An AU twist on recent events.

[white_flowers]

Blodwen Rowlands is sitting at a table with a clear view of the windows and the front door. She doesn't seem to mind the cold at all, to judge by her warmly contented smile.

The knife-sharp silver knitting needles in her hands click and flash merrily in point and counterpoint as she works. This evening's project is as white as the snow outside, and shot through with a gleam of silver thread. The shape is indeterminate at present, and it's hard to tell just what it might be.

Her eyes are bright and clear as she watches the room.

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[creator_raven]

There is a man in a tattered black coat watching her from nearby. He tilts his head, the movement oddly birdlike.

"You are not a bad hand with the knitting, I think. It is almost impressive."

His eyes are very dark, but his smile is wide.

[white_flowers]

She laughs softly, and the flash and click of the bright silver needles pauses as she looks up at him.

"Why thank you, dear. It is a hobby of mine -- I do so love making useful things, you see."

[creator_raven]

"Pretty, too, I think."

He brushes one finger along a line of silver in the pattern, and smiles brightly.

"It is a skill I might be envious of."

[white_flowers]

"Is that so, cariad?" As he touches the silver thread in the snow-white wool, a cold triumphant light shines in the White Rider's eyes.

The thread gleams brightly as the trap-spell activates, and the sound of discordant spell-speech is clearly audible now, augmented by the reinforcement of her presence and her will.

A ten-year-old girl is one thing, but this man is no man, she can tell, as he brushes against her magic -- and she will have his power under her control if she can.

[creator_raven]

Raven laughs.

"I have never been good at knitting, I do not think."

His hand falls away from the pattern she has made, and eventually comes to rest at his side. The fingers of the other hand toy restlessly with the threads on the sleeve of his coat.

His eyes are still dark, and his breathing has slowed.

[white_flowers]

"Are you not?"

The invisible threads of the spell-net waver as Raven's fingers twitch. Blodwen's eyes narrow, and there is nothing of warmth in them now.

Softly, almost under her breath, she murmurs the cold cruel words of the working, the spell-speech of the Dark falling on the air with icy precision as the net firms and tightens once more.

It is too late to draw back, she thinks; she has made this move, and is not inclined to surrender lightly.

[creator_raven]

"No. I am not quite so fond of lying as all that, perhaps."

His smile grows faintly edged, and the hand that had touched the knitting slips into his pocket.

There is a moment of stillness, then the fingers of that hand re-emerge, tangled in dark blue thread.

"I do, however, have some skill in other matters."

And if that last sentence takes on a lilting cadence that fades into humming, well--his cheerful smile is a more than adequate illustration of his good mood.

[white_flowers]

"So you do, dear. So you do."

In contrast, the friendly warmth to the white-clad woman has fallen away by slow degrees as they strive against each other, and inwardly the White Rider curses the fact that her spell-net is only part-completed and weakened by earlier use.

But some chances are not to be missed. "Pretty bird," she mocks softly. "I have a fondness for ravens, oh indeed I do." The cruel possessive desire is clear in each word. "Just ask the white one, my darling."

With a swift flash, one hand moves, snatching a silver needle from the knitting and thrusting it toward his hand, tangling it into the dark blue thread between his fingers.

"Let go," she murmurs. "Let go, dear, you must be tired -- here, I will help you, come to me and let me help you--"

The light soft voice is warm and almost musical as she continues gently,

"-- so long it has been for you, surely you must want rest, peace perhaps? Let me help you, dear, and you will have them."

The spell-net surges around him once more, lashing each of its snapping broken threads together in a desperate attempt to bind.

[creator_raven]

And Raven does let go

blood and earth and ash oh my people

of the thread

Take me with you

and

I am so very tired.

of

Tired

himself.

Please

His eyes close, then, and he slumps forward, head coming to rest in his hands.

There is a long silence.

"Please."

[white_flowers]

Cold triumph lights her gaze, but it is not reflected in her warm, gentle tone.

"There now, cariad. There, now." The White Rider lays both hands on his head in seeming benison or blessing, so very pale against the wildness of his black hair.

The fine bands of the invisible net writhe and tighten, meeting no further resistance, and begin to settle about him, drawing closer and closer still as she croons,

"I will take care of you, pretty bird. I will take very good care of you indeed."

[creator_raven]

He laughs, softly. And if there is an edge to it, it is an edge of bitterness, and not defiance.

"Will you? It remains to be seen, I think."

He has heard this story before, after all.

But the comfort is new.

[white_flowers]

The wild magic is meant to be free, she knows, and there is something of that wildness in the Raven before her -- but he is bound and thrice over, to this form, by his longing, and by her spell.

Her hands stroke soothingly over his hair still as she tells him,

"Oh, my dear. I am very old, myself, and I know what it is to be alone and weary. I shall not leave you, and you shall not leave me--"

Not now, as the spell winds tighter and tighter about him, sinking more deeply in with each word and each touch.

"And you do not need to worry, any more. I am here, and will take care of you, and you will be happy."

Careful crafting with words and comfort, as she binds him to her will.

[creator_raven]

"It is rare, I think, that I do the leaving."

He lifts his head, then, eyes wide and bright and fixed on her face.

"Once in all the time I have been myself, perhaps."

Raven leans forward suddenly, sharply.

"And you?"

[white_flowers]

"I have been separated before from those I cared for, against my wishes," she says softly, meeting his bright-eyed gaze. "It is hard, to lose others to the ravages of time, is it not?"

She smiles at him, and the light soft voice is warm and gentle as she says,

"I will not leave you, cariad." A hesitation. "Unless we are forced apart, but I will fight to keep that from happening, I promise you."

[creator_raven]

He smiles, then, and there is something of sweetness in it.

"I am good at fighting, I think. Also persistence."

[white_flowers]

His beautifully sweet smile is met with an answering warm one from the woman in white.

"Goodness me, pretty bird, then we shall have nothing to fear."

The invisible bands twitch, and sink slightly deeper.

"If you would fight to stay with me-- and it is that I would struggle to keep from losing you--"

She would indeed, for the power in this one is very great. Every word is utterly sincere.

[creator_raven]

Then things are well, indeed."

For the moment. And Raven is good at making moments last. It is a question of practice, mostly.

"I think we are well met, Lady. I am almost grateful."

[white_flowers]

"As am I, dear," Blodwen says, smiling gently at him. "I am very glad indeed."

[creator_raven]

Something in Raven--a thin always-held tension--relaxes at that.

His smile brightens, hovering perilously close to a grin.

"I think, in light of that, there should be cookies. You are fond of them, as well, perhaps?"

[white_flowers]

And as the tension dissolves, the net shivers and then binds him closely, carefully... and securely.

Blodwen laughs, and tells him,

"Goodness me, pretty bird, but I am." Leaning closer, she confides as if to a friend,

"I have even made them, before. A lovely thing it is, the scent of cookies baking in the early morning on a cold day."

[creator_raven]

Raven beams.

"It is possible that you are my new favorite person."

More than possible, really.

It is a certainty.