Of Ash and Ivy

Elowen despised humans. They carved the very roads through sacred groves, hunted what they did not need, and burned without the thought of what the flames were consuming. Whilst on patrol in the foggy mists of the forest, the patrol became the reason to draw her bowstring fiercely. The man, a trespasser in the Sylvanwood Forest, her home, no less- she took it upon herself to protect the borders herself. She squints with disdain.

Curious, she studied the man: His hair was dark as midnight skies, his eyes caught the silver glow of the moon beautifully, as if the stars themselves graced his eyes themselves. His voice singing through the night, carrying like warmth from a firelight in winter. His body chiseled, and scars riddled on his arms. He was no pureblood human, but something else moved in him: elven grace echoed through his pulsing aura. She refocused.

"You shouldn't be here," her hissed disapproval evident, arrow pointed and gleaming in the moonlight. The man raised his hands,a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Uh- my name is Vladimir, nice to meet you..and here I thought elves were hospitable and kind- so much for the stories...songs lied too." His arrogance was heating her blood.

"This is no place for your kind, human." She studied his stance.

"My kind?" His eyes flashed with a sharp scoff following his furrowed brow. "I'm not fully human, and the frest knows me better than you do."

Elowen scoffed, clearly offended he'd retort such a nosensicle tone with her. However, his words unsettled her. The forest had stayed silent during their encounter..no beasts lunged, no roots tangled, no paths snared. It was as though the forest accepted this man without fail. She lowered her bow in confusion, but acceptance, leaving him where he stand. Within the moons next cycle, their paths kept corssing. From the shops in town, to even the tavern for drinks, they seen each other at each and every inconvenient and conveniently timed crossing.

Occasionally, he mocked her formality, elegance and 'uptight behavior', she pointed out his arrogance, dimwittedness, and clumsy swordplay. It was as if watching enemies placed in the same group for experimentation. But beneath every clash, there was a growing tension between the two, though neither would admit it. Every debate an unspoken pull, the forest practically uniting them off chance and coincidence alone, fates tangled such as vines.

One night, fog heavily shrouded the pathways to the riverbed, as Elowen was to gather water for the morning tea. Just as she reached the edge of the clearing to prepare gathering water, Elowen is ambushed by raiders. Finding herself cornered, she reaches to draw her sword. Just then, before it was presented, he was there- sword clashing with them. Fighting at her side, unyielding and bloodied, he never let them within 15 feet of her, no matter the angle. When the battle ended with a puncture through the last man's lung, Elowen caught herself watching his heaving frame, the firelight carving his jaw in a way she had no right to be noticing.

She scoffs. "You fight like an idiot. Steadily sloppy." she muttered under her breath as she tended to his gashing wounds, fingers trembling. He laughed softly, smirking through the pain. "And yet, this idiot saved you anyway. You're welcome." She hated the warmth blooming in her chest, and the flooding of warmth to her cheeks. Hated how the distance between them shrunk. But when his hand grazed hers, gentle, hesitant and questioning-Elowen didn't pull away. She simply blinked and looked him in his eyes.

For centuries, trusting the forest was all she had ever known. To be a protector, guard the forest, guide the next protector...now, against every instinct and lesson, her heart is singing a slightly tuned remix of what it was singing before, falling for the very enemy she swore she'd despise.

He teased her every moment they got. "You hold that bow like you were born with it," he teased. SHe scoffed as she tuned the string. "Better than how you hold a sword. I've seen squirrels weild acorns with more grace and precision-" he laughed heartily, irritatingly warm. She tried hard not to notice how it lingered, honeyed in time. She scoffed and trudged away, leaving him to follow her with his further banter.

As she retorted to his usual arrogant teasing, she seemed to lose her footing, tripping yet caught in time, his strong hands supporting her lower back properly, his face hovered over hers, close enough that she could feel the heat of his breath, smell the pine and maple syrup from breakfast... Elowen froze, eyes darting from his lips to his adam's apple, to his eyes once more. Her heart thrumming like a hunted deer's, she imagined him leaning in a fraction closer...just enough to--

No. She shoved him and straightened up, brushing off her clothing and adjusting the caught fabrics. "Don't." He smirked, his dimple visible, softening into something quieter, something that made her pulse betray her tone of voice. "Someday," he murmured, "you won't hate me so much."

The banter sharpened, yet the edges softened. Every clash of the words were a step closer to one another. Flowers bloomed where there were never, Elowen's heart began to betray her, day after day. Every fight beside themselves was trust she didn't want to admit she was caving. His laughs grew from an irritation to a tolerance, and her love, growing slower than ivy climbing stone, was inevitable.