Fenglan had remained beside her.

He wasn't entirely sure when the decision had been made. There had been no conversation, no formal promise, no grand declaration of loyalty. He had simply... stayed.

Something within him had insisted that leaving her now would be wrong. That after finding her, after the strange connection that had formed between them, he could not simply turn around and walk away as though she were another stranger encountered along his journey.

He needed to stay. To care for her. To protect her.

The last thought made something cold settle in his stomach.

Protecting her should have been simple. It was something he had been trained for his entire life. As the eldest prince, he had been raised with the expectation that he would one day protect an entire kingdom. Yet the idea of protecting her felt different. More personal. More terrifying.

Because suddenly there was something he could lose.

Fenglan walked quietly alongside Sindri, his dark figure keeping close without crowding her. He had listened more than he spoke throughout their journey, finding himself strangely content simply to exist beside her. She was kind. Patient. Somehow, impossibly, she had made him feel understood without demanding that he explain himself.

And that was dangerous.

Because Fenglan had arrived in Mythris with a purpose.

He was supposed to find allies for his homeland. He was supposed to gather information, make connections, and accomplish the duty entrusted to him.

Instead, he had found Sindri.

...And he had stayed.

Perhaps that wasn't such a terrible thing.

There was no one here to watch him. No tutors correcting his every mistake. No courtiers waiting for him to say the wrong thing. No parents reminding him what a prince ought to be. His kingdom was far away, his mission uncertain, and for the first time in his life there were no watchful eyes demanding that he perform.

Surely no one could fault him for getting a little distracted.

At least, that was what he told himself.

When Sindri finally pulled herself from the water, Fenglan glanced toward her, his ears flicking at the happy wag of her tail. He caught the bright expression she gave him before she turned her attention toward the others.

Then came her song.

Fenglan listened in silence.

There was something almost mesmerizing about the sound of her voice carried beneath the cloudy sky. His expression softened, though exhaustion remained evident around his eyes. He had spent so long being responsible for everything that simply following someone else's lead felt strangely restful.

And, thankfully, Sindri seemed perfectly willing to do the talking.

Fenglan was deeply grateful for that.

He looked toward her, then toward the unfamiliar figures awaiting them, and his stomach twisted.

Oh.

So this was the part where he had to meet her family.

His gaze lowered briefly. Perhaps he should say something. Introduce himself. Explain why he was here. Explain why he had remained at Sindri's side for so long.

The thought alone made his anxiety spike.

Instead, Fenglan merely looked down at Sindri and offered her a small, weary smile. It was nervous around the edges, almost apologetic, his crimson eyes quietly asking for assistance without actually having to say the words.

His shoulder brushed her body lightly, gently. He stayed close. And then, very quietly, he murmured beneath his breath—

...Please do most of the talking. His ears flattened. I don't know what I'm supposed to say.

Sindri

The wings knows something. The dove hasn't stopped harassing the cherub for the better part of the afternoon, soaring on fluttering wing over the seaspray before looping back to Cupid and cooing insistently at him.

He doesn't know what she sees, but he follows her dutifully. Past the meadows filled with the stamping of their hardy island ponies, past the shrine to Aphrodite sitting clad in sea-shell and sea-salt and a drying set of narcissus blooms, past the cliffside Trygve slipped out of his grasp upon, and onto the sprawl of sandy beach that formed this side of the bridge that marked the crossing path for visitors. In the right season and tide, of course.

The wings trills low in her throat, and feathers rustle noisily in the dove-god's ears as the bird takes her seat perched over the knobs of his spine. Worked into a frenzy, the dove ruffles her feathers and shakes her head, then turns to self-soothe and groom her long, pristine flight feathers.

Cupid halts upon the beach, tilts his head into the wind to listen for what he's here for. A visitor? An invader? A washed-up cub or a particularly exciting piece of driftwood? The wings' priorities are sometimes...less than accurate to his own.

His nose, however, is a cunning sense. The wind shifts, carrying the sting of salt rubbed into a wound, and - there.

His daughters smell of the night. As if they are born of the darkness that Cupid's sharp vision was so mercilessly cast into, they live inside of that expansive abyss without fear, without blindness, without cold.

The cherub's paws move swiftly over familiar sands, his tail bannered behind him like a beacon. A muddle of voices clear as he closes the distance with his chin high and spirits higher. Bragi! A tilt of his head in her direction, the scent of a thousand stars winking from high overhead. As wonderous, as bright, as they are unreachable. Something burns brighter in his subtlest of children, the most troubled of their number, but Cupid cannot tell yet the reason. She has been absent since...since Apollo. Since...

Cupid was a god first, and a god still; his wings are clipped just so he can remain within this cage of a body, and it is blessing as much as it is curse. And even so, he has no such mortal qualms. Did she kill the boy?

Does he care? All six of his fledglings, dead or alive, scattered or tucked safely in his arms - they are the progeny of his heart's greatest desires. They are his. She is his. She could raze the earth, salt and burn it behind her. She will still be his; welcomed and cherished.

His nose swings in the direction of the powdery scent of owl feathers, the sharpness of the sea, Sindri, the shining one even amid the darkest nights. The last of his mischief left to Cupid's grasp - and how she reminds him of her fathers! She gives him the same kind of headache Loki did, so brash, so headstrong, so independent! And he sees Tyr in her too - she is kind, but willing to fight for her vision of justice. He veers in her direction, for this daughter has always welcomed his affection - her temples, to place the offering of a pecking kiss, gratitude for her safe return!

There is another presence, sensed by the way the seabreeze bends and quiets around his form. Known by the scent of freshwater dew and exposed slate, hovering near the diminutive stature of the dove-god's runt. Close enough the wind bends around both of them, close enough that Cupid navigates to Sindri by the warmth radiating off the pair of them.

Paternal fury threatens to ignite, but the archer quells it for now. Now is the time to welcome his children back into the flock.

Welcome home, my children. Warm, joyous, Cupid's tail fails entirely to cease wagging. And welcome to Skjoldrheim. He inclines his head in the man's direction coolly. Probably just a recruit. And how thoughtful of Sindri! He noses affectionately at his daughter's cheek. You're late, Sindri. Teasing, mostly, with a thread of I worried, of course within.