Work Text:
“Out of this nettle, danger,
We pluck this flower, safety"
- Henry IV Part 1
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“Have you ever made something just for yourself? Just because it pleased you or made you smile? Not for others, not to show off….but just for you?”
Her words made me stop. This was my fifth session with her, my first after the Yule season, and we had been discussing my childhood - specifically how I got interested in alchemy. I had been incurably curious even as a child, interested in anything and everything I could watch or attempt. As a result, I learned to cook, a talent that I still enjoy now and then to this day, but also had learned knitting, weaving, embroidery, gardening…I enjoyed puzzling new things out, keeping my hands and mind busy at the same time. It was as if my brain was inhaling knowledge to fuel it instead of air.
All of my parents had encouraged this, but it was Celaeno, my human mother, who used to let me shadow her as she performed her duties as chatelaine. Being human, she lacked the magic necessary to do some of the household work herself, but she was canny and observant and had found herself appreciative of the ways the fae could use magic to do things. Some of them had similarities to the way humans did things, she explained, but in other ways, the fae had it far simpler or cleaner.
I remembered her showing me the rich blue velvet that had been purchased for new doublets and dresses for the family, and admiring at the richness and fastness of the dye - what fae could do with alchemy, she explained, humans took complicated and time-consuming or even toxic methods to achieve, and it wouldn’t be as colorfast or last as long. Alchemy could be used to heal or harm, to protect or abjure, but it also had plenty of decorative uses as well, for the fae did love their finery. The Daoine Sidhe came in all sorts of vivid colors, and often demanded to be dressed brightly and richly to match, but it was a love that extended across the Divided Courts. The Fair Folk would have their fine silks and velvets and linens, and alchemy ensured that they could be dyed in any color they wished, without the mess and fuss of mortal means.
My first experiments in alchemy had been of the decorative sort, it being thought as an appropriate starting point given my young age. Though the Daoine Sidhe lacked the natural talents of other races, I had skill enough and more than that, I had turned my share of Torquill determination towards learning all I could. My tutors had been pleased with my talent and hard work, while my parents had been dismayed that I had almost immediately turned it to mischief, dyeing one of September’s favorite dresses an eye-searing shade of fuschia. I had been scolded, and September had been cross with me for a while but soon found the humor in it, before insisting I change it back to a more suitable color as recompense.
Over time my studies increased in complexity - it was something neither of my siblings had much of an interest in, and it was something Celaeno always found fascinating. I used to love making her smile with my latest creations. I think perhaps she thought I might find myself a position somewhere as a court alchemist. But it all started with me being her little shadow, and my curiosity and my desire to make her smile.
All this was in my head as I considered her words. I admit that I found great joy in making things for others, but for myself, and not in service of some greater goal or plan? It stopped me cold. “I honestly cannot remember, though I know there have been times in the past. But not in a great long time.”
She looked at me, and made a “hmmn” noise. “It’s one thing to get joy out of giving things to others. That is fine, but you can’t give and give and drain yourself dry ignoring your own needs. Remember how earlier tonight I told you to treat yourself how you would a close friend who you loved and wanted to be happy? That extends beyond how you talk about yourself. It extends to what you do for yourself too. You need to learn what it is like to give yourself things out of joy. To make something for you, because it makes you happy.” She wrote a note to herself on her notepad and then smiled kindly at me. “I’m going to send you a package, and we can discuss it at our next session.”
I startled at that, my eyes widening, and she continued in a reassuring tone. “It’s nothing big and it’s something I’ve done for other clients before. Consider it a bit of homework in self-care. Trust me, I think this will help.”
A few days later, a carefully-wrapped package arrived from Dr. Voss, with instructions to not open it until our next appointment. I admit I was curious, but she clearly had a reason for this, so I waited. She could tell I was intrigued, though, and upon her urging, I opened the package to find a brightly patterned fabric bag holding something soft and lumpy.
Undoing the drawstring, I found a pair of beautiful knitting needles made out of laminated birch wood dyed in a rainbow of colors all blended together. Underneath the needles was two balls of incredibly soft yarn, each with a hand-stamped paper label proclaiming itself to be from Golden Fleece Yarns and that it was “80% Superwash Caoraich Sidhe Wool / 20% Borametz - DK weight”. One ball bore a tag labeled “Heart of the Ocean”, while the other was labeled “Mossy Garden”. I didn’t know what the phrases “DK Weight” or “Superwash” meant, but I knew the yarn most likely came from Golden Shore, which kept both borametz vegetable lambs and fae sheep for their meat and fibre.
The yarns fit their name- the one labeled “Heart of the Ocean” was variegated in shades of blue ranging from deepest indigo to palest foam, while the one labeled “Mossy Garden” ranged from a deep blue-green to a bright clover shade to a shade of verdigris that reminded me almost of Patrick’s hair. It was a thoughtful gift, and I touched the yarn, feeling how soft and luxurious it was against my hands as I held the skeins, taking in the colors.
“These are for you. Consider it practice in making something entirely for yourself. I want you to try it and see if you can do something that makes you happy. No deadlines, no other motives. Just find a pattern that is interesting to you - I’ve texted you some ideas but I’ll show you how you can search for more on the internet. But the point of this is twofold: partly this is meant to be a gift for yourself: making something that brings you happiness. That makes you smile. Making something for yourself.”
I nodded. This made sense, and tied back into what she had been discussing at several of our previous sessions. The idea of showing myself the same kind of compassion and mercy that I extended to others. It was… difficult, to see myself worthy of the same love and care I gave to others, but it was something both my family and my therapist had touched upon regularly. Logically I knew they were right, but actually seeing myself like this….it would take some time. I wanted to be worthy of their love, I wanted to be the man they saw me as. But I didn’t think I was there yet, even as they told me I was. I had spent so much of my life viewing myself in terms of being useful to others, if only so they’d keep me around… the idea of doing something just for myself was foreign and felt a little selfish. But I would try. “And the other part of the point?” I asked.
“While the anti-anxiety medication has been helping, sometimes anxiety can also manifest as an inability to clear one’s mind or to focus on a specific thing. Especially when you start working on one aspect of it, it can rear its head in other ways. I know that when I was being trained in my magic, meditating and clearing my thoughts was part of it. But sometimes that is difficult, especially if your mind is already full with other things - I never was good at sitting still when I was younger. But if you use active meditation, focusing on the task you are doing, you’re not clearing your thoughts but rather focusing on the sensory experience of what you are doing. For some people it’s cooking, or gardening, or cleaning, but I’ve found knitting or crochet to be a good strategy for several of my clients. And when you mentioned your mother teaching you some knitting, I thought this might help you as well. Find a simple pattern and just focus on it as a grounding exercise - how the needles and yarn feel, the rhythm of the stitches. It’s a way of physically burning off some of that anxious energy while grounding your mind.”
“That makes sense,” I agreed. I had used gardening to that effect in the past - if I needed an escape, tending the plants had served to focus and ground me while I calmed myself down. Dianda did have gardens inside the knowe for air-breathing plants, and we had discussed setting aside an area for me to grow my own ingredients, but that would take time and I found my planning a source of anxiety rather than a balm. Despite my spouses’ assurances, I still worried that I was asking too much, that I was taking up too much space. It would take some time yet before gardening could be the solace it once was, and this did seem like a reasonable alternative. “It’s been some time since I last knitted anything, but it seems like a good approach. And the yarn is gorgeous, to be sure.”
“I’ll send you the links to some video tutorials - you may find them useful.” She smiled “The yarn and needles are from a small workshop down in Golden Shore, I made that scarf out of their yarn.” She pointed at the coat rack behind her in her office, where a lacy blue and purple scarf hung. “I got you the thicker version, it knits up faster and you’ll see progress sooner. Scarves are definitely not the best thing to start with.” She laughed to herself at that, smiling.
“Just start by knitting a few squares. Squares are useful - there’s all sorts of patterns and they can be coasters, placemats, washcloths…or you can sew a bunch together into a cushion cover or a lap blanket. Entirely up to you. But if this doesn’t work for you, don’t feel obligated to continue! The point is to try and see if it helps. It may be that something else works - and we can try and see what that might be. This is just an experiment - I want this to be something that makes you happy, that works for you. You get to decide where it goes from here.” She smiled, and steepled her hands. “Now with that out of the way, let’s talk some more about how your week has been going…” and we were back off into untangling the mess I’d made of my mind and emotions. But we were making progress.
~~~~~
She was right - it was soothing. It took a bit of practice to remember some of the techniques, but I found it enjoyable and the muscle memory soon reasserted itself. The idea of making squares and seaming them into a blanket appealed to me - I could put it on our bed. The idea of all of us sleeping under something I had made appealed to me - something that I had made that I could associate with safety and comfort, but that could also be shared. I smiled at the thought.
The internet was full of examples of squares knit in different patterns, and my first square, a simple one knit on the diagonal, was soon joined by squares knit in patterns with names such as “thistle lace”, “bee stitch”, and “making waves”. It was fascinating to look through the different patterns and see what people had made, and I downloaded a few patterns to my cellular phone as a starting point. I wasn’t going to rush - the journey was the important part. I looked forward to seeing how things would go.
It was soothing, as she had said, it was also a way for me to be a bit more social: quickly enough I was at the point where I could knit while keeping up with conversation, and I would bring it with me while I spent time in Patrick’s workshop with him, the two of us talking while he worked on his experiments, and I knit and listened to him explain what he was working on for this particular project. Or I would bring it into August’s study and she would sketch while I knit. Sometimes I would sit in Dianda’s study and listen to her discuss the day to day workings of running the duchy, and offer advice or nod where appropriate. She appreciated someone to talk to as she worked things through, and I appreciated learning more about the Undersea and about her and how she handled things. Over time, it helped me come out of my shell and I grew to really enjoy these times. We could work on our own things but talk while we did, and it made things easier between all of us.
I don’t know if Dr. Voss was anticipating this when she suggested I take up knitting, but she seemed pleased by it when I told her - it’s very enjoyable to be sharing space with one you love, both working on your own projects but enjoying each other’s company. It had been too long since I had experienced that feeling, and it was healing: I didn’t have to say anything, or be witty or keep the other person engaged - just being in each other’s presence was enough, even as we worked on our respective projects. And it wasn’t just knitting - sometimes Patrick would join me in my workshop as I worked on my alchemical experiments, one of his mechanical projects at his side, or August would sketch some of my plant samples while I worked on improving the water-breathing potion in terms of both efficacy and taste. I had even turned myself to seeing if I could use my alchemy to make new inks for her mapmaking and sketching out ingredients from the Undersea, much to her delight, and Dianda’s, when August presented Dianda with a beautifully drawn sketch of one of the coral gardens using the new inks.
Sometimes I felt as if in order to be useful, to get people to want me around, I had to always be performing - always being witty and clever, always finely attuned to the moods and emotions around me. I felt as if I was an actor on a stage, with a spotlight tuned on me ready to catch any fumble or misstep. But for the first time in a very, very long time… I felt like the spotlight was off. I could just be there in the presence of those I loved, without the hypervigilance that had dogged my steps for most of my life. Sometimes I even found myself feeling happy and content without lurking feelings of anxiety lingering around the edges. It took some getting used to. I wanted to get used to this. I deeply, deeply wanted to get used to this.
Soon enough the balls of yarn Dr. Voss had sent in her package ran out. I was idly asking my spouses how to best order some more from the shop in Golden Shore when Dianda tapped her chin thoughtfully, looking at me.
“We could get you some more with the next shipment from Golden Shore, certainly,” she agreed. “Or we could see what yarn they have in The Duchy of Ships - we’ve been trying to increase our trade with them lately.” What went unspoken, but what I had been informed of by my spouses, was that after the Duchy’s assistance during Torin’s attempted coup, and the explicit blessing of the Merrow firstborn upon Dianda and Patrick’s marriage, there had been a strengthening of ties between the two demesnes. This extended to more trade, particularly from Saltmist’s farms, and semi-regular “grocery runs” for various goods from the Duchy’s own farms and workshops.
The three of us were sitting on a large, plush couch in what was considered the “children’s parlor” but which served as a sort of family gathering area after dinner. In this case, August and Peter were playing some sort of video game on the television that involved recklessly driving cartoon automobiles around a racetrack, while attempting to sabotage the other driver. August laughed as Peter’s character, some sort of green lizard, threw a banana peel at her character’s car.
Dianda smiled indulgently at the children before continuing. “They have a fabric store there - that’s where the damask for August’s new dress came from. They carry yarn as well, or at least that’s where Helmi has been getting the yarn for her latest project. In fact, we’re due to send some of the staff on a shopping run in a few days - I can’t go, it’s planting season and things are still too busy here, but you and Patrick could go, and take the children. It's a little under an hour each way if you take the fast carriage, so you'll be safe with the potion. And you’d have guards along the way..”
Patrick nodded, agreeing. “That’s a good idea, Di. Peter didn’t get to see much last time, since…” He trailed off there slightly, and I knew he was thinking of what had happened during the Convocation. He brightened, continuing, “Well, it wasn’t a good time for it. And Simon and August have never been.” He was sitting between myself and Dianda, snugged between us on the couch, and he turned to look at me, taking my hand in his and smiling. “What do you think, Simon? We could make a date of it, and August and Peter could explore the markets. Just for a half day, it could be nice.”
When he smiled at me like that I found it hard to deny him anything, but more importantly…I wanted to go. It would be my first time on the surface in a while, but the Duchy was in the Summerlands and the staff had been on semi-regular shopping trips for months now. It would be safe. Did the idea still make me nervous? Yes. But I wanted to do this.
I smiled back at them both, and saw relief flash over their faces. “I think that sounds grand.”
Dianda nodded decisively. “I’ll let the chatelaine know and make the proper arrangements. Peter, starfish, can you pause your game for a moment?”
The children may or may not have been eavesdropping already, but they paused the game to look at us. “Yes, Mom?”
“What would you say to a little field trip? Your fathers taking you and August to the markets at the Duchy of Ships? You could travel in one of the carriages, and have more of a chance to explore this time. And you’ll have guards with you just in case.”
“Yes! That would be so cool, August, there’s the best bakery, the pastries are so good, they had gigantic croissants filled with marzipan and dark chocolate cupcakes filled with blackberry cream, and there’s shops made out of old ships and all sorts of things in the market, it’ll be so much fun…” Peter bounced slightly with excitement, a younger mirror of the way Patrick’s face was when he was excited about a new project or idea.
“That’s the demesene of the Merrow Firstborn, yes?” August asked warily, curiosity and caution warring on her face.
“Yeah but don’t worry, she’s super cool!” said Peter. “She’s a badass pirate queen, and last time we were there she said she really approved of Mom and Dad marrying. I bet she double approves now!”
“She also tends to keep to herself most of the time, I doubt you’ll see her,” Dianda reassured. “If it weren’t for the Convocation, we likely wouldn’t have either. The Duchy mostly operates under “don’t start none, won’t be none” rules and it’s apparently fairly self-managing overall. Amphitrite bade us first and foremost follow our natures and find what brought us joy, and she would do the same. She doesn't spend her whole day thinking of new ways to be a vindictive, hyper-controlling bitch the way some Firstborn do. Just don’t offend her and you’ll be fine.”
August laughed at that, relief followed by guilt flashing across her face. “I….appreciate the reassurance.” She visibly relaxed. “I think that sounds delightful, and I look forward to the visit.”
“It’s worth remembering that not everyone’s Firstborn is a massive asshole.” Dianda shrugged. “But I sincerely hope that you’ll have a fun but uneventful visit. For all our sakes I hope the only chaos that comes of this is eating yourself sick on sweets or something, nothing portentous.”
“Does that mean I can take August to the bakery -and- the sweet shop -and- the arcade?” Peter asked.
“As long as that’s not the only thing you eat all tide, yes.”
With that, the children turned back to their game as August’s character, a small man wearing a mushroom cap for a hat, proceeded to crash his car into the car piloted by Peter’s character, causing laughter and shoving.
“Well, that’s sorted,” Dianda said, turning to look at me and Patrick. “It’s so satisfying when plans come together, and those pastries really are good. And while you’re there, maybe find a nice fabric or two that would look good on all of us? For court days or when we have guests - it’s not good to be matchy-matchy too often but it couldn’t hurt for us to have some things that show a united front. Simon, I trust your judgment - no offense, Patrick, but Simon does have the better eye for fashion.”
“None taken - he’s always been better at knowing what looked good on people, and he’s the one who actually pays attention to fashion trends,” Patrick laughed.
“If I hadn’t dragged you to the tailor every so often you would have kept wearing the same outdated rags,” I chided. “There’s no harm in keeping up with changing fashions, but it should be a crime to hide such natural charm as yours.”
“True, but you’re better at noticing than most, and you’ve always had an eye for what looked good. You were the sharpest-dressed man everywhere you went, and the handsomest. I would have dressed in sailor’s togs all the time if I didn’t have you to shove me into something presentable every so often.”
“You always looked good, the clothes just accentuated the beauty that was already there,” I reminded him.
“Boys, boys, stop trying to out-compliment each other. You’re both devastatingly handsome and you know it,” Dianda declared firmly, a smug smile on her face.
I laughed. “Well, then we’re well suited, for why shouldn’t the loveliest woman in all of the Undersea have husbands to match?” We were all smiling, and I was flirting and they were flirting back. I welcomed this, welcomed the closeness and comfort and the way flirting came easy and earnest between us now.
Peter made an exaggerated gagging noise, and August lightly swatted him on the arm.
Dianda laughed. “And with that, dear husbands, perhaps we should retire to our quarters and leave these two to their fun. Don’t stay up too late, dears.”
She got up off the couch, stretching as her flukes shifted into legs, and Patrick and I followed suit, in search of rest and a bit more privacy.
.
~~~~~
Three full tides later, we were off to the Duchy of Ships. Most of those going with us chose to swim, enjoying the chance to go fast through open water. Patrick, August, and I, however, had no such speed underwater, and instead rode in a currach-like carriage pulled by giant hippocampi, their storm grey coats and flowing white manes and fetlocks shading to glossy blue-black scales and powerful flukes. A similar set of hippocampi pulled a cargo vessel full of goods to be traded. Peter chose to swim with the rest of the group, though he made sure to stay visible to us just in case. It was good to see him swimming so exuberantly, though he made sure to stay in eyesight of our vessel. The speed at which we drove was much faster than I’d ever driven an automobile as the Nixies driving the carriages urged their charges on, whooping with delight as the group raced to the gate to the Duchy of Ships, and from there to the Duchy itself.
Within an hour we were at the docks of the Duchy of Ships. Captain Phaeno, a tall Merrow woman, helped us ascend to the top of the docks in a column of bubbles, drying our clothes in the process. Once we were all safely on the surface, she stood in front of us, bowing slightly. “I’ve assigned myself, Sukhona, and Clytie to look after the children.” She gestured towards a Cephali and a Rusalka who stood on the docks near her. I recognized Clytie, a purple-haired Cephali woman who was part of the household guards and who sometimes watched Peter on his excursions, but the Rusalka I knew only in passing.
“My second, Beroe, will take Damla and Madouri to guard you on your errands.” Beroe and Madouri were both Merrow, while Damla was an Illuyanki who had traded an eel’s fins for legs as she climbed up the docks. I was not terribly familiar with any of them, save that they were often part of the rotating contingent stationed in the receiving hall when Dianda was holding court or hosting visitors.
Everyone split into their assigned duties: the main group of the party began unloading the cargo into carts to be sold, while others split off on their own duties. There were crops from the last harvest, as well as jars of brined aigikampos cheese, different kinds of preserves and cordials, and bottles of wine and metheglin. I knew that the court’s healers had sent some of their own with a shopping list of supplies, and it seemed as if other stations of the household had used the trip as an excuse to do shopping in person, as well.
Captain Phaeno bowed to us politely before heading off with August and Peter. We watched as Peter dragged August by the hand towards one of the market stalls, eagerly exclaiming over something that had caught his eye. I smiled. “Shall we, husband?”
“We shall,” he agreed, gallantly holding out his arm for me to take. He knew where we were headed and I didn’t, so I chose to let him squire me along the boardwalk as we headed to our destination. I marveled at the diversity of the crowds - I was used to the Undersea, with its myriad of forms and bloodlines, but the Duchy was a true melding of sea and land, and it had the air of a bustling market town, rich with people.
It was not much like the portside areas of San Francisco, even as they had been before the great quake. This place had grown slowly, organically, over time with no great rush or influx to spur things onward and upwards. Instead it seemed to have grown like a shell, new things building onto old. Thick wooden boards made a pathway under our feet as we made our way through the docks to what appeared to be more of a central market area. It was mid-February, not yet spring in the mortal world, but the Summerlands seasons are bound to the whims of their lords and ladies, and as such the weather was warmer and milder than it otherwise might be. Still crisp enough that I was glad to have worn a coat, but warm enough that the slight breeze in the air was pleasant rather than chilling.
I tried not to gawp like a stripling on his first market day, but at the same time, it was hard not to try and take in everything all at once. I had become accustomed to the greater diversity of fae in the Undersea, but the Duchy was a thorough blending of land and sea - both in its architecture, which seemed to be a mix of more normal wooden buildings and areas that had clearly started their life as parts of ships; and in the people around us. We passed an open-air cafe where a Glastig violinist played tunes I recognized as a mix of classical folk songs interspersed with snippets of more modern fare. A young Nixie walked past, led by a small lop-eared skvader wearing a harness and lead, clearly taking her pet for a walk, while two teenagers, one Siren, one Sjora, playing video games on handheld devices similar to the one Peter had at home.
It was a wealth of variety and harmony such as I had never seen, and I appreciated Patrick squiring me around, his hand on my arm, as we walked through the marketplace. Patrick indulged my curiosity as I stopped to examine the variety of stalls. I had some money of my own, but Dianda had assured me before we left that I was welcome to charge what I needed or wanted to Saltmist’s accounts. I admit I was still getting comfortable with this - even now, I paid for my therapy out of my own mortal bank account, as I did for any purchases shipped from the land, but as Dr. Voss had suggested, I was treating this as an exercise in letting people do things for me without being anxious or worrying about imbalances. I trusted my spouses, and Dianda had promised me that as long as we didn’t come home with half the market, we were welcome to get what we wished, a sentiment Patrick echoed as he encouraged me to check out the different stalls.
I purchased some night-grown rhubarb from a Murchen-maid spice seller whose rabbitlike ears poked out from underneath a vividly patterned kerchief. Dried, it was a useful ingredient in alchemy - but one that had to be grown in complete darkness and harvested by the light of a single candle, making it difficult to cultivate. My interest in the rhubarb piqued her interest in turn, and I soon found out that her name was Hattie and she was an alchemist herself, though her wares were for both culinary and alchemical use. At some point I would be able to grow some of my own ingredients, and Dianda had helped me set up an area in the knowe’s indoor gardens for my own use, but it would take some time to establish the plants I needed. In the meantime, I was reliant on growers who understood the detail and precision needed - and it appeared I had found such a person. I found myself discussing different alchemical uses and cultivation methods with her. I was able to stock up on some ingredients for further experimentation, including some dried lemon myrtle leaves. Hattie had also helpfully pointed out a family of Hamadryads down the street who might be able to sell me a live specimen.
“Sorry to be keeping you, Pat,” I apologized, turning to my husband once my purchase was done. “I suppose I got a bit carried away there in my excitement.”
“Ah ah ah,” he tsked. “This is an apology-free trip, remember? It does me good to see you enjoying yourself. You listen to me go on and on about engineering and the different properties of woods and metals, I can listen patiently as you talk shop with a fellow alchemist, especially when it’s interesting to listen to. I like alchemy.” He twined his fingers in mine. “But more than that, I love seeing you get excited about things. Your eyes light up so much they almost glow, and the excitement is catching - you make me excited in turn. And right now you’ve got the look of some grand plan about you now, I want to hear more.”
I smiled at him, butting my shoulder against his affectionately. “I have hopes for lemon myrtle for the water-breathing potion. The swamp mallow root I’ve added helps make it last longer, but it makes the potion sticky and cloying. It needs to be cut with something for clarity - myrtle berries weren’t quite right, but I think the lemon myrtle might bring the right balance. Perhaps we could stop by the stall she mentioned later? I don’t necessarily want to haul a shrub around right now, even a potted one, but we could stop by before we leave...”
“Certainly, or if you want, they may even be able to deliver it to the docks for us. I look forward to tasting the results of your latest tests - you’ve made considerable progress already in how it works, and tastes.” He laughed. “I appreciate being able to breathe underwater without the urge to scrape off my tastebuds.”
I smiled back at him. “I like puzzles and I like being useful. This allows me to do both.”
“As long as you make sure to do things for yourself.” He stopped, looking at me seriously, gently pulling me out of the main flow of traffic and into a small niche at the mouth of an alleyway. “It’s been such a relief to see you start to believe us when we say we love you for you. I know you like to be useful - so do I. But it doesn’t have to be all the time. You’ve been pushing yourself so hard for so long, it’s been good to see you finally start to realize you don’t have to anymore. That you can just…be yourself. That you can rest. I think the creativity you’ve been showing lately is a sign of that, and it makes me so happy to see you healing like this.”
It would have been easy to brush this aside with a witty quip or polite avoidance, and sometimes I had indeed done just that. I met his gaze, taking both his hands in mine as a show of sincerity. “I know, Pat, truly. Sometimes it feels as if there’s a glass wall between what I tell myself and my brain, stopping the truth from reaching what I think about myself. I can see it, I can recognize it is true, but actually getting it through the wall to stick is harder. But it is getting through. I promise, love, it is.”
“I’m glad.” He smiled at me, eyes alight with relief and happiness, like sunlight through a storm. “Shall we continue on our adventure, then?”
I nodded, welcoming the change of subject, even as I appreciated his concern, and was pleased to find that we were in fact quite close to our next destination.
The shop was a combination tailor’s shop and fabric store, built out of what appeared to be a galleon’s cargo bay. We entered through the beaded curtain that served as its door, and into a large room crammed floor to ceiling with shelves. In one sense it was almost like a library, complete with ladders to reach the higher shelves of items, but full of fabrics and soft goods instead of books. Mannequins of various sizes and shapes dotted the shop floor, displaying a range of styles from the modern to styles I recognized from my youth.
A Tylwyth Teg stood at a fabric-cutting counter, measuring out a length of yellow and blue striped fabric for a Glaistig in a tricorn hat, while a Siren held a bolt of green and black shot silk up to her face in front of a mirror, as if trying to see if it suited her. On the other side of the room, in a nook full of mirrors, a woman with tabby-striped orange and white hair, possibly Cait Sidhe, tried on an electric blue jacket as a Swanmay with a dashing cravat of white feathers made adjustments to the seams and marked places on the fabric with tailor’s chalk.
Waist-high bookcases had been combined together to make tables, which in turn were also covered with baskets of items. It was like being inside a very specialized treasure trove…or, as I spotted another member of the staff, perhaps the horde of a dragon who preferred yarn and fabric over gold.
“Good tides to you, sirs!” We were greeted by an olive-skinned woman with sleek black hair and golden eyes. She wore a dark blue dress patterned with clownfish, underneath from which flowed the coils of a large sea snake, her scales marbled in vivid black and gold. A Delphyne, then - the sea-dwelling cousins of the Melusine, they were rare on land, tending to stick to the coasts and reefs of the Undersea. “Can I be of assistance?”
“We were hoping to see your knitting supplies - I’ve found myself running low on yarn and I’d heard this shop had a good selection. And after that, our lady wife has sent us on a mission for some fabrics as well.” I gave a polite half-bow, indicating myself and Patrick.
She brightened at that. “Well I can certainly help you with the yarn. My name is Chrysafenia.”
“Simon and Patrick Lorden, consorts to Duchess Dianda Lorden of Saltmist,” I replied.
“My lords,” she said, bowing deeply. “I would be delighted to assist you.” She indicated that we should follow her, and we did.
“I source the fibre, Llanllyr dyes and spells it to fit our customers’ needs, if anything needs changing, and Kardeiz does the tailoring. We can do most anything except leatherworking, but there’s shops down the road that do those,” she helpfully explained, leading us over to a floor-to-ceiling bookcase built into a wall. It was full of different kinds of yarn, as were some of the nearby waist-high bookcases I’d noticed earlier. “Some of the yarn is my own spinning, but most we source in from elsewhere, though we also stock the raw fibres for those who’d prefer to spin their own. Is there a specific kind of yarn you were hoping to find?”
“This is what I’ve started with, I’m making squares to sew into a blanket and so was hoping to find yarn that would go well with it.” I pulled one of the labels from the yarn Dr. Voss had sent me out of my pocket and showed it to her.
She looked at it, nodding. “If it’s a blanket you’re making you can use almost any yarn that catches your eye. All of our yarns are spelled against stains and felting, so you’ll have no worries there. The DK yarn is on this bookcase here; we do have some of Golden Fleece’s yarns, but we have yarn from plenty of other other fae demesenes, and even some from the mortal world.”
“I am open to any and all options,” I declared, smiling.
She brightened. “Your adventurousness is welcome. Herre, let me show you one of my favorites - we have some nice soft yarn from the Duchy of Lake Shoals, it’s river camel with a bit of Caoraich Sidhe wool.” She pulled down a skein of yarn the color of warm sand and held it out to me. “The river camel makes it extra soft and gives it that lovely sheen. Feel it for yourself.”
“I’ve not heard of river camels before,” I said to myself as I took the yarn from her. It was soft and glistened in the light, like sunlight on a beach. It felt incredibly luxurious.
“They’re like a hippocampus, except, well, ” Patrick turned to me, miming a camel’s hump. “I didn’t know they produced fiber though.”
“It’s combed from their undercoats when the seasons change,” Chrysafenia explained. She moved some baskets of yarn and knitting notions to the side, clearing off a small space atop one of the lower bookshelves. “Aigikampos cashmere is similar, it’s harvested every year at the spring tides. I spun this myself; some of it may have even come from Saltmist, in fact.” She set down a skein of fluffy yarn dyed a vivid teal. Next to it, she placed a skein of glossy yarn variegated in blacks and greys with flashes of emerald green. “This one is from the Lana de Gato workshop down in Angels. Unexpected to find Cait Sidhe that would rather spin and dye yarn than play with it perhaps,” she chuckled. “But their yarns are gorgeous, I’m quite fond of their Caoraich Sidhe wool and silk blends.”I reached out and touched the yarns, savoring the feel of them in my hands. Knitting was as much a tactile joy as a mental one, and these would be a pleasure to work with. “These are all lovely.”
“Everyone deserves to have beautiful things in their life, and making something beautiful is an act of joy,” she agreed. “This section is the DK yarns, but there’s plenty of other fibres and weights, if you’d like. Thickest towards the sale counter, thinnest toward the door. And please, feel free to squish the yarns - that’s half the fun, feeling the texture for yourself. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“You’ve given me an excellent starting point,” I said, shaking my head. “It is much appreciated.”
“Feel free to call for me if you’ve any more questions, I’m always happy to help,” she replied, bowing politely. She headed toward the sale counter to ring up a customer/
“I’m not sure where to start,” I said thoughtfully, admiring the displays of yarn. “I do quite like the ones she showed us, but there’s so many options.”
Patrick smiled. “You’ll need plenty more for a blanket, don’t you? No need to limit yourself.”
I approached the yarn shelves the way one might approach the case at a chocolatier’s shop, carefully picking which delicacies to fill the box of sweets. The yarns were all glorious to the touch and came in almost every color thinkable. Patrick retrieved a small wooden basket from beside the door to hold my selections, as I explored the textures. Squishing the yarn was very enjoyable, and Patrick joined me as we savored the textures of the different fibres, mulling over colour and texture and weight. It was somewhat hedonistic, letting myself feel free to just enjoy the textures against my skin.
There were blends of almost any fibre you could think of: wool and vegetable lamb like I had been knitting with, but also linen, alpaca, Coinín Sidhe, nettle yarn, and fibres from Undersea plants. I even found a deep blue yarn made out of a mix of wool and kelp fibre with a label declaring its origin in the Duchy of Glass Sponges, Saltmist’s neighbour to the north.
Patrick was an enthusiastic enabler, pointing out vivid colors or intriguing variegations, and I soon wound up with a veritable cornucopia of yarn skeins, all in different fibres and colors. I looked forward to what I would create with them, even as the process of choosing and exploring had been a delight in and of itself.
“Well that was delightful,” I said, holding my basket of yarn. I had even picked up some stitch markers and other notions from atop one of the bookcases, and I was very pleased by my selections - they would keep me busy for quite some time, but I also looked forward to seeing how the colors would come together in my work. I was never given to drawing or painting like August was, but in this we were similar - there was a joy in finding just the right palette, the right combinations of color and shape.
“I love seeing you get excited about things,” Patrick agreed. “And you’ve chosen some gorgeous yarns. Should we check out the cloth next? I look forward to seeing what you’ll pick out next.”
“Lead on, love.” I followed him over to the other side of the shop where shelves were stacked with bolts of fabric. They were organized roughly by level of formality - fancy silks and satins and velvets on one end,shading to linens and poplin and nice printed cottons and then to more practical canvas and flannel and broadcloth.
In the past I had held tightly to the few things I’d considered truly mine, chosen for myself and my own tastes and not those of my former keeper, mending them where I could even as they frayed and faded, much like I myself had. Since my marriage, I had put them aside for newer clothes - I no longer had to hold on to the few remaining shreds of the man I had once been, I was growing and healing, and new clothes seemed to be apropos for the occasion. Dianda and Patrick had seen this as an encouraging sign, and it was. It was novel to look at myself in the mirror and actually like what I saw staring back at me - finding myself wanting to look fashionably dressed was a sign of how much I was healing.
I admit that I had rather enjoyed keeping up with mortal fashions to an extent, or at least certainly moreso than was common in the courts. The suits I had worn a century ago had been positively avant-garde by pureblood standards, and still would be today in some circles, let alone the slight modernisation of style I had begun to adopt since my marriage. The knowe was warm enough that coats were unnecessary except for visits to the shore, and so Patrick and I both tended to wear trousers and shirts of various levels of formality, depending on the occasion, but his tastes tended more to the practical, while I’d always enjoyed playing the peacock. Just as the yarn had been an excuse to indulge myself, so was the fabric section: Patrick knew this, and I loved him for it.
I spotted a bolt of deep blue moire silk, picked out with a pattern of water lilies in metallic golden thread. “Do you think Dianda might like this?” The rippled blue pattern of the fabric against the glittering flowers made me think of her and the scent of her magic.
“Oh that does look good - see, you have a much better eye for this than I do,” Patrick agreed. “What do you think of this for some shirts for the both of us?” He held up a bolt of cream linen.
“I think that would go well with your brown trousers,” I agreed. “And then this sage green fabric here as a waistcoat. If you roll up your shirtsleeves to your elbows, then the waistcoat will seem less overly formal while still showing your features off nicely.”
Patrick had very nice muscles and Dianda and I both agreed that the way he looked in rolled-up shirtsleeves sent our minds down very interesting directions. My thoughts had remained rather theoretical so far, but I very much appreciated the way he looked in well-tailored clothing, while he appreciated the way Dianda and I appreciated the way he looked. My suggestions of updating his wardrobe had therefore been very welcome and I was pleased to continue my efforts.
I set aside the cream linen for us both, selecting a teal jacquard patterned with kelp for myself. To this I added a bolt of brown twill that would suit either myself or Patrick, and a rich plum-coloured poplin that would look excellent on Patrick. For August, I found a deep blue satin marbled with veins of light teal and pale gold. The pattern reminded me of the young angelfish I sometimes saw swimming near the knowe, and the colours would bring out her eyes. A bolt of black satin jacquard patterned with lionfish made me instantly think of Dianda at her boldest.
“She can wear it next time she needs to intimidate someone,” Patrick agreed, when I showed it to him.
Dianda’s request in mind, I found a navy blue and silver shot silk the color of moonlight on water that would look lovely on her and August both. To those I added a dark blue wool that would serve Patrick, Peter, and me well for suits, with shirts of a silvery grey herringbone silk that managed to evoke the sheen of the fabric I’d picked out for Dianda and August.
Llanllyr was happy to estimate and cut the fabric needed for our new clothes, and Patrick and I carried our choices to the front counter, where we paid and Chrysafenia assured us our choices would be delivered to the docks with the rest of Saltmist’s purchases. I looked forward to seeing what Saltmist’s tailors would create from the fabrics I’d chosen.
Our main errand done, we continued to browse the markets. The plant stall Hattie recommended did indeed have young lemon myrtles and they were happy to arrange for a smaller one to be delivered to the berth we’d be disembarking from. We bought curried scallop pies from one stall, and at another, Patrick found a carved wooden box of just the right size to organize some of his smaller and more delicate tools. But even beyond buying, it was enjoyable to just walk together and see the sights.
We stopped by the bakery, which was clearly very popular with the locals - the line was halfway out the door, giving Patrick and I plenty of time to decide which pastries to get as a snack, and which to bring home with us. The maple-pecan sticky buns seemed to be most popular with the customers in front of us, and with ample reason - they were dense and rich, and we decided to bring some home for Dianda, as well as some danishes filled with the vivid purple strawberries that appeared to be a local favourite.
Soon enough, the tides were turning and we headed back to the docks. We found Peter and August sitting by the cart that had been used to carry the staff’s purchases, looking happy but somewhat worn out. Peter had changed back into fins and was in his wheelchair, while August sat beside him, using the edge of the cart as a seat. August was still in the dress she’d been wearing when we arrived, while Peter had changed into a short-sleeved shirt bearing the phrase “All of my puns are on porpoise”, a shirt he had not been wearing when we last saw him.
They smiled as they saw us, Peter waving cheerfully.
“Did you have a fun time?” Patrick asked as we got closer. I joined August on the edge of the cart, while Patrick leaned against the side.
“It was epic!” Peter crowed. “The arcade was so fun, they had skee-ball and some really cool prizes, and we played Street Fighter 3, and August was so good at Dance Dance Revolution, even the really fast bits! And we found a place that sold gigantic fried sesame balls…”
“Peter was convinced he could eat a whole one by himself, I told him it was too big,” August chimed in.
I listened happily as Peter and August told us about their explorations, and the rest of the party was soon with us and we were off home.
As I sat in the carriage, sandwiched between August and Patrick, I smiled. I leaned my head on Patrick’s shoulder, feeling the solid firmness of the muscle underneath his shirt, and realized that I’d gone a whole day without being worried about much of anything. I had simply enjoyed myself without feeling the spotlight of anxiety or pressure to be charming all the time. I was just….myself. And I had enjoyed it, more than I had anticipated. I couldn’t wait to show Dianda what we’d found once we got home.
Home. We were headed home. With new things for us all, and the materials for me to keep making new things. I looked forward to knitting more squares and piecing them together once I was done - I had already made a list of the spells I’d work into the sewing, charms for safety and warmth and protection. I wasn’t healed yet, and it may be that I never would be the man I could have been if I hadn’t been broken so many times by those who had abused their power. But I was growing into a man I could be happy to see in the mirror - a man who had a family who loved him and who believed himself worthy of that love most of the time, if not all of the time. Bit by bit my knitting was growing, and bit by bit I was healing and growing as a person. It was uneven progress, and there were still plenty of mistakes to be made, I was sure, but I was getting better. I had a home with people I loved, I had a place to feel safe, and together we were building something wonderful.