so,” he added quietly.
Moshel nodded and stood up. “I could use a break from this anyway,” he said. He pulled his coat tightly around him to stave off the chilly wind whipping around them as the pair headed away from camp, the silver elf had not noticed how cold the evening had become, so consumed was he with his work. Dusk was falling, bathing everything in vibrant red-orange light.
They walked in silence all the way to the freshwater stream. Sellior felt a lump rising in his throat and furrowed his brow, unsure what to say or how to say it. They stood in front of the stream, watching the fading sunlight bounce off the rippling water. Sellior looked at Moshel out of the corner of his eye, taking in the sliver elf’s still repose. His angular face – almond shaped violet eyes, a long, thin nose, and high, sharp cheekbones – was so terribly calm. With his coat wrapped tightly around his frame, Sellior could make out the outline of his broad shoulders and long arms.
Sellior himself stood in sharp contrast to Moshel: instead of relaxed and serene, he was fidgety and anxious. He sighed softly and pulled his hair over one shoulder. Finally, he gave Moshel an exasperated look. “How can ye do tha’?”
“Do what?” Moshel asked mildly, still looking out at the water.
“Stand there like that when ye know I’m a mad wreck beside ye,” he said quietly. Moshel’s quiet dignity had always had the strange effect of making the red elf more honest and forthright than he intended to be – an effect he quite resented at that moment.
Moshel, still staring out at the stream, smiled and Sellior relished the way it softened his severe features. “Well, I figured rushing you into talking about it would only make you more agitated.”
Sellior nodded, knowing it was true. He turned to face Moshel, eyes downcast, his hands jammed in his pockets. “Can I ask ye somet’in’ personal, Moshel?” he said softly. Moshel fixed his powerful violet eyes on Sellior and nodded. “Are ye...do ye…I mean ta say…Moshel, are ye spoken fer?” he stammered, blushing deeply.
Moshel shook his head. “I am not. And I haven’t been for quite some time,” he said with one snow-white eyebrow slightly raised.
Sellior’s heart thudded a fast rhythm in his chest. “Well, I ask ‘cause…oh, I’m sure wit’ yer talents an’ all, ye already, know why I’m askin’,” he said softly, still shyly looking away.
“That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t like to hear it from you,” Moshel said ruefully.
Sellior looked up at him sharply with wide eyes. “Truly?” he asked. Moshel nodded, and the red elf took a deep breath and straightened up, forcing himself to look into those great violet pools again. “Moshel, I…well, I’ve come ta feel quite strongly about ye o’er ta last few months. Truth be told, I’ve fallen quite hard fer ye, an’ mos’ days, yer all I t’ink of. I couldn’ promise ta love only ye, but I can promise ta love ye fiercely, an’ truly, an’ till ta very end o’ me days if ye were ta let me,” he said fervently. Sellior watched Moshel’s face for a reaction in agony.
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity (but was in fact only a few seconds), Moshel smiled at him, sending waves of relief and elation crashing over the red elf. “And the fact that I can read you like an open book, that you’d have no secrets from me, that doesn’t scare you? I’ve been told
it makes me a hard person to be with,” he said.
Sellior shook his head. “’Tis a strange t’ing, wha’ ye are, but ‘tis marvelous, I t’ink.”
Moshel grinned broadly, with an unrestrained joy that was rare for the tinker, and took Sellior’s hand. “Then let’s make a go of it, you and I,” he said.
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