Her mint green eyes flung open as her arms flailed to keep balance against hope. Her body tumbled back in the air, leaving her little choice in what she would fall on. Resigned to her fate, Miranda closed her eyes once more taking in a sharp breath. Naturally from fighting her shoulders rolled forward to keep her head from hitting the ground too hard.

Oh this was going to make swinging a hammer delightful.

Miranda fell down - and hard - but not on ice or snow. Her weight hung in the air, forcing the air from lungs with a gasp. It spiraled up melting the tiniest of flakes, but she still didn't dare open her eyes. Maybe this was just a side effect from the fall. She had to have hit the ground! No one was around or...

Slowly her eyes fluttered open looking up. Or was she??

As Atticus had left the cycle of glyphs - distracted by Miranda, and disregarding the spells he'd been laying, casting for hours - the tether between the arcane energy bound up in the spell casting and the caster, snapped. It wasn't an audible thing, and wasn't visible as anything more than the briefest of flashes. Non-elemental energy popped behind him, throwing a wave at his back just as he broke the tree line approaching the Lady Branson.

Arcfire instinctively wove a protective arcane net around him, which absorbed the damage - but not the kinetic effect of the blast, which made the trees simply sway, but since it was tethered to him - propelled him forward.

He hadn't fallen to this particular folly of spell casting in years, decades. And here he was thrown, like a novice. And for the second time that day, Atticus found himself thrown to the ground, covered in snow and flecks of ice, and beginning to feel particularly bruised.

Something had knocked the air from his lungs just as he'd hit the ground, and the world had blacked for just a moment. The wind being knocked from him didn't matter, and barely even registered as his sight returned and he looked - stared - upwards. He forgot he needed to breath for a moment, anyways.

Meeting her eyes again, as his fingers drifted away from hers - not breaking contact, "This isn't the first time it has caused me," his lips twitched a smile again, he didn't want to; having your spell casting go askew and wreak havoc was at the very least unprofessional. It could also be extremely dangerous, to everyone around the area of effect. He needed to fix it, and not damn well break into a foolish boyish grin at its cause. He didn't have time for that....

"These errors I keep making, it's....something....I have to deal with, soon." His eyes met hers again on that last note. But he didn't move other than that, and the weight he felt pressed down upon him in the snow, felt....as nothing.

Her fingers did not stray from his flesh of his neck as she waited for his words. Mint green eyes rapt on every word that came from Atticus. "I am in debt for you timing otherwise I fear my head would be swimming in a sea of stars, but in kind I must ask. If there is anything I can do to help with your distractions, please..."She adjusted her weight on the ice to share what little warmth she held. The scent of a well banked fire clung lightly to her despite her recent absence. "Let me know what I can do to help. Your presence is a most welcoming one." The smile that claimed her face cast in the weak light of the winter sun still shown with all the grace and warmth of summer at its height. Her head tilted down so that if Atticus need whisper not a single word would be lost to the wind. Miranda could not help, but feel at fault for his current sprawled state on the ice and snow amongst the trees.

His half veiled eyes didn't - couldn't - look away from hers, as numbers, equations, power words intuitively and instinctively blended together in the back of his mind, racing out through Arcfire to weave a cocoon around them from their own body heat, pushing the cold back out of the little pocket they shared in their tumble.

"I do not ask for any assistance, but welcome your request. If you wish to help then I am all the happier for it. I do not claim that there will be issues or walls; for that comes with any past, but...I do not ask anything in turn." Miranda rested one hand over his smiling softly. There was something primal about being needed simple for oneself that had her frozen in this moment. Even if she had all the time in the world to compose what coursed through her, she simply took it one heart beat at a time.

As her hand rested on his, his fingers folded around it, holding it there - it just felt right to do, and he deliberately didn't think about it. Thinking about it had only left people alienated in his wake and....His thinking about it stopped there.

"I know....you didn't ask for assistance," he smiled, though it was hesitant - in the way of one who is shy, "....but....what if I wish to give it' Even if all that's required is for someone to stand silently by you?" A thumb lightly stroked along back of the hand which held his, "....I find it remarkably easy to....find my focus, just at the moment," his words were hushed, not whispered, but rather throaty, as he ignored every other scolding voice from his past that had lectured him usually when he spoke to her - consulting him away from human interaction, contact, friendship, affection, and love. "Please, remember, I've only just recently ....come to this place, though familiar with the concept of it, and....there are many things alien to me here," he forced himself to break eye contact if only for a moment, for he couldn't believe how long he'd met her gaze thus far, "....I think perhaps....just....a routine....would help me, in the right company, that I am....comfortable....in."

With the lazy rays of sunlight, Miranda had gathered Angel together, fed her and taken her darling heart to school full of excitement over making puppets. The walk along the grounds had given her plenty of time to think and with a grin, her feet wandered for the kitchen of Mage house.

Soon a tray was loaded down with a French press filled with a medium body roast with an array of spices to bring out the richer notes, scrambled eggs, French toast, thick slices of hickory smoked bacon, hash browns topped with shredded sharp cheddar and incase she was completely wrong in her guesses, vanilla almond granola, 2% milk, white tea with orange blossom honey and a slice of lemon followed with orange juice. Surefooted the stairs were no trouble, little wisps of steam teasing her nose and making her mouth water. Maybe she needed to treat herself more often to a breakfast like this. She had known the way for quite some time.

She rose up the main stairs, down the hall, up the second set of stairs and towards the left side; a stout oak door creaked in protest at her rapping, and Miranda could feel herself holding her breath for a moment. Nearly hoping that there was no one on the other side and she would curse herself if she woke him up.

Regardless, the damage was done.

Fortunately perhaps, she couldn't curse herself, at least for waking him in the traditional sense. Atticus sat cross legged, with his hands upon his knees and shirtless; his breathing deep and focused, in quiet meditation. His chest was marked with softly glowing cerulean runes that faded before her eyes, even as others reformed. Similar markings covered the walls, while the ceiling was marked with a vista of a star system with denoted constellations - all in the same blue energy.

Floating free form in the air were numerous sheaves of paper, all circling around him where he meditated. The same energy also bore him aloft, three feet off the ground, his eyes closed to her entrance. As soon as the door was cracked, however, his breathing became deeper still....no longer, breathing, but inhaling.

Smelling.

"That's enough you two, where are the rest any?" He checked himself before he invited further calamity, "No, never mind, you're bad enough. Move." The conversation on the other side of the door " Atticus's side - was slightly muffled, but not enough. The inner struggle of his mind between propriety and not wanting her to leave was a short one, and his desire that she stay won out handily, as the door was quickly opened as a Hound - or two - was pushed aside. "No, my Lady, please....come in, forgive the..." he glanced back over his shoulder somewhat, watching a paper spiral a lonely route down to the floor from the ceiling to join its others on the floor....it wasn't that the room wasn't furnished, but that most surfaces contained books or other elements of his Craft. He sighed, "Mess."

He suddenly realized her hands were full, and his eyes widened in momentary panic before sliding his own hands under some of what she carried and lightening her burden, hastily sliding his gaze back to a table, and murmuring, "Arcfire, genesis loci," and he peered at an otherwise encumbered table and two nearby chairs that supported ...something circular and metallic, like some strange window frame between them - and the occupying books and objects became ethereal for a moment, before their image faded from view entirely, leaving at least one bare surface that wasn't a bed or floor.

It was hard to keep her snickering behind her lips as Atticus struggled with the hounds, both seeming to know she had brought them something to eat. Before she could protest, the tray was taken from her hands and left her feeling rather useless. Moving just inside the door and kneeling down, both hands easily found the favorite spots of the hounds. Pagan, behind her left ear and Stranger just down the right side of his neck and along the jaw. Both of them flopped down on the floor with no grace and a rather loud thud.

Did he realize he wasn't wearing a shirt yet"

"No, please....stay at least to breakfast with me, I would....gladly....join you, in..." he hadn't glanced at the list yet, but responded regardless, "....anything." His words had slowed as his eyes had settled on her mint green orbs, the moment broken perhaps by the fact that Stranger was beginning to sniff towards the table - easily done with his head of a like height - or perhaps by the fact that Atticus had, in his rush, done the buttons on his shirt one off from the bottom, so that the entire thing was a little lopsided.

One eyebrow rose as a sharp snap hit the air catching Stranger's attention. Between her snapped fingers was another treat only to be given if the hound backed away from the table. "If you don't think you will eat it all I will join you. There is still time yet."

Miranda watched Stranger closely already handing another biscuit to Pagan for staying away from the table. Today was a simple wool skirt in dark green with small stars chasing moons around the hem line. A button down shirt in cream with a matching green lace tank peeking out and the whole thing pulled together by rich caramel leather boots and corset. "Don't be so quick to agree til you see the list of my chores. As I said, I don't expect anything, but perhaps good company."

Moving towards the table ignoring the lopsided shirt, Miranda moved her hand back and down over Stranger in fair warning that he should sit and lay down before the biscuit would come his way.

Stranger danced backwards, all but hopping, front quarters lifting into the air a few times before he would reluctantly slink down, obedient, tentatively creeping towards her, seeking to place the top of his head under her hand. Atticus eyes, however, were not on the hound that he was now used to ignoring what he asked of it when in her presence.

Traitorous beast - though in his heart, he understood.

After breakfast, Miranda had kept the lighter tasks towards the front of her to do list and the more involved for later. After rummaging through the mage green house, paperwork that could not wait for more than a few hours, peeking in on the school which of course included Angel and now her own little corner of what felt like the world. Not far from the safety of the coven sat Miranda's forge.

It was not much to look at in winter, but one could imagine. The climbing roses had been cut back and covered waiting to bloom in the early rays of spring. The river stone shimmering in the mid day sun with a tile roof. Gently smoke drifted out of the chimney carrying the sharp bite of coal and metal.

"I believe I have a spare apron if you like or don't mind getting your hands dirty." She smiled over her shoulder as they made their way down the path. Once at the door she pulled the few envelopes from her mailbox. Mint green eyes focused on the lock before her. Fingers traced the small grooves of dancing ivy and crossed swords raised in the metal. Low and rough a growl came from deep within til the sharp crack. On creaky hinges the heavy oak door moved aside. "Welcome to my forge, Sir Atticus."

She moved swiftly inside it was rather homey for a smith. Little cream curtains on the windows farthest from the fire, a brooding open fire place made out of the same river stone as the building, tools of all manner hung from the walls, half finished projects and in the center.

Her anvil.

Carved in the floor were symbols in a circle, the anvil itself looked as if it had grown out of the ground to do this task, and this alone to the best of its abilities.

As the day had progressed, Atticus's mind had ventured through a series of thoughts that were in the main alien to him. He took notice of every aspect of her life, and was always delighted - one of those things he found somewhat alien, 'delight' - in spending time with or seeing Angel; he couldn't help but think that some of her duties were, while suited to her mentally, found themselves at odds perhaps with the calling of her soul.

For the moment, as the entire day, he was simply enjoying her company. A dusky blush crept over his features, "Never the less, I thank you for sharing this space with me." He gave a slight bow, and perhaps to either her interest or horror, began undoing the clasps which held his top in place, letting it fall around his waist as he covered the his lithe, defined features again with the apron, giving an apologetic murmur, "....my skin is....more resistant than my clothing," his eyes were down cast, chin holding the apron to chest as hands tied it behind his back, into the sleeves of his now abandoned surcoat, "Apologies, force of habit."

With her own apron tied over her skirt, she turned back. Her mind drifted over his words and what he could have been looking at. Taking not of her anvil and the look in his eyes, she knew it well. When she had been torn from her home, this anvil was the only steady thing that kept her here. "I would be honored to see what you speak of. A world away or not in truth it is only ever a thought away." She raised her hand over the fires they leapt, crackling merrily adding warmth to the cool stone. A few shovels full of coals to bank the fire for the work to come, Miranda turned to face Atticus.

"Apologies" What ever....oh." Miranda's cheeks turned a lovely shade of pink and she planned on blaming the cold for she waved her hand trying not to stare. "Don't ever be sorry. Your company is a much needed sight...I mean addition to my regular routine." Twice in one day. Perhaps it might carry onto her dreams"

Scolding herself, Miranda took a deep breath and turned to face him. Hands clasped in her apron as she took stock of what needed to be done. "There are a few basic pieces that need finishing. A bastard sword and hook swords, but other than that just a special order for a morphing weapon of mine." She smiled as she tried to pick out the order in which to dole out tasks, she didn't wish to leave the poor...shirtless man with nothing to do. That would just be rude.

"If you are comfortable with the bastard sword, then it is yours to work on." Miranda hadn't really asked for a partner in the forge, nor had she felt she ever needed one since her father had taught her the craft. His mutter had not gone unnoticed, but she would not pry for his kindness of helping and being here. "I stumbled more than ran." Moving towards a small trunk filled with precious metals. Selecting several, with great care each was set on the anvil sending it singing through the space.

It was a demanding song, but one of joy and harmony. Each metal another note adding mystery and delight. "My mother was supposed to teach me my craft," A loose curl tumbled down her cheek as she stared intensely at the metals. The last item to touch the anvil was a bottle of blood, "but she was killed long before she had the chance and so my father did the best he could. If it were not for his patient mind and wise ways, I might have been captured or worse long ago. Gone the way of my mother. But til then..."

Mint green with webs of silver claimed her. Heat rose from her body. Head tilting as she watched him, yet seem to stare through him to something more. "Please forgive my forwardness, but indulge me Atticus. What is your favorite flower?"

He had setup as much he could opposite her, watching her work as he gathered the materials he would need as well, though in truth he cheated due to the fact he would use Arcfire - if only that it eased him from doing something which was always difficult for him without magic, and would enable him to indulge more in ....her. The work would be completed but not as 'by hand' as perhaps some would prefer.

"But, I fear how you'll look at me....I have never been....a good conversationalist. I often say....the wrong things. I wouldn't want you to think less of me, or that I was a mad man or some such thing, for something I might say that is....idle thought, or worse, simple foolishness." Even more quietly, he added in a tone that would only be barely audible, "I wish I could explain it better, why..." I feel that way' Again, with the feelings....something tugged at his brain unbidden, some memory he couldn't quite latch onto, that had initially steered him to her, that night that felt so long ago now, that he had almost forgotten its discomfort, lost in new found comfort.

The metals on the anvil puddled and pooled together.

It would look as if they were fighting one another to climb up and touch the palm of Miranda's hand. Each one tumbled over and down the other, twisting like vines. The addition of the lilies was not on the order, but that was why she kept a stock room full of extras pre-made for occasional accidents. His work was extraordinary, but she would be damned if she could place her finger on what exactly he was doing to make it so.

Or perhaps she just preferred a hand on method. Miranda hadn't meant to send him on this little rant, but was grateful all the same. Her hand still over the anvil, the rest of her moved closer to him. Putting aside the courtly manners and expectations of the title of leader, her hand came to rest on the side of his face. "Ask away. I would love to get to know you better too." Leaning up on tip toe for his ear, she whispered. "I think you are doing wonderful at making conversation." Her cheek nearly brushed his as she fell back on her feet. The silver melted back from her eyes.

Epilogue

Horizon Realm.

Atticus worked within the confines of his private Sanctum on Horizon, having left behind the Coven of Bristle Crios for a few hours to reflect. His privacy there was ensured by the fact that Horizon didn't exist within the normal confines of reality. It was a man made plane keyed to the Myriad Arcfire, along with a few others similar in aspect. So large that his Sanctum might as well be of infinite size; nevertheless it had physical dimensions in the shape of an enormous helix, with center of the helix as the center of the planet, and its broad loops extending out into the out atmosphere.

It was easier in Horizon to encapsulate what he felt and stand outside it, looking in objectively - or at least with the intention of being objective. He wasn't used to his feelings being so close to the surface. He needed to survey them from afar to ensure...

To ensure what"

At the center of the helix that was his Sanctum, there was no gravity. Or rather, it was subjective - and he was not subject to it. He floated quietly, in a meditative trance with his legs crossed and eyes closed, hands clasped over his chest, fingers exploring and testing the edges of the metallic fire lily that Miranda had crafted for him.

"Arcfire..." his eyes opening slowly, a faint chrome sheen to them, his voice coming forth to echo in the emptiness of the central chamber, "display configurations of Alluvian Battle Suits..."

As he spoke, azure light flared from his left wrist where a bracer that appeared to be made of blue, spun glass adorned his arm. The light flared outward to display free floating images and formula around him in the air. Ribbons of blue energy arched off the walls, despite their distance, and connected to Atticus; though the energy caused Atticus no direct harm, the chamber was slowly filling with power.

"Cross reference design with the Gentleman Knights, the Knights of Flowers, the Myriad prototype designs, and," the arm not bearing Arcfire rose to massage his temples. As he had listed off the items, more patterns were sent into the air as glowing ethereal schematics.

Both hands had now left the artificial fire lily, and it floated silently in place before him, turning slowly as his eyes sought patterns within the patterns that he had requested Arcfire access. Energy now arched freely around the inside of the chamber, blue-black and blue-white bolts of energy roiling around him as if he were sitting in the midst of a Faraday Cage. His eyes left the floating ethereal diagrams and looked down upon the fire lily.

"Can I draw upon it without....drawing her more fully in?" the query was voiced to no one in particular, except for perhaps Arcfire itself - which sometimes responded with the voice of his subconscious. If it was something which he was truly deluding himself of, which this was not. The arm bearing Arcfire snaked out slowly, grasping Miranda's work and pulling it to his chest. "Reconfigure, restore the base design."

At his command, many of the airbound patterns vanished, though some remained. Those that stayed began to overlap one another, formula, logorithims, and concepts which found parallels between the plans he had originally requested were emboldened. He sighed, "She calls me....Sir. I don't want to be a Knight, not again. What they call Knights, here....it's not the same. If they knew the dark things we had to do," he prattled somewhat, and no one or thing took any heed. Arcfire was silent to his plaintiff musings. His eyes lost their chrome edge for a moment, and became terribly human. "She'd be so disappointed."

In his mind's eye, he knew the truth of what knights were - but he also knew how they were perceived; the romantic notions associated with them - that were all lies. He was faced with the same dilemma that had plagued him - and the other Gentleman Knights, he would realize after he'd given it more thought - on Alluvius. To live their lives as the world was....or instead, to live their lives as the world should be.

Deep in contemplation now, the ethereal blue patterns which had been suspended in the air began to move towards him so that anyone looking at him from afar would see him bathed in the light of their glow. Upon closer inspection, the glow was actually ethereal armor superimposed over his physical form, with notes in the form of complex math and eldritch runes specifying the properites and materials for each piece illustrated in ethereal glyphs.

The fire lily captured his complete attention as he paintakingly came to, the decision one that he both relished and....agonized over.

He'd found Fireblossom, his Fireblossom, just as the Angel had said he would. But to reveal it would mean....taking his skills as an Arcanist - as a High Mage - and applying them once again to being a warrior.

"Arcfire," he wasn't even sure he was saying the words anymore - thinking something too powerfully within Horizon while in deep commune with an aligned Myriad sometimes resulted in communication without audible speech, "Knight of the Fire Lily protocol; align the materials needed." He sighed softly, hands cupping the fire lily, "Use this, though, for the brand. In the same spot as the others."

Blue energy crackled from Arcfire, off the round walls of the central chamber; all the bolts of energy arched at least once off the fire lily, making it glow with power as metal began weaving out from it and around Atticus's form, all the while the titanium and golden fire lily taking center stage over the center of his breast - where the chest piece would go.

Yes, he'd come to his decision; one that his cousin, Brend, had told him he would make - though he hadn't known the exact details.

Stubbornly, Atticus repeated his oft used mantra.

"I am not a Knight."

~~~

"Sometimes I wake up and lie still enough to hear a petal drop from the vase of flowers. Sometimes I lie awake and wish there was someone to hear my falling." ― Simon Van Booy, The Illusion of Separateness

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