It was cold. Not the cold that is just frigid enough for snow to fall. No. The cold that travels through your feet, sinking into your bones, making your fingers so frozen they feel like they’re burning. The kind of cold that can only be felt on something or someone that has died. This was the cold that Amulius felt on the day his fae lover was to be crucified.

- - -

Britannia was a foreboding place to Amulius. Newly enlisted into the legions, he was immediately rushed to the edge of the empire, far north by Hadrian’s Wall. His father had supported his son’s induction into the Roman cavalry, and Amulius knew this was his chance to prove himself. The training had been tough, but he felt worthy and ready to fight for the empire. Trekking through the lush forests of the north, he was exposed to many new things. The dense foliage was often wet with dew, and fog covered everything, making the area mysterious and secretive. As the legion packed in for the night, Amulius often took the time, after helping to set up the specially planned camp, to form a relationship with his steed, Passerina, a large, dappled grey mare. Many a night he would work with the mare, grooming her and singing to her. He had a better bond with her than most of the men had with their horses, simply because he took the time to be with her. 

On one of the nights that he was taking care of his mare, he saw a flash of blue-green and peered at the trees. Amulius watched as the shape flitted from tree to tree, and rose above the tall forest. He moved away from his mare, unsheathed the small dagger he always carried and crept over to where the light was hanging. He watched as it flickered and fell slowly towards him, twisting and forming into what appeared to be a woman with wings. She landed a few paces away from him and unfurled her wings, her short turquoise hair rustling in the wind. Her wings were a brilliant blue, almost translucent in some places. As she edged forward, he could more clearly see the veins and lines snaking across the surface of her wings. Amulius couldn’t hear her footsteps, and it almost seemed like she was walking on air. Her attire was simple, consisting of furs and animal skins. She stopped about 3 feet away and stared at Amulius.

“Cò th ‘annad? Carson a tha thu an seo, duine neònach?” Her strange tongue flowed out of her mouth, the sounds that she made seemed to conform perfectly to her voice, which was clear and ringing like a bell. 

Amulius hesitantly asked the woman, “Do you speak Latin?”

She seemed to consider the question for quite a while. He could see that she was trying to process what to say. 

“That I do, duine neònach. I was forced to learn it when you took over our homes.” She narrowed her eyes at his armor, taking in the metal chest piece and sword he carried. 

“We wouldn’t be taking over your homes if your people would cooperate.” Amulius muttered under his breath. He looked up and flinched at the look the woman was giving him. 

“You understand nothing. How could you, you are just a child.”

Amulius looked her up and down, “You’re pretty young too, what more could you know?” He threw his arms up in frustration, in the process striking a sharp branch. He could feel the pain blossoming in his arm, as his forearm was sliced open, and blood started to well. He cursed under his breath, cradling his wounded limb to his chest. He felt a gentle touch on his arm, and looked to find the fae woman’s hand over the wound, blue light emanating from it and flowing around and into the wound. Amulius inhaled sharply, and the woman shushed him.

“Stay still, it won’t heal if you panic.” 

She moved her hand over the cut, and he watched as the tissue knitted together and the skin began to close. Within the next few seconds, there was only a scar, and no evidence that he had been injured a few minutes before. He looked at the woman and met her gaze, his brown eyes staring into the glowing blue of her own. What he saw was a mixture of concern, care, and rebellious defiance. 

A crash came from near them, and the woman’s face screamed panic. She flew off the ground, so fast Amulius didn’t get a chance to see her go. He turned around to see no one there, and he returned to Passerina, making sure the mare was set for the evening. He retired to his tent and prepared for a restless night. 

Amulius awoke, having not a wink of sleep the previous night. Throughout his duties of the morning, all he could think of was the woman from last night. He continually looked at the new scar on his arm, amazed that something which would’ve taken weeks to heal was fixed within seconds by her magic. They rode throughout the day, and it was fairly uneventful, giving him time to think. While he helped again to construct and secure the camp, he wondered whether he would see her again. 

As he walked back to his tent for the night, he felt a presence behind him. He turned to see the woman again, her wings slowly falling back down to her back. 

“Who are you?

“I am a healer. My people are injured and need help, and I’m the only one who cares enough to help them.” She shook her head and sighed, pulling her hair away from her face and tying it back. 

Amulius winced at what she said. “I admit, we aren’t the most caring people. It’s not an objective of the cohort.” He twisted his hands together, his nerves getting the better of him.

“What is your name, duine neonach?” The fae’s voice had no emotion.

“Amulius. How about you? And why do you call me duine neonach? What does it mean?” Amulius butchered the pronunciation of the phrase, the strange language feeling uncomfortable on his tongue.

The woman looked him up and down again, sighed and responded. “Celia. My name is Celia. And I call you that because it’s what you are. You are a strange man. Une duine neonach.”

He nodded at Celia and sat on a stump close by her. “Teach me how to say that.”

The pair spent the night talking, Amulius learning a new language, and Celia learning about his past. Celia slowly warmed up to Amulius, talking more about herself and what she did. He learned that her magic ran in her family, and that while most fae possessed a small amount of magic, hers was concentrated and had the ability to heal what others could not. Her power also came from the trees around them, the special relationship she had with the forest allowing her to utilize nature’s energy to heal. She left soon after telling him this, he was required to be in bed. All he could think about was Celia.  

They continued to meet, each learning more about the other. Amulius could feel himself falling in love with her, her smile, her laugh, the curve of her body, the color of her hair. He loved the way she smelled, like pine and fresh dew. She invaded his thoughts every day, whenever his mind wandered. He tried to get closer to her every night, waiting for the right moment to tell her. 

It was the perfect night. It was moonlit, the fog slightly obscured the trees. It had been a warm day, perfect weather in Amulius’ opinion. He waited for her arrival, his palms sweaty, his stomach making flips and his breath coming out in stodgy exhales. 

“Are you alright?” He felt her hand on his shoulder, the gentle touch making him jump. Celia sat across from him, her hand over his. 

Amulius took in a shaky breath, and prepared to tell her. “Celia, I-”

“You love me.” She finished his sentence, squeezing his hand before letting go.

“Yes.”

She got up, and stood with her back to him, hands on her hips. She tilted her head back, and turned back around to him. He could see the tears running down her face. 

“You don’t know the pain I’ll put you through. You don’t understand. Your heart will break, and I won’t be able to mend it.” She sobbed, Amulius taking her into his arms. He stroked her hair, holding the smaller woman to his chest. 

“You care too much about people to break anyone’s heart. And trust me, I’m not that easy to hurt. I’d do anything to stay with you.”  

His words didn’t seem to do anything to soothe her. He wished there was something he could do. She looked up at him, her blue eyes turning a sharp golden. He tilted down and kissed her, nothing stopping the searing passion he felt towards her. He could feel her stiffen at first, but quickly melted into his arms, her lips conforming to his perfectly. He stroked her hair, moving his hand to her ears and she sighed and shuddered. As he pulled her down with him, she whispered something to him.

“Mo ghaol”

“What?”

“My love”

- - -

Celia disappeared soon after that. Every night Amulius looked for her, and every night she didn’t appear. All he could think was that she was either in trouble or she was unsatisfied with him. His heart ached and he pined for her, struggling to focus on the simplest tasks. When asked by his fellow soldiers, he simply replied that he longed for home. All he could hope was that she was alright, that she wasn’t hurt. 

- - -

On one of the mornings that the cohort traveled through the countryside, they headed towards a small village. As they rode through the center of the small hamlet, the native fae scrambled away from the path, running into their homes. Amulius heard the sound of the commander calling for a stop, and he halted. He watched as they pulled a woman from the ground, and he recognized her immediately. Celia’s head lifted, and they locked eyes, Amulius averting his eyes almost as quickly as she did. He kept a straight face as they pushed her onto an extra horse, her arms tied together. The unit quickly rode back to camp, where they forced Celia into a tent guarded by soldiers. The commander rode in front of the men and called out to them. 

“This fae has been caught and charged with the use of witchcraft and ungodly worship. She will be crucified at dawn tomorrow. I expect you all to be there.”

They were dismissed, and set to their tasks. Amulius could hardly think of anything or anyone but Celia. He spent the day in a trance, racking his brain about ways to save her. He knew that he would be dismissed from the army and killed for deserting them. He would most definitely become an enemy of the empire. But that was the only way he could save her.

Amulius watched from his mare’s back as Celia was lead to a cross and was prepared to be hoisted onto the wooden structure. Before they could lift her bruised and battered body up, however, he urged Passerina forward, the large mare easily pushing through the lines of soldiers. He could hear the officers shouting for archers, but could focus only getting Celia to safety, away from everyone. As they passed the small group, he let go of the reins, trusting his mare to guide them away. He reached for Celia and pulled her in front of him, cradling her to his chest. His legs gripped Passerina’s side, holding Celia with both arms as he dodged arrows as they raced into the trees. He could feel the forest’s magic helping them escape, and gave in to the sensation. Celia’s eyes flickered and her breaths were shaky, but they were there. He dismounted and carried her to a tree, laying her against the trunk. The power from the tree restored her own, her bruises fading and her heartbeat returning to normal. She gazed lovingly at him as he pulled them close. Amulius kissed her forehead and whispered, “It’s alright mo ghaol, we’re safe.” He leaned his head against her, and as their foreheads touched, Amulius knew that this was where he was meant to be, to stay, for eternity.

Celia Dictionary

These are phrases that she says in Scottish Gaelic, and the translation to English.

Cò th ‘annad? - Who are you?

Carson a tha thu an seo? - Why are you here?

Duine neònach - strange man

Mo ghaol - my love

(Constructive critiques/criticism are always welcome, but the "if you don't have anything nice to say don't say it at all" rule still stands. Please don't bash my writing. I'm really proud of this work.)

I liked it! You've written lovely descriptions that really bring the settings and characters to life :D I'm also a sucker for languages and get all excited when something other than English is used for dialogue. It's a nice touch to emphasize the differences between Amulius' world and Celia's.

My bit of advice applies to the last paragraph when Amulius makes his move to save Celia. It doesn't quite have the urgency I think it needs. I would suggest using shorter sentences. Short, quick sentences - like one phrase at a time - encourage the reader to read faster and allude to a faster paced scene. Also, it's not immediately clear the pace that Passerina has while making her way towards Celia. In my mind, I saw her walking through the crowd, and walking up to where Celia is, and it was kinda jarring when I read about the archers being called for and Amulius is still just walking through the ranks. I think explicitly stating that she's barreling up towards the cross, or something like that to actually tell us that they're freakin moving to save Celia would go a long ways towards increasing the urgency as well. 

One more thing - you say the magic of the forest is helping them escape; I'd love to read an example or two of what's happening. Is it tripping pursuit? Are trees opening a path before them and closing at their backs? Is it lending energy to Passerina's steps so she seems to be travelling faster than any mortal horse? Going into a little more detail about their run/escape will help draw out the climax and can also illustrate how Amulius has accepted the fae world and has been accepted in return.

It's a good piece! :D Thanks for sharing it!

Thanks Mango!! That is really helpful!