wherever you go that's where i'll follow

by ihernglass

Summary:

Fern matures in more ways than she expects. A story about an apprentice and her master and how they may or may not fall in love.

"You soon learnt many things about Frieren.

She did not like to wake early or even wake at all. She was rather useless in the mornings. She had poor spending habits. She made questionable choices about what spells were considered interesting or necessary.

She made you want to tear your hair out at times. But you settled for not speaking to her and sulking instead."

Chapter 1: i. want

You know how it feels to want.

When your parents died in the war, all you wanted was for them to be alive. For you to have a home again.

That want nearly drove you off the edge, literally speaking.

But thanks to Heiter-sama, you found new things to live for.

To want.

 

Frieren was an enigma at the start.

An elf with large green eyes and an impossibly inscrutable expression.

She sat with Heiter-sama by his bedside or went out on slow, ambling walks around the forest. Most other times, she sat in the cellar, illuminated by the lamp, intent on her work. You were nervous around her, this quiet presence that seemed not to register yours at all.

But she observed your efforts one day—silently, thoughtfully—and in the minimal words she imparted after, gave you all the guidance you needed.

 

She was there to decipher a grimoire, Heiter-sama had explained, and to keep him company in his old age. To reminisce on good times.

You tried not to think about Heiter-sama in old age. The way the lines around his face deepened and his coughs grew louder with each passing day. Heiter-sama had saved you, and you needed him to know that you would be okay. That you would become strong enough so he could pass peacefully without any regrets or worries about you.

You needed to blast a hole in that rock.

No.

You wanted to blast a hole in that rock.

Because now you wanted to live. To continue to make good memories long after his passing.

 

Every day, you cooked, you cleaned, you stacked the wood, and you spoke to Heiter-sama.

You trained.

Rain, sun, snow, wind.

Every day you trained.

Patiently.

 

Heiter-sama passed.

You knew the day would come but the pain still took you by surprise. The old man had cared for you for all those years. A father.

At his grave, by your side, Frieren brought out two bottles of wine.

Thank you, you said softly to her, because of you I was able to repay my debt to Heiter-sama.

The rock sat at the top of the cliff, the hole through its core still smouldering.

He just tricked me, is all, Frieren had said in return, this corrupt priest.

But a small smile played on her lips. You knew then, that she would take you with her, despite all her prior concerns. That the future of good memories would begin with her.

You wanted that.

---

You soon learnt many things about Frieren.

She did not like to wake early or even wake at all. She was rather useless in the mornings. She had poor spending habits. She made questionable choices about what spells were considered interesting or necessary.

She made you want to tear your hair out at times. But you settled for not speaking to her and sulking instead. Out of everything you did, the silent treatment seemed to worry Frieren the most. She made great painstaking efforts to please you for the days after, and you could always count on a sweet treat or extra pats on the head.

You learnt other, less frustrating things about Frieren.

She was driven and analytical. She enjoyed food. She cared enough to buy you a hairpin. She would say she cared only for a grimoire as a reward but seemed to secretly derive pleasure from the good deed itself.

Most of all, she was powerful.

Incredibly so.

The first time she took the head off a demon, she also took your breath away.

You were used to a helpless, whiny Frieren, often having to drag her out of bed, do her laundry, put on her clothes, and tie her hair. Sometimes you even needed to brush her teeth for her, the elf sleeping so soundly you feared she might never wake again. She was prone to her own fits of sullenness, especially when her age was highlighted or she didn’t get to stay as long as she would’ve liked at a village doing the most mundane of activities. It was at times, truly difficult to believe the elf was more than a thousand years old.

But when a demon had caught you unawares in the thick forest, Frieren was in front of you in the time you took to blink. The demon’s head was detached neatly from its body, the elf’s attack so swift and so precise you couldn’t even sense it. It was then that you realised her true power for the first time. The power of an elven mage who’d lived a thousand years.

Lastly, you learnt that Frieren liked to sleep touching you in some way. Sprawled over your legs, splayed out over your torso, snuggled into the crook of your neck, legs intertwined with yours, skin on skin on skin. The contact was comforting, at the start of your journey when you were just small and loved the warmth of her body curled protectively around yours. But you are now eighteen, and no longer a child. What was once comforting was somewhat still comforting, but the comfort had also bled into a muted unnameable, indescribable tension that hummed in your veins and disrupted your restful sleep.

It was hard to say when things changed for you.

You had noticed that in recent years, what used to be unnoticeable—being naked in a bath with her, when she would flop over to sleep on your lap in a wagon, when she would hold your hand when you took ill, or piggybacking her when she took ill—became noticeable. More and more, you grew hyperaware of her presence and would become equally overwhelmed when she was too close or too far. Something had changed for you inside, even if the days remained the same on the outside. You still trained your best, heeded all guidance, managed all the finances, and took care of the shockingly childish elf. But inside, something simmered.

Perhaps you were just growing older. She no longer needed to treat you like a child and you needed some personal space. Perhaps it was a want for independence.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

Then you met Stark.

---

People treated you differently when Stark joined your party.

Older ladies would glance at you with slitted eyes and smile knowingly at him. Boys and men who would once pay you unnecessary attention until they quailed under Frieren’s icy gaze no longer seemed to notice you or look away quicker. Older men would put their arms around Stark and whisper to him in low tones, patting him on the back like they had just imparted some sage advice.

You think you knew why.

In Graf Granat’s Domain, there was a bookstore with a whole section for Romance. It was there that you learnt people expected relations—romantic and sexual—between men and women or between boys and girls; that girls were meant to swoon under the gaze of a hero with coloured hair who slayed the dragon.

You supposed Stark met the criteria of who you were meant to swoon for.

He didn’t make things better either. You saw the way he looked at you. His puppy-like eyes and eagerness to please you. The feigned nonchalance whenever someone else made a snide comment about a romance between you two. His curiosity when Sein talked about a preference for older women about what age gap constituted an “older” woman. The despair and distress when he was unable to pick a present for you, and the resulting bashful look at the choice of a mirrored lotus bracelet. You thought that perhaps he might one day want to have relations with you.

But did you want to have relations with him?

The books mentioned a spark when the girl’s and boy’s eyes would meet. The thumping of hearts. A swoop in their belly. The insatiable urge to touch each other.

When you looked at Stark, there was only the insatiable urge to cuff him on the head, to get him to move faster or wake up earlier or to take more initiative. Admittedly you did find him more tolerable over time and distance but was finding him “less annoying” the “spark” these books waxed lyrical about?

Surely not.

 

Then one night, a revelation.

Frieren had once again fallen asleep on top of you, and you had to ease her gently beside you so that you could breathe. The moon was full that night, the light slipping through the wooden slats of the window to rest on Frieren’s face. Earlier that day, together with Stark, Frieren had wiped out a group of monsters while you held two young girls close to you, sheltering them until the coast was clear. But then, sleeping by you, there was no sign of the consternation or seriousness she displayed during a fight. Her face was peaceful, mouth slightly open, not a single line or wrinkle on her pretty face. You traced the contours of her cheek, her neck, and down to the curve of her chest. One of the straps on her nightgown had fallen down her shoulder. The neckline dipped low, revealing the top of her nipple—

A loud thud in your chest. Suddenly your heart was beating so quickly and loudly you feared Frieren would wake. Thankfully the elf slept like the dead.

 You flopped back down onto the pillow, squeezing your eyes shut, trying to calm your breathing.

“What’s the matter?”

Or not.

Your eyes flew open. The fact that Frieren was awake was not nearly as surprising as the proximity of her lips to yours. Concern darkened her eyes, her gaze boring into you. “Are you unwell? Your mana spiked so suddenly it woke me.”

Heat flushed your cheeks, your neck. Frieren’s hair grazed your chest as she moved to put the back of her hand to your forehead. “You are hot to touch.”

“I’m fine!” Panic drove you to push away from her, your back crashing against the wall and Frieren nearly toppling out of the single bed. The elf was utterly bewildered. But never one to back away from a problem, especially when it concerned you, she crawled in between your legs to frame your face with her hands, eyes opened wide to scrutinise your presentation. Her knees pressed up against your groin and an entirely novel ache erupted low and deep inside you. The ache intensified as Frieren leaned in to sniff your neck, her trembling breath raising goosebumps on your skin.

You pushed her away again forcefully, and she tumbled to the floor in a heap. Confusion mixed with hurt coloured her expression when she raised her head to look at you.

“I’m too hot with you in my bed! That’s all!” Your voice was uncommonly pitchy and shaky. “Sleep in your own bed please!”

You could see Frieren analyse the situation – 1) You did not appear to be in any immediate danger and 2) possessed enough energy to push her away. The strength discounted any sickness and supported the alternate hypothesis that you were simply too hot. You often stuffed the fire in the hearth to the brim to stave off the cold nights of the Northern Lands. Analysis done and conclusion accepted, Frieren shrugged and climbed into her bed without another word, asleep again in a matter of seconds. 

But for you—a different conclusion. One that was much more unsettling.

The evidence was clear.

You wanted relations with Frieren-sama.

---

It all made sense now.

On the way to Vorig, following the road through the countryside, you analysed the implications of your revelation.

You did not want independence.

You wanted Frieren.

And that want changed things for you. Changed the unnoticeable to the noticeable.

The want explained why you sulked when Frieren took only Stark out on an errand and left you behind to train on your own. Why Frieren’s seductive kiss at Sein discombobulated you for days after. Why you grew uncharacteristically impatient whenever Frieren drifted off into a memory that you just knew involved Himmel. And most of all, it explained why it upset you so much when Frieren wanted to give Stark a potion that melted clothes for his birthday. Why you had to leave the room immediately when you poured the bottle over her head in frustration. How you had fought to keep the image of Frieren sitting naked on the floor, pliant and exasperated, from your mind for months after.

Ah, you wanted to cry in despair. It all made sense now.

But she was your master.

A thousand years old.

With the emotional maturity of a ten-year-old child.

According to her, elves were disinclined to engage in sexual relationships and the act of reproduction. Has she had sexual relations with anyone else before? The image of her climbing on top of someone, climbing on top of you, stripping off her nightgown, flashed into your mind. Frieren bending down to hover her lips above yours, her hot breath on your face, a driven intensity in her eyes—

“Are you alright, Fern?” Frieren’s voice cut through the haze. The elf turned back to look at you, Stark following suit. “Your mana output has suddenly spiked again.”

“Oh,” you gasped, pressing your cold hands to your face to cool yourself down. “I’m fine. I was… I was just thinking about something.”

Frieren fell in step by your side. “Oh? What were you thinking about?” A sly smile curved her lips. “Was it something sexual?”

“Eh?!” Stark yelled at the same time that you shouted, “What?! No! Why would you say that?!”

Frieren looked taken aback by the shock in both your voices. She paused to stare at the two of you, frozen in your tracks. “It was merely an educated guess,” she explained, a plaintive pout suggesting she regretted making the comment. “I saw you perusing the adult section of the bookstore yesterday—”

“I- I was l-looking something up. F-for research!”

“Oh? Research, huh? You know, Fern… In spite of my profession, I know a fair amount about sexual activity,” Sein said very unhelpfully. “You can always come to me for more information if you like.

Frieren frowned. “Why would you need to research sexual activity? It’s not something I would consider necessary to an apprentice’s education but if you would like—”

“No!”

“So then why?!” Stark blurted out, then blushed as red as his hair.

You wondered if there was a spell for the ground to open up and swallow you whole. You needed everyone to stop looking at you. Especially Frieren. She was scrutinising you far too closely than you would like.

“Please, let us change the topic. I do not wish to answer any questions.”

“Eh? But—” Stark started but was dragged away by Sein, who muttered under his breath softly but loud enough that she could hear it still. “A lady is like a flower, Stark. She will bloom under the right conditions. You have but to be patient.”

Before you could shout for him to shut up, Frieren laid a hand on your arm and your belly swooped. “While I respect your wish to change the topic,” the elf said in an irritatingly calm voice, “the recent irregularities of your mana give me great concern. And if it’s related to the topic of sexual activity—”

“It’s not! I was thinking about something else!”

“I see.” Frieren’s eyes narrowed. “Are you certain that all is well with you?”

It was hard for you to hold her gaze. Especially when the intensity of the concern in her eyes drove the image of her on top of you back to the forefront of your mind.

“Yes!” In near panic, you forced an image of Stark getting clobbered on the head by a bird-monster into your mind instead. It helped to smoothen your mana output. “Never mind me, Frieren-sama! I apologise and I will work harder to regulate my mana.”

“Hmmm,” Frieren glanced up at her, unconvinced. “Alright. Remember, mana concealment and regularity are key to survival.”

“Yes, Frieren-sama. Now can we please move on?”

“Sure. But I will have to think about how we can include your curiosity for sexual activity—”

“Moving on!”

“Okay, okay!”

---

For the next five months, you did anything you could to take your mind off Frieren.

It was fortunate timing that Stark had been roped in to impersonate a dead heir as for some reason, it became necessary for you to learn royal etiquette and dancing alongside so as not to blow his cover. Being in close proximity to Stark and dancing with him did wonders in helping you not think about your elf master. The dance lessons required much time and concentration and you wanted to do a good job to deserve the monetary reward. And when that ordeal was over, the party visited Frieren’s old friend, resulting in her disappearance for most of the week to reminisce with him, sparing you from her company.

Your friendship with Stark grew instead, the mandatory time spent together completing chores and tasks for the party and village allowing the space for you to get to know each other. And although you never gave him the wrong idea, you could see that what he felt for you was a shadow of what you felt for Frieren.

But any progress you made over the past few months in suppressing your feelings for her was wiped away the moment an unexpected winter blizzard trapped you all together in a small cabin. The small rooms and no proper beds meant there was no excuse to have physical distance between you and Frieren at night. The elf took full advantage of the fact, snuggling in tight every night. At times, her fingers would slip under the hem of your sleeping shirt to absently stroke your hip.  At other times, she nuzzled into your neck, her lips pressing delicately against your collarbone. And at the most excruciating times, her thigh would slide in between your legs to rub up against you, and you felt an ache so deep and a want for something so bad you could think of nothing else during those sleepless nights.

It was one morning after such a sleepless night that Stark surprised you.

Frieren and Sein were out. You were reading a book and did not notice that Stark had come up behind you to grip your shoulder and cup your face, no doubt to pay you back for touching his face with your frigid hands some time back. The strength of his grip on your shoulder, the instinctive panic of being alone with him in a cabin, with him possibly feeling the same suffocating feelings for you that you felt for Frieren, frightened you terribly. Rationally, you knew Stark would never do anything untoward to you. But you had heard stories and you had seen wars. Men could be unpredictable.

He apologised. Of course he did. And all was well again.

But that night, lying in your futon beside Frieren, you could not stop an automatic shiver when you recalled the strength of his grip.

An arm snaked around your waist, and for the first time that you could remember, Frieren pulled you into her embrace. And despite your inner turmoil regarding the elf, you accepted her offered comfort.

Desired it even.

You found yourself burrowing into her, dangerously close to her chest, loosening the iron-clad control on your feelings. Frieren smelled like damp earth and a crackling fire. Without thinking, your hands wandered to her bare legs, roaming up the side of her thighs, then under her nightgown and over the smooth curve of her bottom, to rest in the arch of her lower back.

A low moan from Frieren. Unexpected; muffled on the top of your head.

Any shred of remaining self-control snapped. You didn’t care if Sein and Stark were in the next room over and you were separated by only a thin door and equally thin walls.

You raised your head to kiss her, only to find her already waiting for you. She met your kiss with startling ferocity; her fingers twined into your hair, her nails scraping gently against your scalp, and you think there could be no greater pleasure in the world than what you were experiencing. You pushed deeper into her, her hips grinding against your thigh, your breaths in between the clash of teeth heavy and insistent. Want became the only thing on your mind and you wanted more.

Still kissing her, your hand wandered down urgently to grasp her panties. You did not know what you were doing but you knew that was where you needed to go. To touch. To stroke between her legs, liquid heat on your fingers. But it was there that she stopped you, pulling your arms up and above your head with surprising strength. Then she sat back on your hips, pressing one hand on your heaving chest to keep you down and wiped her mouth with the back of her other hand.

In the dying embers of the fire, her face was pained, her eyes dark and regretful. “No,” she said quietly. “You are too young, Fern. It will not do.”

And that was that.

Before you could say anything, she rolled off you and onto her side, dragging the covers up to her shoulders. You shivered from the chill in her sudden absence and stared at her back in a daze, panting, in disbelief at what had just transpired. Her soft breathing soon filled the air. Somehow, inconceivably so, she had already fallen back to sleep. The wetness between your legs was uncomfortable.

But it seemed there would be no relief that night.

 

Chapter 2: ii. ponderance

“Frieren-sama.”

The lump shifted at your poke. “Mmmfh, can I please have five more hours to sleep?”

“No. I want to talk about what happened last night.”

Frieren stuck her head out, all messy hair and pout. “What happened last night?” She blinked blearily.

You stared at her.

She stared right back. Then, “Oh. That.” She closed her eyes.

Heat flushed your face. “Yes. We… kissed, Frieren-sama.”

The elf dragged herself into a sitting position. She thought. For a long time. Your nails dug into your palms.

“Frieren-sama! Fern! Breakfast!”

Both of you ignored Stark.

“Yes. It appears we did,” Frieren said eventually, brushing her thumb slowly over her lips.

You swallowed.

Frieren’s eyes suddenly sharpened, the look on her face akin to when she’s analysing a problem or working out how to best take down a monster. “I meant what I said, Fern,” she said. “You are too young. My apologies. I was… overcome by unexpected sexual urges when you”—her ears twitched—“caressed my legs. It will not happen again.”

“But…” you gaped at her, unable to express the mess inside of you that was part desire, part confusion, part hurt.

She tilted her head inquisitively. “But?”

“But what if I want it to happen again?”

Frieren lapsed into silence again. Desperately, like many other times before, you wished you could peek into her mind.

“While I cannot deny I felt pleasure, I cannot in good conscience allow that to happen again.”

“Because I’m too young?”

“That’s correct. It will simply not do.” As though your life hadn’t been turned upside down, Frieren pouted again and raised her bare arms helplessly. “Now, please, Fern, dress me so we can have breakfast.”

---

 Even if Frieren appeared to dismiss the incident, the kiss set something aflame in you that could never be quenched again. A watershed moment that would define your life forever. And so, you plotted. Frieren was your master after all—you knew a thing or two about solving a problem logically and patiently.

In the Offen Mountain Range on your way to Äußerst, buffeted by the gales and snow, you constructed your argument.

When you took ill and woke to Frieren at your bedside clasping your hands, the raw hurt she displayed at your refusal to be treated like a child and the later acceptance that you were indeed not a child, strengthened your argument.

And after Frieren aborted an attempt to snooze in your lap in the wagon on the way to Äußerst, citing that she could only “see half the sky” (she was staring at your bosom, she was fooling no one), the argument was refined.

You might just yet get what you wanted. 

---

The opportunity arrived one morning soon after you both registered for the first-class mage exam. Stark had gone out for his daily training and you were alone with Frieren in the library.

“I have something to discuss with you,” you said, sitting up straight on the chair beside her, bringing your hands together in your lap.

“Hmm?” Frieren looked up from the massive tome she was perusing. “What is it?”

“I refute your statement that I am too young for you to have a relationship with—romantic, sexual, or otherwise.”

Frieren dropped the tome, the thud echoing in the cavernous hall.

“Would you agree,” you forged ahead, “that maturity is relative to the experiences that one has had? Take an orphan who has lost their family and has had to fight for their survival every day versus a privileged child who has grown up fed and clothed by family wealth. Would they have the same levels of maturity?”

“That depends on several factors,” Frieren answered easily, relishing a debate even if the subject matter wasn’t to her liking. “Does the orphan have easily gathered resources where they are? Was the privileged child raised in comfort or made to train or fight from a young age—”

“Take it at face value and answer the question!”

Frieren pouted. “Fine. Yes, I agree that humans can present varying levels of maturity dependent on their experiences.”

“Thank you. Further, elves have long life spans. Because you can live for thousands of years, your physical development is relative to your life span. It is evidenced by the way you look—like a young adult human—while you are at least a thousand years old. Kraft looks like an adult man in his thirties and he is presumably much older than you. Elves’ emotional development, as your speech and actions demonstrate, develops at an even slower pace—your race is stoic by nature and your penchant to live in isolation means emotional development is stunted at best.”

Frieren looked affronted. “Are you calling me emotionally stunted?”

You made a face back. “Are you calling yourself emotionally mature?”

Frieren sulked and pulled up her legs to rest her chin on her knees. “What’s your point?”

“My point is that I’m far more mature for my age and you are far, far, far more immature for your age—”

“Geez. Say “far” one more time…” Frieren muttered under her breath.

“—Thus, if our lives were laid out on the same time scale taking into account relative ageing, I firmly believe I would be about a couple of years younger than you at this stage. According to you, it was about eighty years ago or so that you spent any real time with humans when you joined the Hero’s party and twenty-nine years since Himmel’s passing that you’ve bothered at all to learn about humans—hardly any time at all in your life. To conclude, I may be literally much younger than you but I am theoretically, arguably, about the same age as you.”

“Mmm. But you were a child when we first started our journey. I cared for you like what a parent would. You will always seem like a child in my eyes.”

“But I am not a child anymore, as you’ve acknowledged. And, I disagree with the statement that you were like a parent. In case you’ve forgotten, which you seem to always do—I tuck you into bed, wake you up, brush your teeth and your hair, tie your hair, and get you dressed. I cook for us, feed you, and wipe your mouth. Seems to me that I’ve taken on the caregiving role for us, and again, supporting my hypothesis that a human can be more mature than their relative age.”

“I…” you sensed a proper sulk coming on. “I teach you about history and magic! I provide financially for us! I take us places!”

“I will agree you have been an excellent teacher.”

“Fern… I haven’t been that bad, have I? I do try my best for us…” There it was—her sulk was beginning to set in. She would not be far from whining and beating her fists against the table soon. You had to wrap this up quickly. “It’s not my fault humans have quirks such as financial responsibility, time management, and honestly, unbelievably high standards for hygiene!”

“Frieren-sama,” you said in your most adult-like voice. “That is because we do not possess infinite time that allows us to live like foraging beasts in the wilderness with nary a care only to emerge once every decade to be somewhat civilised with other people.”

“Isn’t that a bit too mean?” Frieren’s high-pitched whine was starting to attract the attention of other library patrons.

“For someone who’s trying to prove emotional maturity, you’re doing a rather poor job.”

Frieren’s pout was now set in stone. “Fine. I will take your controversial argument into consideration. Now will you stop being so mean and leave me alone?”

“As long as you promise to consider it seriously.”

“I will,” she sulked. “Now if you’ll excuse me.” She stalked off into the shelves.

You let out a sigh of relief. That went about as well as you thought it would.

Now you just had to wait for the next step.

---

“Look, Fern!” Frieren exclaimed in delight after you nearly singed through her defences with a multi-missile Zoltraak. “Aren’t I emotionally mature enough to train you into such brilliance? I’m sure an emotionally immature master would not be able to build your skills such as I, an emotionally mature master, could do.”

You lowered your staff. “Really? Is this how you choose to answer my argument? How subtle.”

It had been one month since your conversation in the library. Frieren had disappeared for a week after the conversation, leaving you to study and train on your own or with Stark. And when she appeared again, she had staunchly refused to discuss the topic any further.

“What?” Frieren feigned a look of surprise. “I am not being subtle!” But she paused, thinking deeply. “Was that truly not subtle?”

You sighed. “Frieren-sama, you said ‘emotionally mature’ like three times in two sentences.”

Frieren let out an exasperated sigh, then sat on the ground, patting the spot beside her. “Fern,” she said when you sat. “I understand what you’re saying. I will reluctantly admit it’s fair to say that you are wiser than your years while I am”—she gritted her teeth—“somewhat, minimally, emotionally younger than my years. But we are still master and apprentice. It is not proper. I am sorry.”

You smiled, to Frieren’s surprise and consternation. “That’s what I thought you would say,” you said. “A logical rebuttal. Well, Frieren-sama. I have just the right book for you.”

Frieren narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

---

Frieren read the book you left on the foot of her bed that night, turning the pages till dawn, when you then had to drag her out of bed to begin your training for the day. You wanted her to read the book, but you didn’t want her to read it till dawn. Frustratingly irresponsible.

“Just three more hours to sleep, Fern, please!” Frieren cried miserably into her blanket.

You gave up and went shopping with Stark instead. The town was busy with an influx of visitors due to the upcoming mage exam. Enterprising shopkeepers enticed customers with loud and fancy trinkets as well as freshly baked bread that made your stomach rumble.

“You look mighty pleased this morning, Fern,” Stark said, eyeing your perky hands.

You smiled. “Isn’t it great when plans fall into place?”

“Sure. Is this about your training for the exam?”

“Something like that. Shall we get some sweet bread?”

“Yes. Should we get some for Frieren-sama too?”

“She can starve. Serves her right for sleeping in.”

Stark paled. “You’re scary when you’re mad. Maybe she’s sleeping in because she’s been working hard training you? I saw her pacing around your room for hours the other day looking stressed and muttering your name over and over again.”

“Huh, is that so?” Satisfaction bloomed in your chest. “Alright, we can get her something to eat.”

Stark’s shoulders slumped in relief. He had been nervous about the recent tension between you and Frieren. You felt bad for him and pitied how he always had to mediate for Frieren. And so when you entered the bakery, you treated him to his favourite sweet bread in gratitude.

 

After a lovely morning perusing the shops and eating some lunch while Stark played with a group of children he often played with, you finally returned to the inn, a thick book for Frieren under your arm after a short detour to the bookstore.

It was the next step in your plan, and you were pleased the order had arrived in time as it seemed that Frieren would blow through the first book quicker than you expected. You swung open the door to your room, Stark by your side with some bread for Frieren, only to see her still sleeping soundly in her bed.

It was two in the afternoon.

Stark tossed the bread at Frieren and fled.

---

“So… what do you think, Frieren-sama?” You asked her as you both changed into your nightclothes after her birthday dinner. She had stuffed her face with a cake you had baked for her, taking great care to include all her favourite ingredients so she would be in the best mood possible for you to bring up the topic again when you were alone.

“Hmm?” Frieren stared blankly at you, half into her night dress, one arm in the wrong hole. Panic stole into her face as she tried to guess what you could possibly be referring to. “Ah… mmm…. Uh… Your… cake?” She asked slowly, squinting while trying to read your reaction, and coming expectedly to the wrong conclusion. “Yes, you must be asking about your cake! Your cake was delicious, Fern! It was completely to my liking. Well done!”

“I’m not talking about the cake! What did you think about the books?”

“Oh!” Frieren exclaimed. And unexpectedly, she blushed. Your mouth fell open. This might have been the first time you’d seen her blush so bright. “Well. I read them.”

“Which one was your favourite?” You walked over to the tomes from you Frieren had stacked beside her bed. You picked up one particularly well-worn book, “The Compendium of Magical, Steamy Romances between Master and Apprentice?”—and the one below—“Or Ewide and Flavius: How Our Enlightened Bond Changed the World?” Underneath that, you spotted Love: The Fundamentals. Huh, that one wasn’t from you.

“I liked none of them,” Frieren said unconvincingly. “They bored me.”

“This one has breadcrumbs all through the pages.” You flipped it upside down and shook it vigorously. Frieren snatched the book swiftly out of your hands, placing it back on the stack.

“Fine! I liked them all!” Frieren cried. “My favourite was A History of Apprenticeships: Is Love the Answer? I had forgotten about the Germanen tribe, in all honesty. Flamme and I visited their village once. It was truly fascinating. The account by the author is accurate—the magic produced by the mages there was incredible in quality and creativity.”

“So? Have I successfully changed your mind?”

Frieren sat down on her bed, quiet and solemn. You sat across from her on your bed, suddenly not as confident.

“Fern,” she said slowly. “Your arguments are convincing. But somehow, it still doesn’t seem right to me. I am an elf, and you are human. I have lived a long time and you only two decades. There is simply too much of a gap… too much time between us.”

Tears stung your eyes but you forced your voice steady. “You will always be an elf, Frieren-sama. Will you never take a lover? Elves are few and far in between, leaving humans as the remaining option. For someone who wants to learn about humans and their feelings, will you never learn about the greatest feeling of them all?”

A long pause. Then, Frieren blinked and nodded. “I see.” Despite herself, a small smile. “You have grown up, Fern. I seem to always underestimate you.”

You held your breath.

“I’ll admit that you have given me a great deal to think about. But in truth, Fern, our focus needs to be on the upcoming mage exams. You speak of a possible future together but that future may not be possible at all if harm comes to you in the exam. I wish to speak no further on this until it is passed.”

“Frieren-sama…”

“I mean it, Fern. Right now, what I care about is for you to survive this exam.”

Although disappointed, you knew that everything was a long game with Frieren. And you were patient.

“Alright,” you conceded. “After.”

---

The first test went smoothly.

The second, not so much.

The dungeon was easy at the start. Wherever, whenever—as long as you’re with Frieren, you were safe.

Except for mimics. But at least they were easily dealt with. And even though it was annoying how she fell for them every time, the awe on her face when she found treasure, the pure content that lit her entire countenance? It was worth it. You would pull her out of a thousand mimics if it would make her happy.

Then, Methode. The unbelievable gall of the woman to flirt so carelessly with Frieren in front of you!

Then, Frieren’s clone. That the only feasible way to destroy her clone was for Frieren to provide an opening by allowing an opening herself. You disliked the idea vehemently; your stomach a roiling pit. But Frieren needed you to trust her in the same way she trusted you wholeheartedly to take the shot.

So you did. You took several shots, and then some. All taken while dodging the frightening scale of attacks Frieren and Frieren could produce. Unrestrained, Frieren was pure, unadulterated power. The ferocity of her expression seared into your mind forever.

And even though you won; even though Frieren looked at you with so much pride in her face you could burst, her iron-clad grip when pulling you to your feet the only giveaway she had worried about your safety, the victory was bittersweet. Because in her demonstration of power, seeds of doubt took root. Doubt that the gap and time between you were indeed too large to overcome, no matter how mature you may be.

The shattered remnants of your precious staff from Heiter lay at your feet. A physical representation of the hopes you nursed.

Frieren didn’t think the staff was worth repairing. A new one will be better, she said the next day, one that will channel your power better. She couldn’t see it was sentimental. She couldn’t see that the staff was more than just power. Perhaps she would never see beyond the pragmatic. You burst into tears and left her agape and perplexed in the room.

Stark kept you company that day while you avoided Frieren, doing his absolute best to cheer you up. While you admired his efforts, forcing a begrudging smile in farewell, it was in the worst spirits that you entered reluctantly into your room in the evening.

But to your surprise, your staff lay on your bed.

Repaired. Whole. Renewed.

In your nightclothes, you thought for a moment (a long moment), then slipped into Frieren’s bed for the first time. She did not wake, but her body moulded to yours instinctively. Her hair smelt like the caramel soap she favoured. Her fingers clutched at your waist.

Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps.

You slept.

---

It was finally time to say farewell to Äußerst.

The moment you left Kanne and Lawine’s sight, Frieren shuddered violently. “They were so loud. And they wouldn’t stop fighting,” she said dejectedly. “I must have suffered some hearing loss.”

“They do seem rather immature,” Stark agreed. “Honestly… for all the intelligence mages must possess, I’m surprised by the levels of immaturity I’ve seen! Like Serie? Isn’t it rude of her to ban you from all Continental Magic Association premises?”

“Yes,” Frieren mumbled, eyes flat. “Serie is a child.”

“Oh, pardon me?” You asked, unable to help yourself. “Did I hear you say that Serie—who is supposedly thousands of years old—is a child? Emotionally immature, hmm?”

Frieren scrutinised your face. “Is that sarcasm?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Frieren’s eyes narrowed further. “Say, Stark,” Frieren whirled on him. “Do you think I am emotionally immature?”

Stark stopped in his tracks. “Why would you ask me that? I’m not answering that question.”

Frieren stopped too, glaring at him. “If you’re not answering it means you agree! Otherwise, you would disagree!”

Stark opened and shut his mouth for a few moments, then strode ahead of them without saying anything else.

“Don’t say I told you so,” Frieren said to you, shaking her head as she followed him.

You shrugged smugly.

“Hey Stark, I’m not done.” Frieren caught up to him. “What are your thoughts on relationships between masters and apprentices?”

“EH?!” His eyes bulged. “What’s with the crazy questions today?”

“I’m merely curious. Answer me.”

“I’m not going to answer that question, you old hag!”

“Huh. Did you call me an old hag again?”

“If you keep asking such stupid questions then I will!”

They bickered till nightfall.

---

You all agreed—the foot bath in the Etwas Mountains of the Northern Lands, no matter how beautiful the view was, nor how nice it had been to sit silently in each other’s company, was not worth the effort in the end. But days after, Frieren took you to a seemingly much less worthy spot on a far more tedious journey than the one for the footbath. The location of interest was a large tree, millennia old; rumour had it that rare and legendary grimoires were occasionally hidden amongst its roots by elves.

As you and Stark expected, there was no grimoire found that day but Frieren remained in surprisingly high spirits.

That night, cuddled together under a blanket, Frieren nudged you awake and gestured for you, and only you, to go with her. Stark was awake watching the fire but said nothing as you tied your scarf around your neck and followed the insufferably unpredictable elf into the forest.

You had not spoken of your desire for a relationship since the last time, fear of a final rejection a pressing dread after the mage exam. Frieren had been unperturbed herself, focused far more on your journey through the Northern Lands and the possible magic she could collect.

And so you said nothing. But you thought. A lot.

Frieren guided you on a path through the thick foliage seemingly through memory, catching your arm occasionally as you tripped in the dark. “We’re nearly there,” she said, and a few steps later you emerged out into a clearing. There was not a cloud in the sky, and the moonlight revealed a vast pond, frozen over except for a small island in the middle, a single plant the only resident. The silence was profound.

Frieren intertwined her fingers with yours, and you flew over together to kneel softly in front of the plant. It looked like a rose bush, a foot tall, with leaves sprouting from thorny stalks. Nestled in the centre was one singular bud the size of a giant pumpkin, not yet bloomed.

Frieren glanced up at the sky, then whispered. “Wait a moment.”

And in a moment, the bud yawned open.

You gasped in shock.

Luminescent violet-purple petals spread wide, speckled with white star-shaped dots, the scent the sweetest smell you had ever experienced. An ethereal glow emanated from the entire plant, spilling over onto you.

“Frieren-sama…” You tried to find the words to describe the sight, how inconceivably extraordinary—

But Frieren was simply looking at you. The softest smile on her face, illuminated by the flower’s light.

A rush of thoughts in your mind. A lump in your throat you had to swallow.

“It brings me pleasure to see you smile,” Frieren said softly. “This plant blooms only once a decade. I was hoping the time would be right to show it to you. Thankfully, it was.” Frieren ran her fingers through the ends of your hair. “The purple of the petals is the colour of your hair.”

“Thank you,” you whispered, the words barely audible above the thumping in your chest.

Frieren sat back on her legs, serious. “Fern, through careful consideration, it’s become clear to me I have great affection for you. But as to what kind and to what end, I do not yet know. The desire I felt when we kissed caught me by surprise. But desire is not the sole feeling in the myriad of feelings you evoke in me.” Frieren paused, looking away for a second. “Your observations are astute—I still don’t understand much about emotions, let alone mine. Thus at this stage, I fear I am unable to give you what you want for my own ignorance. That is why I began my current journey in the first place and also agreed to Eisen’s request. I want to understand others’ feelings, to understand my feelings, and to express such feelings adequately.”

You sat back as well, mirroring her. “You mean you want to understand and express your feelings for Himmel.” Your chest was painfully tight. “I’ve noticed the way you talk about him.”

Frieren nodded. “Himmel, yes. But also Flamme, Heiter, and others that I have once crossed paths with without any further thought. Due to my ignorance, I have neglected and missed out on deepening friendships or relationships for many, many years. But since our travels together, I have come to know a fair amount more. And I certainly know enough now that I do not wish for ignorance to also disrupt a possible deeper relationship with you.”

Silence, broken occasionally by the whistling of the wind.

Frieren held your gaze. “I ask, Fern, for time.” She held up a hand at the look on your face. “I am aware time is one thing I have in abundance but you don’t. So, a compromise. I ask for time until Aureole. To fulfil Eisen’s request to address my regrets of not knowing Himmel better and not letting him know how our journey together changed me. I believe that in this time, I will also learn enough about myself, about you, and about others, to make an informed decision about my affection for you and any further action.”

You felt Frieren’s fingers on your face. She brushed away the tear that streaked down your cheek.

 “Simultaneously in this time, Fern, I want you to ensure you will have no regrets.” Frieren’s eyes dropped. “We have spent the last ten years together every day. I have been a constant presence in your life. Who’s to know that what you feel is what you do truly feel and not as a result of proximity and an apprentice’s respect?”

“Feelings can be multi-faceted,” you said.

“Hmmm, interesting.” Frieren frowned. “But my point remains. I want you to make the most of this time on our journey to Aureole. Date someone else. Kiss other people. Engage in casual or committed sexual activity.” Frieren frowned deeper at the face you pulled at her choice of words. “What did I say that was wrong?”

“Never mind, go on.”

“Alright. I want you to experience feelings with people other than me. Because…” Frieren’s voice grew soft. “Because somewhere in the myriad of feelings, I’ve identified discomfort. A worry, that you could one day regret making a decision about your feelings for me without more experience. I certainly have had regrets about previous engagements in sexual activity—”

“Frieren-sama, I couldn’t regret being with you—wait, what? You’ve had sexual relations with others before?“

“Of course. I may look young but I have, after all, lived for more than a thousand years. In any case, I believe you are in the stage that I’ve heard described as ‘infatuation’. In this stage, it is said that one’s decision-making ability is impaired, focused solely on becoming close to one’s object of infatuation. As such, sensations of physical contact such as touching, kissing, fondling, or more, feel intense and overwhelming.” Despite yourself, you resisted the urge to roll your eyes at her matter-of-factness. “Thus, I demand this time for both you and I.”

You thought about it. Did you think starting and being in a relationship with Frieren was ever going to be easy? The elf was as dense as a mountain and equally unyielding at times. There was also merit in what she was suggesting. At the very least, this time would allow you to grow stronger, to close some of the gap between you and her, and for you to feel more assured of your worthiness as a lover. You knew you would always have feelings for her, wherever she went, however long it took. If she needed the time to be sure, then you would give her the time to be sure.

Within reason.

“No unnecessary delays,” you said finally. 

“Except for legendary grimoires.”

“No.”

“Fine.”

”Okay,” you agreed. “Until Aureole.” You held your hand out to shake.

Frieren glanced down and reached out, not for your hand, but for your scarf, pulling you into a long, lingering kiss. She tasted of shaved ice syrup and the tantalising promise of more.

“Until Aureole,” Frieren murmured when she pulled away, your warm breaths mingling in the small space between your lips.

“Eh? What was that?” You exclaimed. “What happened to “until Aureole”?”

“Sorry.” Frieren tugged on her ponytails in embarrassment. “I wanted to test a hypothesis before we began our period of abstinence.”

You needed a second to answer, your senses screaming. “What? That you might be infatuated too?”

“Something like that,” Frieren said, a small flush in her cheeks visible even in the low glow from the plant. She sat back to stare at the flower, relaxing into your side for warmth. “Have you considered kissing Stark? He seems to have an interest in you. Perhaps you may also be infatuated with him?”

“What? No!”

“I saw you offering to caress him the other night. Is that not a sign of affection?”

“I was trying to be nicer to him!”

“Oh, I see. Does platonic affection include caresses as well? Is that why Heiter used to caress my head? That would explain a lot.”

“Frustratingly, I seem to be only infatuated with you, and no matter how much time you need, I am sure you will remain the only one I will ever be infatuated with.”

Frieren let out a chuckle. “Ah, the privilege of the young! To be so passionate.”

“It’s the privilege of humans. To have time be so finite all else is made more precious as a result.”

“Hmmm.” Frieren considered this. Then, “Again, I underestimate you, Fern.” She smiled, taking your hand. “I am excited to see what lies in store for us.”

You smiled back at her. “Me too.”

 

Chapter 3: iii. jealousy

Notes:

sorta canon-divergent from this point as the manga is up to chap 132 at the time this was written; will include manga spoilers!

The journey to Aureole goes like this:

30 Years Since Himmel’s Passing

(1 Year Since Frieren’s Request)

You and Frieren reached an unspoken agreement to carry on as usual.

Every morning, you dragged her out of bed, brushed her teeth, fed her food, wiped her mouth, and dressed her. You walked, you learnt, you trained, you fought, you fed Frieren and yourself again, you slept. Rinse, repeat.

She didn’t speak of her attraction to you. You didn’t act on your attraction to her.

In one of your last conversations with Heiter-sama, he had instructed you to listen to Frieren, to be a good apprentice. If Frieren wanted time for herself, you would give her the time she needed. If she wanted you to make the most of your time, you would endeavour to do just that.

And so, when Stark asked you out on a date in Heiß soon after Frieren’s request, you agreed. You suspected he only asked as revenge for you scolding him constantly, rather than actually confronting his feelings because he must know on some level what you felt for Frieren. But you were warmed by his genuine sincerity and the effort he took when setting up the date. Even if you could never return his feelings, it was lovely to be appreciated.

(Although, if you wanted to go on a date to places Frieren suggested, you would have much preferred to go with her.)

And thus, the journey proceeded.

 

The first time you kissed someone other than Frieren was in the Rufen Region.

You had spent most of that adventure pulling Frieren away from the succubus that was Methode, only for Frieren to give her body away just for magic to prevent eggshells from falling in when cracking eggs! Absolutely infuriating. Methode already had beauty, kindness, power, and intelligence—she couldn’t have also have Frieren.

“Oh, Fern, you are so cute when you’re mad,” Methode crowed in your ear, startling you on the last night while you were on watch. “You can put that away now.” She nudged your staff down.

The staff vanished. “What do you want?” You asked, leaning back against the tree. 

“I simply wanted to converse. We have things in common, you know?”

“Like what?”

“Like how we both have unrequited crushes on cute and tiny elves?”

You stared at her.

“Caught your attention now, haven’t I?” Methode’s lilting laugh filled the air. “Do you know that I’ve progressed to head-patting Serie? Isn’t that marvellous?”

The image of the murderous elf submitting exasperatedly to a headpat was truly marvellous. But you wouldn’t give her that satisfaction.

“How far have you progressed with Frieren?” Methode asked, waggling her brows and coming close to you. “Have you had sex with her?”

You froze. Then blushed so furiously you’re sure your mana spike would have Frieren leaping out her window at any moment. “What?! No! Of course not!”

She laughed again. “Oh, Fern! Here’s a tip—hide your desire better! It may feel so, but elves are not that different to us. The same tips to seduce another human can be applied to them.” She began to caress your hand, the touch unexpectedly inflaming long-neglected urges deep inside you. “Play hard to get. Elves live long lives and get everything they want eventually.” Methode’s voice dropped low, husky. “If they can’t have you, they will want you. Frieren’ll come to her senses one day. And in the meantime…”

Her lips were now inches from yours, her eyes questioning.

You didn’t move (didn’t want to move?) and she kissed you. Light, tentative.

But the kiss was all wrong. She wasn’t Frieren.

You stepped back.

Methode smiled ruefully. “A quick learner, I see.”

“I’m sorry, Methode. I don’t mean to give you the wrong idea.”

“Oh, don’t be,” she said, still smiling. “This is exactly where things needed to be. Goodnight, Fern.”

She left you pondering over her words.

 

33 Years Since Himmel’s Passing

(3 Years Since Frieren’s Request)

Two years flew by.

You fought dragons, monsters, demons, the elements, and more dragons.

Amongst your quest rewards were a spell to keep the body warm (largely useless), a jar that gave nightmares (it became a recurrent punishment at camp to which no one was safe from), magic to prevent splinters when picking up wood (hugely beneficial), and a spell to turn your nose black (you put the jar of nightmares beside Frieren every night for a week after this waste of time).

Frieren fell prey to fifty-three mimics. Only five yielded any worthwhile treasure.

It was still worth the hassle to see her smile.

You and Stark trained every day that you were not fighting monsters, both growing stronger and faster and worthy of the trust Frieren bestowed to protect her flank.

You met all sorts of people and learnt all kinds of knowledge. Frieren took every opportunity to speak to anyone she could on topics more than the superficial—mostly about magic and people’s memories of Himmel and the Hero’s Party, sometimes about Flamme, but increasingly about perceptions and feelings. She started to keep a journal of sorts; you saw her scribbling away after every town, after every prolonged interaction with others.

She also began to ask the most ridiculous questions about humans and feelings:

Hey Stark, what do ‘butterflies in your stomach’ feel like? (Why are you asking me this?!)

Hey Fern, why do people say they’re green with envy? How does the colour of green feel? (I… don’t know how to answer that.)

But for you, aside from Methode, you had not progressed any further on making the most of your time.

You did somewhat try—you went on a few more dates with Stark, with him thankfully injecting more of his personality into each date. It was nice to spend time alone with him, but something about his almost blind devotion to you stopped you from fully connecting with him. You were simply too afraid to hurt him.

And so, while you grew in many other ways, you knew you needed to push yourself harder in this one way. To fully participate in your dates with Stark, to try connect with him. To go on dates with or kiss others too. Frieren was trying. You could see so clearly in her actions. It was only fair that you properly tried as well.

 

The second time you kissed someone other than Frieren was in a town near the Empire’s borders.

You, Frieren, and Stark had defeated a whole horde of monsters threatening the town’s safety. The people were jubilant, their calls for help long unanswered by the pressured Empire military forces, and they threw a massive celebration in your honour. Stark was surrounded by admirers all night while Frieren took the opportunity to bargain for magical items and books.

At some point, a strapping young man approached you, a trim beard framing an easy smile. You’re beautiful, he had said. Would you like to go somewhere private?

You were taken aback by his confidence. He wasn’t unattractive. He had silver hair like Frieren but dark red eyes like Stark.

Okay, you heard yourself agree.

And away from the crowd, just as he leaned in to kiss you, he stumbled as someone shoved him roughly to the side and your eyes flew open in surprise.

It was Stark.

“Leave,” he said and the man left, not wanting to confront the danger that was in Stark’s voice.

“Stark—”

Stark kissed you.

No preamble. No bashful look. No worries about your reaction.

And you found yourself kissing him back. He was even more unlike Frieren. He was zealous and hard and thirsty for something he has clearly wanted for a long time. 

When you broke apart, you expected him to apologise. But he didn’t. He didn’t say a single word.

He left you standing there by yourself.

 

It wouldn’t be the only surprise that night.

When you returned to your room, Frieren was still awake. She sat on the edge of her bed, seemingly waiting for you. Her eyes snapped to yours when you walked in, and unlike other nights, she did not look away to give you privacy while you changed into your nightclothes. You felt her gaze crawl down your back.

“Is something the matter?” You asked when in bed, slightly nervous at her unwavering attention.

“I wanted to kiss Himmel.”

“Eh? What?”

“I didn’t tell you and Stark the truth about the Goddess Monument. When I touched it, I was transported back in time to my travels with the Hero’s Party. We travelled together for a week, even though it was only seconds for you here in this time. At the end, when I was about to return here, we were caught in an illusion where Himmel and I were to be married. When they said he could kiss me, and he looked at me, I wanted to kiss him. I was curious to know how it would feel.”

“And did you kiss him?”

“No. He put his finger to my lips so I couldn’t.”

Your mind whirled, your chest pierced as though fighting Sölitar again. Two years ago. You thought she had seemed bothered for weeks after she touched the monument but she had said nothing except that the trip had been fruitful. You suspected something had happened at the time but didn’t ask. Now you know.

“Why are you telling me this now? Are you trying to make me jealous?”

“Jealousy…” Frieren said slowly, as though having made a sudden realisation. “I see.” She stood up. Then walked over and climbed on top of you to straddle your hips.

Your heart rate spiked. “Eh?! Wh—”

Frieren kissed you and you were swept away.

All else faded but her grip on the back of your neck, the heat of her skin beneath your palms, her insistent desire to taste. You gasped as she broke away suddenly to pull her nightdress over her head, revealing her pale body and small breasts, pink nipples taut. But before you could appreciate her body in a whole new light, she kissed you again, urgently, pushing you back down. You grasped at your nightclothes, wanting, no, needing to feel her skin on yours—then you came to your senses and scrambled out from under her, nearly vaulting to the window to catch your breath.

Frieren sat still where you left her, hair mussed, staring at you. A predator’s stare. Your body sang in response, yearned to be devoured.

“What—” you managed in between breaths “—was that?” 

“Jealousy, it turns out. I saw Stark kissing you,” Frieren replied, matter-of-factly. “I know I asked you to kiss him but when I saw it… I didn’t like it.”

“Oh, what a night.” Of course, Methode was right after all! You dug your fists into your eyes, turning away from Frieren so you could fight the temptation of her, sitting naked and pretty in your bed. “You said not till Aureole, Frieren-sama! If you do this to me now, I will not be able to hold on until Aureole.”

“You are right. I am sorry,” Frieren said, tapping her fingers together meekly. But then she perked up. “But now I know what jealousy feels like! It’s a win after all!” She dove into her bed. “My sincerest apologies, Fern. It will not happen again now that I have identified what this feeling is. Feel free to continue kissing Stark. Goodnight!”

She was asleep in a minute.

You groaned in disbelief.

 

“I’m not stupid, you know?” Stark said quietly.

You glanced at him, tearing your gaze from Frieren, at that very moment haggling with a vendor at the marketplace. You had been too distracted by what happened the night before to stop her from setting her sights on a charm that supposedly repelled all flies within a ten-metre radius.

“I know how you feel about Frieren.” His jaw clenched. “I don’t expect you to love me in return, but seeing as she is well…” You both looked at her—she was jumping in delight as she secured the deal, the gleaming look on the vendor’s face suggesting she had been totally and utterly fleeced. “Frieren… Maybe you could have some space in your heart for me too, until… or if she reciprocates.” He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

You looked at him, intrigued. “Like continue to go on dates?” His kiss flashed into your mind. “And kiss? Or… more?”

“Yeah.”

“But how would that benefit you?” You frowned. “You would know I want another in all the time we spend together.”

“Well… you know…” Stark reddened, not meeting your eyes. He fiddled with the bracelet you’d gifted to him. “A person has needs I suppose, even if they can’t have what they want.”

“Huh.” You mulled over his words. But you knew what he was talking about. You had spent all night squirming under your sheets while Frieren slept peacefully until you dragged her out of bed and put her in your bad-mood braids for the day. “I’ll take that under consideration.”

 

35 Years Since Himmel’s Passing

(5 Years Since Frieren’s Request)

Another two years flew by.

You fought great demons, larger dragons, a couple of golems, powerful illusion magic, and even larger dragons.

Amongst your quest rewards were magic that ensured you never woke up with a crick in your neck (top-tier legendary magic), a book that emitted a ghastly laugh every time someone turned a page (a favourite to read when on night watch to the dismay of all others in the party), a spell to make the ground somewhat softer (could be somewhat better), and magic that made everything one touched smell like vomit (you put the jar of nightmares beside Frieren every night for a month and also touched all her precious items in the briefcase using the spell).

Stark started to gain a following. The first statue of him was created in a village in Ende long terrorised by the remnants of the demon army. He had valiantly cut down twelve demons while you and Frieren battled the great demon. To Frieren’s immense relief, he was not fussy about his pose and the statue was completed in a reasonable duration.

You yourself grew strong, continuing to develop and refine a Zoltraak far more advanced than what humanity had achieved so far. You also began to learn other spells, other types of magic, understanding their principles and making them your own. You’d like to think that Heiter-sama would be proud of you.

Frieren fell prey to another thirty-eight mimics. Only one yielded any worthwhile treasure.

You still never tired of her joy.

You met old friends—Sein, Methode, Denken, Wirbel, Kanne, Lawine, amongst others—and new ones. Some as allies on subjugation requests and some in the most ordinary of manners. Frieren continued to scribble away in her journal.

You and Stark also started sleeping together. At the start, you worried (and hoped) that Frieren would be jealous, but true to her word, she seemed to file away the emotion and remained unbothered if you did not return to your bed at night. Stark didn’t ask for much. He appeared to be content with no matter what you did or how frequently you did anything, whether it was a casual date or quick but satisfying sex. He also didn’t care when Methode propositioned you, and curious about what sex would be like with a woman, you had checked with him before you accepted (even though you didn’t have to, that time and the handful of times after). You don’t know how he did it, to stoically accept the barest crumbs of you and not ask for more. But then, you reflected one night, as Frieren slept with her head nestled in the crook of your neck, that perhaps you did know after all. Still, you only availed yourself of his services when you yearned for Frieren the most.

And yearn for Frieren you did.

Because she was changing.

Slowly, but surely. She was changing. You found yourself reminding her less and less why it was important to help people or complete quests that she personally found purposeless. She started to brush her teeth and wipe her mouth, even if she still preferred for you to tie her hair. She was liberal with her praise for you and Stark, her pride at both your progress making her too smug every now and then, resulting in more duels with other apprentices than you would like after she offended their masters.

Along with these general changes, she was changing with you. She was more thoughtful, more careful, more proactive. She sought out magic she knew you would like (wholly practical and nothing like making things smell like vomit), gave gifts that were increasingly more your style (a new warm and functional coat with pockets; a book on the history of holy Bishops), and improved on her cooking skills so she could make your favourite foods and desserts (even if her improvements still required more improvements).

These changes made you want, made you yearn. Made you love.

The day you realised you loved her you were floored. Literally. The greater demon had inflicted you with some kind of magic that trapped you down on the ground, unable to move, bones nearly cracking from colossal pressure. Frieren had taken one look at you, eyes hardening, and unleashed a flurry of attacks so mighty and so vicious the demon had died in minutes. There was no sign of the usually elegant and controlled Frieren, who would attempt to reverse the magic rather than decimate the demon. There was only Frieren the Slayer, her hair undone and snapping in the wind.

But that Frieren disappeared after the battle, when the village kids crowded around her in wonder, and the village chief pressed their most magical treasure into her hands. You had expected her to thank the village chief, savouring the reward she had sought for years, but she refused, making up some excuse to accept a less treasured reward instead, allowing the village to keep their prized possession but still feel like they’d thanked her. That empathy for others, once elusive, now natural. That change twisted your chest, made you proud, made you—

Ah.

You loved her.

You loved how she tried and how she changed, and how even with all these changes, she was still Frieren. The same pouty, powerful, shockingly gullible elven mage; and yet so different.

And somehow in amongst these changes, infatuation had evolved into love.

You loved Frieren.

 

The tavern was busy, the patrons celebrating yet another success by you and your party in subjugating a long terrorising demon general. Wirbel and Stark laughed boisterously over some stupid joke while Denken quietly nursed his drink in thoughtful silence. You and Frieren pored over the spoils of your victory—two tablets of Goddess Scriptures that the demon had stashed away in its lair. Her foot slid up and down your calf slowly.

That was another one of her recent changes.

Frieren had always been touchy with you—sleeping on you, gripping your hand as you tugged her along to where you needed to be, a tap on your shoulder for your attention. But in the past few months, the touches had become more and more frequent and more and more agonising.

Sleeping on you became fitting your bodies together like two puzzle pieces till you woke for the day. Gripping your hand while you tugged her along became her thumb caressing your palm, your wrist. A tap on your shoulder became a lazy trail of fingers across your shoulder blades.

And more.

Her hand would rest heavily on your stomach in those hazy moments just before sleep. Your legs would be so close together whenever sitting beside each other, not quite touching and yet somehow still touching. Her nose would tickle your ear when she whispered to you.

You wondered if she knew the effect these touches were having on you. You had sought Stark out more in these last few months than the entire months together before combined. At times you saw her looking at you, a twinkle of mischief in her eyes soon followed by some careless contact, and you thought she must.

Well, two could play that game.

You began to rest your hand on her thigh in those hazy moments before sleep, a fraction higher each time. You closed the gap when sitting beside each other, too aware of the sensations where your legs met. You angled just so to ensure your lips would graze her cheek when you whispered back to her.

Once, you thought you felt her mana spike, so fleeting and so quickly suppressed you couldn’t say for certain that you didn’t imagine it.

These touches became a game. Never acknowledged. But one you both played.

So, in the busy tavern, as Frieren’s foot continued its excruciating path up your calf, you put your hand on her thigh, the action hidden under the table, then slid it up in concert, under her skirt, hitching it up, sliding even further, further up—Frieren jerked and knocked her goblet over, spilling her beer all over Denken. He looked down at his soiled clothes and then up at her with morose eyes.

Frieren stood abruptly. “Fern, a word.”

A win for you.

Smug, you followed Frieren to your room, savouring her fluster, and the moment you stepped in, found yourself shoved up against the door, her lips crashing against yours.

This kiss was unlike any you’ve experienced with her so far.

Her desire tore into you with a savagery that left you breathless. This time, she was ravenous and there was no stopping her. Months of touches, caresses, strokes; the tension erupted with inevitable vengeance. In moments, your clothes were torn away and tossed to the floor and you tumbled backwards into bed, skin finally on skin, your body hers to take. You could hear nothing but your ragged breaths. Desperate. She scraped her teeth almost painfully against your neck, her hands rough on your breasts, then your ribs, then your stomach, and you bit down hard on your lips to not cry out from the pleasure.

You had the briefest thought that it wasn’t quite yet Aureole—

But she pinned you down and drew a line with her tongue from your throat to your navel and there was nothing in the world that could’ve stopped you from giving her anything she wanted at that very moment. Her fingers found you wet and ready; your hips bucked towards her face, bucked for her to release you from your prolonged suffering.

But then she paused—hands tightly gripping onto your thighs by her head, her warm breath making you tremble—to look at you.

Those eyes. Flat. Dark. Bloodlust in their depths. This was also Frieren the Slayer and she wanted you.

You willingly submitted.

 

After, you stared up at the ceiling. “So much for abstinence,” you said.

Frieren lay beside you, also staring at the ceiling. “My apologies. It won’t—”

“Don’t you dare say it won’t happen again!” You sat up angrily. “I’m sick of you losing your marbles every two years and doing something insane like that to upend my life.”

Frieren grimaced, suddenly looking small again. “Sorry—”

“Explain!”

“Hmmm, well,” Frieren said seriously, stroking her chin. “I believe I may be in the ‘infatuation’ stage. My mind is occupied frequently with thoughts of you and my ability to think rationally has been compromised by an unprecedented desire for physical contact with you. It’s a most curious phenomenon, I’ve never experienced lust such as this.”

You sighed, collapsing back into bed. “You sure know how to turn a lady on.”

“Ah, I’m sorry. It’s just that these feelings are so thoroughly novel to me that I’m not quite sure what to make of them. My last sexual engagement was satisfying but it didn’t feel as… hmmm.”

“Passionate?”

Frieren nodded. “Yes. Passionate could an appropriate word.”

You propped your head up on your fist. “So, what now? Until Aureole still?”

Panic creased Frieren’s face. “I fear I am in unknown waters, Fern.” She sat up and dragged her knees to her chin. “I do not want to hurt you. But I’ve also observed that most humans do not consider it fair to have sex with someone and not have those relations progress to a committed romantic relationship. We have not yet reached Aureole, but if it is your wish to determine our relations now then…”

You looked at her. At the worry swirling in her eyes, confusion and uncertainty warring with her affection for you and the want to please you. You marvelled at how she had changed from an elf who cared for nothing except magic to an elf who would spend all her time researching emotions so she could understand herself and others not just for herself, but also for you; how she had spent an eternity following logic and rules and conditions and now, almost impulsively preparing to renege on her own conditions if it would mean you weren’t hurt. How far she had come indeed.

But it is not only her, who has grown.

Gone was the Fern who thought she could plan and convince Frieren to be with her, who thought for a second that jealousy could win Frieren over. You now knew that true love was not forced nor needed to be fought for. You have seen love in the way Denken’s wife waited patiently for him to return and the way he then fought for decades to do so at the risk of death. You have seen love in the way Himmel left statues of himself all over the world so Frieren would never feel alone even if she never knew how he felt. You have seen love in the way Stark looked at you and never pushed for more because he knew what could never be.

And now, as Frieren watched you, her tumultuous emotions palpable, love staggered you.

She may not know yet what she wanted, but the evidence suggested she would know soon enough. You now knew the kind of love you wanted from her and would not settle for less if she was not ready.

So, you leaned forward to brush a light kiss on her lips. “No, Frieren-sama. Until Aureole we said, and until Aureole it will be.”

Frieren let out a sigh of relief. You fought the urge to roll your eyes. Sure, she may have changed but she could certainly still do more learning in tactfulness.

“Thank you, Fern. It seems I have underestimated you again,” she said. Then her eyes widened hopefully. “But perhaps we could do this again for, um, scientific purposes?”

“Don’t push your luck.”

 

Frieren pushed her luck exactly one year later.

You woke one night to her staring at you, that look in her eye, a question from the circling fingers on your hipbone. You nodded, and she fucked you till morning light.

Then two months after—she looked at you from across the library floor, and you paid her back for her earlier transgression up against the wall in the closet, her moans muffled in the palm of your hand.

Then only a month after that—after she yanked on your belt to save you from being crushed by a false wall that separated you two from Stark, all you could see in the heady rush of adrenaline was that look on her face and any self-control crumbled. You managed to pull on your scarf just in time to hide from Stark the hickeys she left stinging down your neck.

And four months after that—just when you were starting to lose all semblance of sanity and propose something ridiculous like a threesome with Methode and Stark just to release some of the frustration—those flat, green eyes caught yours and you all but tripped over in haste as she led you away from the party’s camp and took you under the starlit sky in the valley, surrounded by nothing but the whisper of wild grass.

“That was far too long of a wait, Frieren-sama,” you said after. 

She looked down at you, soft and content, and smiled. “I’m.” She shifted to kiss the underside of your jaw. “Sorry.” And your sternum. “Fern.” Then back to your mouth, and you shared a long, long kiss. When you broke apart, the stars shimmered in her eyes. “At least we’re nearly at Aureole”.

37 Years Since Himmel’s Passing

(7 Years Since Frieren’s Request)

The final two years flew by.

You fought.

You received rewards.

Stark grew famous.

So did you.

Frieren fell for a record seventy-one mimics (three had genuine treasure).

You loved her as always.

Stark said nothing about your neither-here-nor-there relationship with Frieren. He could never understand how grateful you were to him.

Aureole was close. All of you knew it.

It would be the end. All of you knew it.

 

But before Aureole, one last battle.

In the Demon King’s castle, a nameless great demon harboured high hopes of becoming the new Demon King. It put up a damn good fight. But lucky you were all damn good fighters. Even so, it required the combined effort of seven other first-class mages and as many friends as you made along the way to triumph at the end.

You were unconscious for five days and five nights after the fight.

When you finally awoke, at seemingly dawn, Frieren was by your bedside, your hand clasped tight in her hands. Her head was bowed, as though in prayer, and her silver hair glinted in the pink morning light filtering through the stained-glass windows.

“Frieren-sama,” you said, voice hoarse.

Her head whipped up. You were shocked at the dark circles that ringed her eyes. Then without warning, Frieren cried. Tears streamed down her face as sobs wracked her body.

“Frieren-sama…” You tugged her close, Frieren climbing into your bed to wrap her arms carefully around you.

For a long while, you held each other. “I thought I would lose you,” she explained quietly when she calmed. “I’ve never been so fearful of losing someone before.” 

“Frieren-sama, I’m afraid you’re never getting rid of me.”

Frieren half-laughed, half-sobbed and looked up at you, adoration plain on her face. But then her eyes darkened, and you saw that look. That bloodlust in her eyes, the kind you now know meant lust; that she wanted you, and wanted you bad.

“Really, Frieren-sama?” You winced. “I don’t think I’m in any condition for that now.”

“What?” Frieren frowned. “I don’t want that. I only want to hold you.”

You blinked, slightly nonplussed. Because the intensity in her eyes did not cease. It was the same look she’s given you for the past year, whenever she wanted you, and sometimes even when she couldn’t possibly have you—

Ah.   

And you knew. You just knew.

Whether she was ready to admit it yet or not, you knew Frieren had come to an informed decision.

 

Chapter 4: iv. apprehension

Notes:

this chap includes manga spoilers up until chap 133 including events and techniques.

At the northernmost end of the world—the Doorway to Aureole. Over a thousand feet tall and protected by layers and layers of magical barriers, the Doorway stretched into the sky like a pillar to heaven, the expansive deep blue ocean and cloudless sky at its back. A light wind fluttered your hair and the air smelt of salt. Seagulls squawked demandingly above the muted crash of waves.

“There’s a lot of magic here.” Frieren walked up to the door and put her hand on the surface. “Let me analyse it.” Light enveloped her.

Stark glanced sideways at you. “Heaven, huh?”

“Yeah,” you looked at the Doorway apprehensively. “If it really is heaven—”

You whirled around at the same time Stark leapt in front of you, his battle axe ready while your staff hummed in anticipation—

Just an old lady. Tottering towards you on a knobbly walking stick, grey hair wrapped in a bun and a thick woolly shawl over her shoulders.

“Who are you?” Frieren asked, already at your side, staff in hand.

The lady smiled warmly. “I’m Tor, gatekeeper of Aureole. I’ve been expecting you, Mage Frieren.”

 

Tor brought you to her abode, a short walk away in Anfang—a small village hidden strategically from the elements and monsters amongst the large jagged boulders that populated the windswept plateau. Inside her cabin, you warmed yourselves by the fire as she explained that she was the sixteenth in a line of Aureole gatekeepers. 

“Before she passed, Flamme wrote to us and declared that you would be the next to enter Aureole. No one else would achieve such a feat.”

“Well, she also did leave me the only notes on Aureole,” Frieren said dryly.

Tor smiled. “I think she believed you alone would have the motivation and strength to do so.”

“Uh-huh.”

“She also said that you would then personally spearhead future analyses on the Doorway and souls.”

“Of course she also said that.” Frieren let out an annoyed huff. “It’s just like her to spout such idealistic nonsense.” You kicked her under the table.

“Pardon my old ears—what did you say?” The lady leaned forward.

“I said she always had high expectations of me,” Frieren clarified.

Tor chuckled. “She also mentioned you would be… surly about her predictions, but they would come true.”

You kicked Frieren again before any childish retort left her mouth, and asked, “Tor-sama, how do we get into Aureole?”

“First, you must know that only one of you can go in.”

“Why?”

“It’s the way it is. Only one person gets to go in. No others can follow behind no matter how hard they try. And when that one person comes out, the barriers reset and have to be broken again.”

“Right.”

“Second, being in Aureole consumes a life-threatening amount of mana. One cannot remain in there for long. Only the greatest of mages have been successful in entering and staying in Aureole for any period of time.”

They all looked at Frieren. She nodded. “Alright. So how do we get in?”

“With this.” Tor drew a bronze key out of her pocket.

“Seems simple enough?” Stark said, slightly incredulous.

“Indeed. But the key can only be used after the hundreds of magical barriers protecting the door are broken. It took Flamme a year to do that.”

 

One more year.

Although you thought Frieren had come to an informed decision about how she felt about you, she hadn’t said anything, and you didn’t push, thinking that conversation would come after Aureole. But now… one more year?

“What’s on your mind, Fern?” Frieren asked, pausing in her reading to stare at you from her bed.

You hadn’t realised that you’d bunched your blanket up in your fists, tossing and turning while you contemplated in bed. You sat up. “I… One more year seems like a long time.”

“Based on my cursory analysis, I think I can break the barriers in less than one.”

You thought about the looks she had been giving you, the very look that she was giving you now. You thought you knew what they meant, but now you’re not so sure. “Well… do you think we should still wait until after Aureole to talk about—” you gestured between you and her “—this?”

Frieren blinked. She thought for a while, then nodded. “Yes. I need this time.” She returned to her book.

Nerves bubbled in your stomach. “Because you want to see Himmel first?”

“Fern…” Frieren began cautiously, “we said until Aureole. We’re so close. One journey has to end for another to begin.”

“Right.” The bubbling became violent. “I see.” You lay back down and turned your back on her, pulling the blankets up to your shoulders.

“Fern…”

“Goodnight, Frieren-sama.”

You closed your eyes. But sleep would be far from reach that night.

---

Being at the very top of Ende a distance behind the Demon King’s castle, Anfang did not see many demons—they preferred to expand their territory south where there were more humans to devour. But this also meant that not many adventurers made it up to Anfang, allowing monsters to proliferate and harass the village unchecked.

From dawn to dusk, while Frieren sat at the Doorway breaking the magical barriers, you and Stark hacked your way through the multitude of monsters with long-practised teamwork.

Stark started to become known as the Hero of the Far North for these subjugations, especially after all your other exploits through the Northern Continent. In his free time, he took to completing manual tasks around the village and was frequently surrounded by admirers and children alike demanding to hear all his stories.

When not following Stark around, the villagers also began to troop out to the Doorway to watch Frieren work. They’d all heard of Frieren the Slayer who killed the Demon King, subdued the Demon King Wannabe, and now, would also conquer Aureole’s Doorway and visit Heaven. The vicinity of the Doorway became busy—people would eat and chat, children would play games a safe distance from Frieren, and the elderly sat on makeshift chairs huddled in blankets to reminisce on the few other mages who managed to enter Aureole.

As for you, you did what you could anywhere you were needed, but as the months passed, apprehension started to settle heavily on your shoulders.

For the first prolonged period since you started travelling with Frieren, she was not constantly at your side. She left the Doorway only to eat or sleep, trudging there in the morning immediately after breakfast, dragging her feet; then collapsing in bed after dinner to sleep without much conversation. Dark circles started to ring her eyes, and you saw her grow more and more fatigued, mentally and physically.

You hadn’t realised how much time you spent wrangling her to where you needed to be or organising your party’s continued adventure. Without her constant presence, you felt strangely empty and purposeless. Unbalanced. These discomfiting feelings opened the way for other more unsettling feelings to sneak into your mind, feelings that reared their ugly heads that first night you arrived in Anfang—

Doubt, whether she had feelings for you.

Worry, that she may feel different about you after she saw Himmel again.

Fear, that somehow this might be the end.

But most of all, you missed her.

The intimacy that you’d cultivated over the last years seemed to vanish overnight in single-minded pursuit of her task. She reached for you only once in this time, and it was rushed and frantic, all bruising kisses and grunts and nails that dug in deep. Afterwards, you had clung to her, wishing, hoping, pleading for her to say something, anything. But she had sunk back to slumber, leaving you alone in the darkness. 

 

One morning, while you were hard at work retiling the roof of a shoe shop, Methode landed lightly beside you. “Oh darling,” she sighed dramatically. “You look awfully sad.”

You stared at her. “Why are you here?”

“Not even a hello?” She tsk-ed, ducking behind your wind barrier. “I’m here to see you, of course!”

Your eyes narrowed suspiciously. “Don’t you have missions to do?”

“Seeing as your party eradicated most of the remaining demon population, Serie gave us some time off.” She knelt to inspect the carved stone at your feet—you had imbued it with magic to shield anyone within a two-metre radius from the wind. “How nifty! And that mallet you’re using… magic too?”

“It knocks every nail in perfectly.”

“Wonderful! And seeing as the spell’s imbued in the objects themselves, anyone can use it?”

“Yeah. The villagers don’t get much support from outsiders, I wanted to ease their burdens.” You picked up another tile to set it in place.

“Indeed, I heard you’ve been busy. Brot the baker was waxing on about how you created a cooling fan for his kitchen and gave the fruit seller some kind of spray bottle that ensured her fruit remained fresh for a week longer than they ordinarily would! What a little domestic genius you are!”

“Are you making fun of me?” You studied her expression, unsure of yourself. Seeing the villagers’ appreciation at your creation of useful everyday items had been the only thing that alleviated some of the uneasiness you had been feeling.

“Not at all, darling. Magic should be for more than just battles,” Methode replied sincerely. “And besides, it’s a fantastic use of time in the absence of your lover, hmm? I heard she spends all her time at the doorway. Could that be why you look like…” She waved at your face. “That?”

You did not deign to reply, slamming the mallet so hard it smashed through the tile.

“I see,” Methode said. “Fern.” She crouched by you, tilting your head to face her. “Here’s another tip—have a little faith. I gave you some advice a long time ago that you took to heart and look at how far it’s taken you.”

“I did not take your advice to heart.” You thought for a moment. “For the most part.”

“Uh-huh. And yet here you are, so far on in your relationship with Frieren.”

“That’s debatable,” you said sullenly.

“Like I said, have a little faith.”

“I do have faith in Frieren-sama,” you said automatically even though it felt like a lie. “She’s just… taking her sweet time.”

“You know… time’s a funny thing. Who truly knows what she’s doing with that time?”

You frowned. “She’s breaking the barriers on the Doorway…?”

“Uh-huh. Which reminds me, I must go.”

“Huh? Where?”

“Where I’m needed, of course,” she replied, walking to the edge of the roof. “And Fern, who said anything about having faith in Frieren?” Then she was gone, leaving you once again to ponder her words.

---

Where Methode was needed turned out to be the Doorway.

According to Frieren, the Doorway was protected by about three hundred and forty barriers. In six months, she had already broken three-fifths of them, at a much quicker rate than anyone expected. Methode sat at Frieren’s side for a few weeks and broke another forty barriers. You didn’t even have it in you to be surprised, she always seemed to be a few steps ahead somehow.

With Methode’s help, Frieren made expedient progress with the remainder. And just after nine months, all in the vicinity watched as Frieren stood suddenly, levitating from the ground to place her hand high up on the Doorway.

The last barrier shattered with a thunderous crack. An enormous gust of wind radiated outwards from the Doorway and knocked all spectators to the ground.

Frieren smiled.

Aureole awaited.

 

Frieren had fallen asleep immediately after, weary to her bones. She had to recuperate before she attempted to enter Aureole, especially if she wanted to stay in there for as long as possible. You changed her into her nightclothes then sat on the bed with her head on your lap for a long while, stroking her cheek with your thumb. Thinking. Hoping.

A knock at the door.

Stark. He looked at Frieren in your lap. Then back up at you. “Can we talk?”

“Sure.”

You knew this talk was long overdue. You had sought each other out less and less as Frieren changed. But neither of you had brought yourself to end it with finality, especially when the previous months allowed lingering hope and doubt to fester.

He led you out of the village and up the hill overlooking the Doorway. The sun was beginning to set, casting the sky in pink and orange hues. You sat at the top to take in the view.

“Aureole tomorrow, huh?”

“Maybe. Frieren-sama might need a few more days to recuperate.”

Stark gazed into the distance. The doorway to Aureole glowed, a behemoth slicing the landscape in two.

“It’s been a good ten years.”

“It has.” You agreed, wistful. “Everything we’ve done together I treasure, Stark.” You faced him. “All of it.”

He didn’t look away, and you saw sadness steal into his face. “But it’s the end, isn’t it? A good warrior knows when to run away.”

You let out a long breath. “I’m afraid so. You deserve someone who will love you fully. The way you’re supposed to be loved.”

“At the start, I foolishly thought that you would come round,” he confessed. “That Frieren would be too… set in her ways. But she’s proven us all wrong. I see the way she looks at you and the way you look at her, and I think that I would very much like that for myself.”

Tears gathered in your eyes. “I would like that for you too. I am sorry I wasn’t brave enough to end this sooner. I selfishly took comfort from you when I couldn’t get it from her.”

“And I let you,” he said, wrapping an arm around you as you began to cry. “I do not regret a single thing, Fern. I came on this journey to have fun and ridiculous adventures so that I could tell my master all about them. And you were the most fun and ridiculous one of them all.”

You elbowed him in the ribs. “What? You’re going to tell Eisen-sama that we slept together?”

“Of course! You’re going to be known as one of the finest mages the world has ever seen. How many people can say they’ve slept with Fern the Legendary Mage?”

“Don’t you dare!”

Stark burst into laughter. “Yeah, yeah, I’m just teasing.” He grew sombre. “In all honesty, I regret nothing. Thank you for the adventure, Fern.”

“I thank you too, Stark-sama, truly. And I love you, in a different but no less important way.”

“Yeah, alright,” he replied, voice thick. “Friends forever?”

“Friends, forever.” You brushed a kiss on his cheek.

Together, you watched the sun set.

---

The plateau was crowded with what seemed like the entire village of Anfang. All gathered in anticipation to watch history be made again after a thousand years.

Frieren stood at the doorway, the bronze key in her hand. She looked at you at her side, wide emerald eyes conveying everything and nothing at the same time. “Please wait for me, Fern,” she said, quiet as a whisper.

You nodded.

She squeezed your hand. Then she put the key in the lock and turned it.

White light instantly engulfed her, so blinding all squeezed their eyes shut. When you opened them, she was gone.

 

You waited.

You sat in front of the doorway and waited.

One day passed. Two.

Tor’s walking stick dug into the ground beside you. She stared at the doorway. “Time passes differently in Aureole. A day here may be one second in there, or an eternity.”

You said nothing.

The third day passed. Then the fourth.

The villagers started to whisper, keeping vigil from behind you. Some brought you food, some tried to reassure. Your master will return, they said. We have no doubt.

But inside, you had doubt. She had asked you to wait for her, but it had been a long time since she saw Himmel, the last time being the illusion years ago. She had grown significantly since then. You thought she might love you, but she had never actually said so, had she? What if she realised she loved Himmel instead? What if she loved him enough to stay in Aureole?

A reassuring pat on your head. Methode. She sat on your left.

A gentle hand on your shoulder. Stark. He settled on your right.

Methode took your hand and you clutched hers tight. Stark shifted for you to lay your head on his shoulder.

“She’ll be back,” Methode said.

“She won’t leave us,” Stark agreed.

 

On the fifth day, Frieren returned.

Her mana was nearly extinguished. Her face was haggard, her feet dragged. With the last of her strength, she took one step towards you, and another, then in front of all who’d gathered, waiting and anxious, she drew you to her, and kissed you long and deep.

Then she collapsed into your arms. Unconscious.

---

Two nights after Aureole, you woke suddenly.

Frieren lay by your side, awake and watching you sleep.

“You’re awake,” you gasped, sitting up straight. “Are you alright? Would you like some food or water?”

Frieren shook her head. “I’m alright for now. Thank you for waiting for me.”

“What happened?”

“I want to show you.” She held out her hand.

“Are you sure?” Memories were invasive and private.

“Yes,” Frieren said firmly.

You grasped her hand and sunk into her memories.

---

Frieren opened her eyes.

She was in the elven village where she was born. Elves milled about, some greeting her with a nod. The scene was dream-like in quality; everything looked grainy yet vibrant at once, sounds fading in and out.

A distance away, she saw her parents. Her heart thudded. They looked so young; she barely recognised them.

She took a step towards them, but didn’t seem to take a step at all. Everything blurred. Her mana drained at a concerning rate.

“I knew you would come,” came a familiar voice.

She turned around and found herself in a field of wildflowers.

Her throat tightened.

Flamme stood tall and powerful by her gravestone, the valley behind her stretching out yonder. Her fiery red hair blew in the wind, ruby earrings dangling free.

“You look young,” Frieren managed after a while.

Flamme’s familiar bell of laughter. “And you have learnt some tact at last.”

Carried by a tumultuous swell of emotions, she fell into Flamme’s embrace, teardrops smudging her tunic.

Memories flashed—Burying her face in Flamme’s hair as she brought her away from her destroyed village. Flamme instructing, guiding, teaching, and fighting her. A pat on her arm, as Flamme tucked her into bed. Sitting side by side with Flamme saying nothing while they read deep into the night. Seeing Flamme at her desk and noticing the first lines of age on her forehead. Finding Flamme in her bed, eyes closed peacefully.

“I slew the demon king,” she mumbled into Flamme’s chest. “Just like you wished.”

A grateful hand on her head. “I never had any doubt, Frieren.” Flamme pulled back and wiped the tears from her cheeks. “What I did come to fear though, with all this time here”— her voice wavered slightly— “was that despite all the great acts you would do in your life, you would not live a life.”

“You instructed me to keep a low profile until I defeated the Demon King.”

“I said to live modestly. To remain unknown so the Demon King would not suspect how strong you were until you defeated him. Not to isolate yourself from others for centuries.”

She wore isolation like a second skin.

She trained, ate, read, and foraged in isolation. Slipping out of sight of other humans. A snowman with Flamme’s ruby necklace her only company. Watching a mother teach her daughter about poisonous berries from behind the bushes, an unfamiliar twist in her chest. Avoiding adventurers who searched for her until the wrong one, and then hiding for a long time more until the right one.

“Oh. I might have interpreted your instructions too literally,” she said. “Truthfully, it was easier that way. My first attempt to defeat the Demon King did not end well.” Frieren recalled the depressing weight of her arm, transmuted into gold for a century. “I lost my entire party and confidence to Macht. I had already disappointed you and wasted my life. I didn’t want another party to lose their lives because of my ineptitude.”

“Frieren, it was your first attempt. A defeat was necessary to teach you things and pave the way for your eventual success. With the right party.”

She nodded. “Himmel. He gave me the courage to try again.”

“That he did.” Flamme smiled. “And he, along with Eisen and Heiter, also taught you the value of feelings and relationships. Something you struggled with, shall we say?”

Frieren stared regretfully at Flamme. “You meant a lot to me, Flamme. Even if I didn’t say it.”

“You didn’t need to say it. I knew,” Flamme said smugly. “It is nice to hear you say it though.”

She snorted. “That’s why you left me your notes, isn’t it? You wanted to hear me say it.”

Flamme laughed. “While that may have been partly why, it wasn’t only for me. I knew you would regret not saying something to someone like him.” Flamme nodded at someone over her shoulder and she turned to see—

Himmel.

In the prime of his life—tall, handsome, gorgeous blue hair and hero’s cape fluttering in the breeze.

She glanced back. Flamme was gone.

She was now in a town in the Raad Region. Himmel stood in the courtyard in front of the bell tower. He smiled, that confident Himmel smile, and she stumbled towards him in a daze.

The bell tolled. A sharp pain in her side; her mana was half depleted.

“Himmel,” she breathed out, then reached up to touch his face, squeeze his smooth cheeks.

“Hey now, stop that,” he chuckled, pushing her probing hands away. “I hoped I would see you again, Frieren.”

Himmel’s outstretched hand, an invitation to an adventure of a lifetime. His easy smile when gesturing for her to join them in conversation. The adoration in his eyes at her silly spells. Him kneeling in this very courtyard, to place the mirrored lotus ring on her finger; a shadow in his eyes at her agreeable response and the familiar feeling that she’d missed something again.

She breathed out shakily. “I’m sorry, Himmel. I couldn’t say this in the illusion, but I’m sorry I never tried to get to know you. I must’ve seemed so cold to you.”

“Not in the slightest, Frieren.” Himmel shook his head, his gentle smile so reassuring. “I did think that for a moment when we first met, when I was a lost boy and you had no words of encouragement. But that you cared enough to point in the right direction, and then conjure a field of flowers whether on a whim or because you wanted to reassure me? I knew then, Frieren, that you cared more deeply than you knew or could express. I knew then, that one day you would be capable of doing so. You just needed time… and the right people.”

“Like you.”

“Like me,” he agreed. “And Heiter and Eisen. But also Stark and Sein and”—his voice softened—“Fern.”

She blinked. “How do you know about them?”

“Frieren, unlike elves, people die all the time. You’ve visited a lot of places with your new party on your journey here and well… people like to gossip.”

“Oh.” She felt her ears grow hot.

“And Fern was the final piece in the puzzle of your heart, wasn’t she?” Heiter said, the priest suddenly at her side. Frieren gasped in surprise and realised they were now sitting by the stream near Heiter’s house.

“Heiter!”

“Frieren.” Heiter smiled, ruffling her hair with one hand, the other clutching a jug of beer. “I expected Fern would change you, but I didn’t expect that change to be so profound.”

Frieren stared at the bubbles gurgling in the stream, slightly embarrassed. “Well… neither did I.”

The initial uncertainty at her role in the life of this girl she found herself with—a girl who was not-quite a child, yet not-quite an adult. She was more knowledgeable in a lot of ways, yet was more ignorant in many other ways. She trained Fern in magical skills, but Fern drove the schedule and managed the finances. She cared for Fern, and was cared for in return. Their relationship soon became a complex yet easy, undefinable mutual dependence that simply worked.

Then one night, after nearly a decade—Fern’s hands wandering slowly up her thighs; the lightning that was her lips on hers. And the most inexplicable of all—she wanted to kiss her back.

“In my defence!” Frieren said, hearing some panic in her voice. “She was eighteen before anything happened, and even then, she was the one who initiated things. Not me!”

Himmel and Heiter shared a look and burst out laughing. Himmel laughed so hard he started wheezing, nearly toppling over into the stream.

She stared at them blankly.

“Of course she had to make the move, Frieren,” Heiter chuckled. “If she waited for you, it might have taken her entire life.” His eyes flicked to Himmel briefly with a look she now recognised as sympathy. “I bet you still made her wait though, didn’t you?”

“Elves do not need to make rash decisions. Especially with infinite time to ruminate on bad ones. What I knew with any certainty was that I did not want to hurt her. So I needed time to consider and understand what I felt for her.”

“And…?” Himmel asked. “Do you have feelings for her?”

She considered, exhaustively. Pages after pages of notes in her journal. Observations on how couples interacted with each other. Question marks on how people can act one way but think another. Interviews with others on what love meant to them. But in the end, her decision was forced by the feelings that brewed from a gentle breeze into a raging storm far beyond any semblance of sense and control.

The first prickling of discomfort in the Rufen Region, when Fern returned to their bedroom smelling like Methode.

Pride, that warmed her from the tips of her ears to her toes when Fern reconfigured their collected spells to help others.

Perplexing shivers down her back when Fern annihilated a nameless demon with a dangerous look on her face. Then having to duck her head to hide the equally perplexing flush on her face when Fern turned that dangerous look her way.

The security and comfort whenever in Fern’s arms.

The piercing stab in her chest when she saw Fern kiss Stark, and all the times after that if Fern did not return to their room.

The bizarre compulsive urge to be the cause of Fern’s smiles and perky hands, even it meant cooking and digging into her savings.

And most of all—the insatiable desire to touch Fern, when finally unleashed, felt utterly discombobulating.

The conclusion was undeniable. But it was fraught.

“I certainly have feelings for her,” Frieren replied. “Too many, in my opinion.”

“Have you told her?” Himmel asked.

“I… I’m afraid,” she admitted aloud for the first time.

“Of?”

“Many things.”

“To love is to be vulnerable, Frieren,” Heiter said gently.

“And doing it anyway, even if it is scary and sometimes painful,” Himmel said, equally gently. “That’s the beauty of love.”

Frieren looked at them, grateful. She wondered how many times in their journey they’d worked together to guide her through her thoughts and feelings in such a way. How on some subconscious level, she thought and hoped this might happen again in Aureole. Himmel had always taken the time to explain his reasoning and feelings and encouraged her to explore hers and try new things with other people even when she didn’t want to. He has done so much for her and changed her so fundamentally because he loved her and wanted the best for her, even if loving her was scary and sometimes painful.

“Thank you for teaching me about love, Himmel,” she said. “I’m sorry I couldn’t return your feelings.”

He shrugged a shoulder. “An unstoppable force could never move an immovable object unless it was ready and wanted to be moved.”

Learning in to kiss Himmel and recognising with astonishing clarity that she has never once felt the same blindsiding storm of feelings she felt for Fern for him or anyone else in her long, long life.

“Frieren,” Himmel continued, “even if not me… that you have come to this point where you can acknowledge your feelings for someone? That’s all I’ve ever wanted. Don’t lose this opportunity.”

She nodded, throat tight.

“Good.” He smiled. “But how you resisted my good looks is indeed a shocker.” He flipped his hair, turning his face to the sun.

“… And the moment is over.” She sighed.

“And not a moment too soon,” Heiter said, nodding knowingly at her. “You must go back now, Frieren.”

Her mana was nearly depleted. She had been drawing out every last second to say what she needed and address her regrets. Now that she had, all she wanted was to return to Fern.

“Alright. Thank you, both of you, for everything but most importantly, for helping me see the value of relationships.”

“Of course,” Himmel bowed his head and put his hand over his heart. “It was a privilege to be such an important part of your monumental existence, Frieren.”

“Whatever he said,” Heiter said, raising his jug. “Tell Fern I miss her!”

“And Eisen!” Himmel added.

“I will. See you when I die.” She raised her hand to wave, but found she did not have the strength—

Heiter’s booming laugh was the last thing she heard.

---

You opened your eyes.

Back in your body, you felt the clamminess of Frieren’s palm, heard the oppressive silence of the night, and saw her dark eyes boring into yours. The weight of her memories, thoughts, and perceptions that she revealed pressed heavily on you.

This whole time, you thought she needed time to understand her feelings for Himmel. But you were wrong. She needed time to understand her feelings for you. That loving you would come with—

Worries.

The disappointment on Fern’s face when she misread a situation or parsed Fern’s feelings inaccurately. Watching other couples surprise each other with romantic gestures and being unsure what Fern would like. Wondering if Stark would make a better relationship partner for Fern than her, being a moral and powerful human who would age at the same rate as her and make decisions in human and not elf time.

Fear.

Frieren standing by Flamme and Himmel’s graves, unpleasant knots inside her.

An even greater bone-crushing devastation at the thought of standing by Fern’s grave.

She has already lost a great many things in her life.

“I love you, Fern,” Frieren said, very softly. “It has taken me a long while to understand love and what that entails. But I have come to the conclusion that I love you too much to be held back any longer. Be with me, please, for as long as you wish.”

You held her apprehensive eyes for a long time.

And then, carefully, deliberately, you kissed her. You kissed her knowing just how much she has worked to be where she is now and the responsibility she is entrusting to you.

And she kissed you back fully, unguardedly, ready to be vulnerable and in your mercy for now and whatever’s to come.

As you undressed her with trembling hands, covering her nipple with your mouth, you thought about how lonely she has been in her life and how you would never have her feel like that again for a single second that you were alive. And as you skimmed feather-light kisses across her skin, you hoped she knew that you recognised the challenge of being with an elf and welcomed it with open arms.

When she peeled off your nightclothes so she could feel you and all of you, she did it understanding that you would be patient and forgiving, that you acknowledged her worries and fears and would love her all the more for it. And when you held her close and entered her with your fingers and coaxed her to the peak, you were overcome by how much she was willing to risk her heart and embark on a fraught new journey because she simply couldn’t be without you any longer. 

The acceptance of love was a double-edged sword for you both—there would be so much to live for and to experience together but there would also be the most unspeakable grief that would eventually arrive to ruin. But even so, at that moment, as your bodies melded together and your sighs rose into the still of the night, you knew with every fibre of your being that you would love each other as long as you were able to, and that would just have to do for now.

 

Notes:

struggled more than i expected with this chap trying to figure out what aureole would be like, what i felt himmel & frieren's reunion would be like integrating both canon and this fic, and also progressing the love story between frieren and fern. but here we are, phew!

feel free to let me know what you think or share some of your own headcanons of these aspects!

Chapter 5: v. love

The journey of the rest of your life goes like this:

39 Years Since Himmel’s Passing

(3 Days After Aureole)

You woke to the familiar, comforting weight of a body splayed over your chest.

Frieren looked rested for the first time in months, a healthy colour back in her cheeks. You threaded your fingers through her hair, relishing the feel of being close to her again, the heaviness that had shrouded you in recent months well and truly dissipated. Her eyes blinked open sleepily to meet yours.

You both smiled.

“Good morning,” you said.

“Good morning, Fern.” She shifted to lie beside you, turning your head to capture a lazy kiss. “You know…” she said when you broke apart. “You didn’t say whether you loved me too.”

You raised a brow. “Need that be said?”

Frieren pouted. “It’s always best to receive confirmation.”

“Oh?” Your fingers trailed down her spine. “Was what we did last night not confirmation enough?” Cupping her bottom, you pulled her flush against you.

“While one could argue that actions speak louder than words—” Frieren gasped sharply as your tongue found the soft spot underneath her ear “—I would prefer if, oh…” She moaned as you moved south, eager to feed the craving for you that you felt in her memories.

“Uh-huh.”

“Fern…” Frieren tried again, panting far too heavily for you take her seriously, your need to see her undone and quivering now white-hot and superceding any ability for rational conversation. So you rolled on top of her, silencing her with your mouth and showed her in no uncertain terms how actions could sometimes speak louder than words.

 

After, you lay side by side, catching your breath.

“Frieren-sama—”

“I’d prefer if you dropped the honorific, Fern, when we’re in bed at least.” Frieren’s cheeks pinked. “I feel somewhat substandard in these particular set of skills compared to you.”

“Really? I wouldn’t have guessed. I thought you’ve had sexual relations with others before?”

“Well… I might have exaggerated slightly. I’ve had precisely two sexual engagements—the first born of curiosity and the latter born out of necessity after centuries since the first.”

You winced at the thought of a centuries-long dry spell. “Alright then, Frieren,” you said, testing the casual address in your mouth. She blushed deeper, her ears twitching, and you prayed for the strength to be able to have a serious conversation before you lost it and made love to her again. “I love you,” you said emphatically, twining your fingers with hers. “I have loved you for a long time and I will continue to love you for a long time more. And yes, I will be with you, for as long as I am able, and as long as you’ll have me too.”

Frieren smiled. “I’ll accept that. I love you, Fern.”

“Good.” You nudged her nose with yours, wondering if there would be time for another round. But long-ingrained responsibility took over and you pulled back reluctantly, knowing that Frieren needed to eat and that everyone would want to see her. You pressed another kiss to her forehead and got out of bed.

“What would you like to do, Fern?” Frieren asked, with no similar urgency in the slightest.

“I would like you to eat and drink.”

“No. I meant after this. We’ve been to Aureole and I’ve completed Eisen’s request.”

“What would you like to do next?”

Frieren shook her head. “No. I would like to follow you, for a change. I will still train and teach you, but my only destination now is wherever you are.”

You opened and shut your mouth, unable to speak for the lump in your throat.

Frieren waited with a small smile.

Eventually, “I’m not sure either,” you said. “I just want to be with you.”

“You can consider it for the next while, we are in no rush anywhere.” She paused to think. “But perhaps grimoires could feature in your next destination?”

You snorted.

“But wherever you want to go!” She quickly added in a panicked tone. “Sorry, Fern.” Her face fell. “I’m still learning how to be a good lover. Please be patient with me.”

You sighed. You’d only just buttoned your dress and Stark and Methode were probably waiting outside with breakfast… But nothing else mattered anymore in that moment but Frieren and how painfully adorable she was. Everything else would have to wait.

---

You stayed in Anfang for another month.

Frieren needed the time to convalesce and everyone wanted to hear her account of Aureole. Day in and day out, she was surrounded by enraptured villagers clamouring for her attention.

Stark and Methode left soon after she returned.

He had expressed his wish to leave one night, and Methode offered to accompany him through the Northern Plateau as a first-class mage. While you remained silent, Frieren studied him for a long while and then without fanfare, accepted his resignation and rose on her tiptoes to embrace him tightly.

I am so proud of you, Stark, she had said, Thank you for everything you have done.

He hugged her back, tears flowing freely. It hurt you more than you expected to see the back of him (and Methode, even if you would never tell her that). But Frieren had squeezed your hand comfortingly as they left and you knew that this was always what had to happen.

On the day you and Frieren left Anfang, the villagers unveiled a statue of you and Stark right in front of the town hall.

For subjugating the monsters, they had declared, but also for improving our lives in more ways than can be counted.

You stared at the likeness of yourself—mouth set in a firm line; your staff clutched in one hand, a mallet raised in the other—and understood then what your next journey would be.

47 Years Since Himmel’s Passing

(8 years After Aureole)

The journey back to the Central Lands was the same and yet so different.

You completed subjugation missions from Serie and requests from villages and towns.

You killed some monsters, even less demons, and explored many dungeons.

Frieren fell prey to three hundred and sixty five mimics. Only ten yielded any treasure.

It was still worth it.

But in every place of civilisation, no matter how big or small, you took the time to enquire about their difficulties. Whenever possible, you found practical ways to alleviate their burdens—cooling fans in kitchens, charms to repel all pests, pillowcases that remained cool in summer and warm in winter, a lamp that lit up whenever it detected motion. Frieren took to these new quests with gusto, making the most of all the spells she’d collected; you both spent many hours poring over grimoires and breaking down the principles behind spells to redesign them for people’s needs.

And season after season, Frieren loved you. Frieren loved you enough for a lifetime of good memories.

She brought you to unimaginable experiences—you saw long-forgotten historic stone murals hidden in dungeons, smelt the scents of rare flowers and fruits, feasted on decadent desserts, and heard the gentle chimes of a forest of trees with crystals as leaves. Underneath the dancing Northern Lights, she told you about her village and taught you an elvish lullaby sung when waiting for companions to return home from long journeys. In towns, she asked bakers for their recipes of breads you loved and shopped for gifts she thought you might like with the same zealousness she displayed when hunting down grimoires. She tried her hardest to wake earlier than noon and made decisions as much as possible in a reasonable amount of time.

In return, you loved her back. You loved her enough to make up for centuries of loneliness.

In every experience, you lived and shared with her; hand in hand, together. Underneath the dancing Northern Lights, you listened to her stories and learnt the lullaby by heart. In towns, you asked around for magic shop locations and sought out rumours of rare magical items. You spent excessive amounts of time in dungeons with her, patiently popping her out of every single mimic, and generously allowed her to take five items (instead of three) when you left. Each night you pressed her close and told her how much you loved her so that she would always know, even when you were no longer around one day.

And although Frieren may have once felt substandard in a particular set of skills, it was not long before she caught up with the same tenacity she exercised with learning magic and you soon found yourself embroiled in war of attrition. While you credited yourself with a healthy level of stamina and fitness for your age, Frieren was a thousand year old being with a vast knowledge of spells—the day she revealed the spell that prevented tongues from getting tired was quite the day—who has gone most of her life ignoring the pleasures of the flesh. But not anymore. She found every opportunity to make the most of what she has missed and you found yourself conquered in all the ways and places and then some.

After one especially vigorous round on a picnic mat under an old, humogous tree, you lay flat on your back, thoroughly spent and sweaty, watching a naked Frieren with wary eyes as she crawled to you, dangerous look on her face.

“Please,” you begged. “A respite!”

The words did not penetrate her lust-filled haze, and she planted kisses on the inside of your thigh, agonisingly working her way up slowly, and you had to shove her away for your sanity.

“Fine,” she acquiesced, flopping down beside you instead.

Relieved, you shifted your eyes to the unique tree above you—the thick trunk in the middle was easily ten metres wide, the broad canopy stretched out far enough to shelter dozens of people; a multitude of aerial roots descended from its branches to spear the ground. Frieren had insisted on bringing you to this tree, and you were just about to appreciate its majesty before it became clear she had other things on her mind.

“It’s a Banyan tree,” Frieren explained. “These descending roots will eventually take root in the soil and become trunks themselves. Due to their self-propagating nature, Banyan trees are considered immortal and are also sacred in Elven societies. For elves who were inclined to be married, their ceremonies often happened under Banyan trees.”

“Oh, wow.” You stared at the tree in awe, considering—

“So, Fern, will you marry me?”

Your head snapped to Frieren. She was holding a ring in her hand, her wide eyes hopeful.

You were not often speechless. But the proposal was so out of the blue, and so terribly romantic in execution and location that words failed you.

She seemed to understand, raising the ring so you could see it better. “Two intertwined strands of Banyan tree roots, enchanted so they never decay. A symbol of eternal love.”

“Yes,” you breathed out. “Yes! I will marry you, you insufferably unpredictable elf.”

Frieren beamed. “Excellent.” She slipped the ring onto your finger. “I thought you would.”

“Of course. Wait, I—”

“Here.” She produced another ring from her briefcase and handed it to you. “I snuck out here last night to make them.”

You put the ring on her finger, and she smiled, and you smiled, and you couldn’t believe that this was how she chose to propose and get married all at once (naked no less), but then it was also so like Frieren in its simplicity and straightforwardness.

“I love you, Fern.”

“I love you, Frieren.”

And with the immortal Banyan tree as your witness, you enthusiastically consummated your marriage.

---

Serie stared at the ring on your finger.

You were in the Continental Magical Association’s conservatory in Äußerst, the gentle gurgle of fountains in the background. Serie had summoned you with no explanation not long after your marriage to Frieren.

“How foolish,” Serie muttered.

“Pardon?”

Sense coughed pointedly. She stood by the door, watching Serie with a long-suffering expression.

Serie pointed at the ring. “Your life is too short for that—” She paused when Sense’s hair stuffed a piece of paper aggressively into her hands. You thought you spied “focus, please!” scribbled on it.

Serie glared at Sense and the note distegrated. “Fern,” she continued as though she hadn’t just disparaged your marriage. “I would like you to take a lecturer position at the Academy of Magic, teaching mages the Art of Magic Principles.”

You blinked. “Eh?”

“I’ve been informed—” her eyes slid to Sense, who was still staring pointedly at her “—that you have continued to further bastardise humanity’s relationship with magic by imbuing everyday items with practical spells. While I absolutely despise this development, because magic is a tool for killing and not for whatever —” Sense coughed loudly again and Serie sighed. “In any case, the CMA and the King have received an extraordinary increase in donations, praises, and entreaties of late in apparent appreciation of your items. Thus, it was decided, certainly not by me, that your expertise be taught to all mages to further humanity’s progress.”

“Oh.”

“You will be paid well. And I will gift you another spell,” she declared graciously. “Even if it’s another silly request. So?”

“Hmm. You will have to rescind the ban on Frieren on CMA premises,” you said mildly. “She goes where I go.”

Serie’s jaw clenched so tight a vein popped in her neck. “If you accept the position.”

“She could even guest lecture!” Sense called over hopefully.

You grinned at Serie’s thunderous expression. “Thank you for the offer. I will consider it.”

---

It turned out that you rather liked teaching.

Not only was it fulfilling to enrich the knowledge of others and create technology that you knew would benefit humankind, but wrangling mages to be more considerate of others and training them in practicalities were skills you were well practised at after all.

As the Academy of Magic was located in the Holy City of Strahl, you were allocated an apartment in town along with a generous salary. This meant that for the first time since you started travelling with Frieren, you had a permanent home together. No longer did you have to decide after a long day where to make camp for the night or wonder when your next bath would be. Now you could return home each day to a luxurious bed, a warm soapy bath… and whatever disaster Frieren had bought that day—

Two monstrous dragon skulls, supposedly for decoration, that could barely fit through the doors. A bucket of overpriced grimoires that you tripped over in the living room. A floating mannequin that cackled creepily and supposedly told the future, bobbing all day against the ceiling.

Frieren handed over her purse with a dejected sigh after that last one.

Luckily she could entertain herself elsewhere. Strahl offered her access to libraries after libraries of accumulated magic and research, an abundance of magic shops, and many accessible routes for travels to discover more magic and visit old friends.

But as time passed, and especially after she attended Old Man Voll’s funeral, you began to notice a trend in the magic and items she was bringing home—

A grimoire for magic that eased tummy aches. A potion that improved blood circulation. Some kind of spectacles that reduced the likelihood of eye disease.

You indulged and ingested these discoveries, for your health, but also knowing that she needed you to.

And when not hunting down more health magic, Frieren came to the Academy of Magic to visit you and your friends. With the Academy being next door to the headquarters of the CMA, Methode, Sense, Kanne, and Lawine were frequently around, and they and the other first-class mages soon became common fixtures in your lives. But that meant that you all also had to frequently witness Serie and Frieren engage in their inane long-standing feud.

One morning, you walked out of your office into the corridor to see the elves snarling at each other like alley cats over the positioning of a newly requisitioned painting of Flamme. Said painting hung in the air by Sense’s hair, who watched the two with ever-present long-suffering weariness.

“The painting should be two centimetres higher!” Serie was shouting.

“It is high enough and perfect where it was marked to be,” Frieren replied in a placid tone, pitched perfectly to irritate Serie.

“It seems you are deficient not only in magic but also in vision.”

“And it seems you are not only a warmonger in necessary areas but also the unnecessary.”

“Oh my,” Methode whispered excitedly, suddenly at your side. She had an uncanny ability to appear anytime the elves started arguing. “What a delightful sight.”

You sighed.

“It wouldn’t be a battle if you would just admit that I’m right.”

“You are such a child.”

“What did you say, you obnoxious brat?”

“I said you’re a child—"

Sense reacted before anyone else could—a tendril of hair snaked around Serie’s and Frieren’s waists to lift them into the air, separating them before they destroyed the Holy City of Strahl.

The atmosphere crackled, quite literally.

“Fucking fight me, Frieren! Coward—"

“Child!” Frieren screamed over her. “TODDLER! BABY!”

“Be quiet, Frieren!” You shouted.

Frieren snapped her mouth shut at once but her eyes spat fire.

Methode made a lewd noise in her throat. “Say, Fern… would you consider a three—"

“You be quiet too,” you snapped at her.

She laughed.

It would be another twenty minutes before Serie and Frieren could be set loose to stalk off in opposite directions. Sense hung the painting one centimetre higher than where it was originally marked to be. Ever the pacifist.

57 Years Since Himmel’s Passing

(18 years After Aureole)

Another ten years flew by.

You taught a thousand and three hundred mages; many would go on to invent technology that you couldn’t even have dreamt about when you were a child.

Frieren guest lectured hundreds of times. You suspected she started doing so primarily to source magic—students brought folk spells and magical items from the nearby and far-flung provinces that they hailed from—but she was ultimately a natural teacher; calm, encouraging, and unafraid to push students beyond their limits. It was immensely gratifying to see the mages of the future absorb her philosophy on magic, who grew into all kinds of mages and understood that magic was much more than a tool for fighting.

Friendships and relationships sprouted and fizzled.

At Stark’s request, you took an apprentice yourself—his son, who showed great promise.

Weddings and baby showers and the rare funeral came and went.

The three of you undertook the occasional trip to subdue demons and monsters.

Magic spread to the edges of the continent and even through ships to further afield continents.

Serie and Frieren reached some of sort of impasse. Mostly because after one particularly absurd fight, Methode had sighed at the utter despondence that was you and Sense, and then casually made some comment to the elves about how the ferocity of their fights may suggest some underlying sexual tension, and how such sexual tension always needed to be released at some point, and the elves had ceased all further argument at once.

You didn’t have it in you to be surprised, Methode was always just so many steps ahead.

And one evening, after you and Frieren assisted in the installation of a flashing billboard (your latest creation) behind the statue of the Hero’s Party, Frieren had willingly accepted the offer to have drinks with your friends and students. And while you watched Frieren laugh and converse, affably and openly, satisfaction bloomed at the thought that when you were no longer around, Frieren would never be alone again in the same way that she had been for most of her life. She now understood the joy and value of relationships completely and you think Himmel would be proud at your continuation of his work.

 

The door to your office creaked open.

You did not pause in your writing, knowing Frieren was arriving to have lunch with you. But she did not say anything for a long while, and you looked up to see her just standing at the doorway, staring at you, mouth open. She blinked quickly—was that a tear in her eye?—and turned serious.

“Is everything alright, sweetheart?” You asked, concerned.

“Yes.” Her face softened. “Just thinking about how much I love you.”

“That’s sweet. What’s really on your mind?”

Frieren clicked the door shut behind her. “I was wondering whether we could go on another journey again, just by ourselves?”

“Oh? Are you done with teaching?”

Frieren shrugged. “More like I miss having you all to myself.”

You knew that look in her eye. “And…?”

“Well, there’s a grimoire by Sage Ewig that I’ve been looking for—” she tapped her fingers together “— and after much research, I’m certain it’s in the Southern Lands.”

“That’s a long journey for a grimoire that probably doesn’t exist, Frieren.”

“There’s always other things to do on that long journey,” she replied, the look in her eye now a glint that spelt trouble.

Magic wire snapped your wrists together at the back of your chair.

“Frieren…” You warned, but your insides flared hot. “We’re in my office.”

Frieren unclasped her cape, dropping it to the floor, and stepped out of her boots and stockings. “Not like we haven’t done it in here before.” She tossed her jacket to the side and pulled up her striped tee slowly to reveal her soft, pale stomach…

And no bra.

You sucked in a breath.

Frieren continued to slink over, skirt sliding down bare legs to pool at her ankles.

No panties either.

Naked and hungry, she knelt at your feet. She drew your dress up to your hips and spread your legs wide open. “But honestly,” she murmured, leaning in to tongue you over your stockings. “I truly do miss having you all to myself.”

And really, how could anyone say no to that?

---

The journey to the Southern Lands was slow, but fruitful.

Not having returned for about half a century, the razed towns you remembered were thriving new settlements. Everywhere you went, you saw objects and constructions that you’d pioneered embedded in the fabric of peoples’ lives, further aiding their recovery from the wars that once ravaged.

You had left as a child, lost and hopeless.

But you have returned as an adult, strong and content.

Surrounded by the resilience of human nature and your creations that will live on in perpetuity, it gave you great comfort to know that Heiter could have no regrets or worries about saving you.

In your old village, now a busy town, you expected nostalgia or anger. Nostalgia for your parents; anger at missing out on having a home. But all you felt, with Frieren’s comforting presence at your side, was overwhelming gratitude and how home was not a place but a person. Heiter was your first home and Frieren would be your last. How many could be lucky as you?

And to your utmost astonishment (and much vindicated glee from Frieren), you actually found Sage Ewig’s grimoire—on the bottom floor of a never-explored dungeon, hidden in the largest mimic you’d ever seen in your life. You could already imagine how this achievement would fuel another millenium of excessive and unwarranted confidence in mimics; while Frieren’s cries of celebration echoed off the walls, you muttered an advanced apology to the future members of her party.

 

The journey back to the Central Lands was even slower, and not as fruitful.

Frieren spent every night deciphering the grimoire, a task that was bound to take years. Although she was vague about what the grimoire was meant to reveal, you recalled another grimoire, many years ago with the same cover, that she was equally as determined to decipher for Heiter. Her long nights spilled over into your mornings, which the Fern of the past would’ve taken issue with, but the Fern of the present was no longer able to.

Because you too, started to wake up later and later.

Fatigue wore heavily on your bones, your energy not as it once was. While Frieren bounced on her feet, bursting to the skies effortlessly, you stretched your neck and your back, the hard ground unwelcome compared to the plush beds you’d grown accustomed to. And when she wasn’t looking, you would mumble a quick spell to reduce the lines that began to crease your face. You were relatively healthy compared to some of your same aged peers, thanks to Frieren’s growing collection of remedial potions and magic, but there was only so much magic could do.

By the time you returned to the Central Lands, it was clear your days of journeying were over.

102 Years Since Himmel’s Passing

(63 years After Aureole)

Your final destination was Heiter’s old cottage.

He had left you the property, untouched while you travelled with Frieren. On the outskirts of Strahl, enclosed by a forest and a bubbling stream, the cottage was where you grew up and it was where you would grow old.

Being easily accessible, the cottage received many visitors—students you’d trained, old friends getting older themselves, and strangers who came by to pay their respects to two legendary mages. You were rather pleased when Stark’s son, who had become a first-class mage, came to introduce you to his family and children, his daughter also showing great promise.

Being close to major towns and cities, funerals became common. At Stark’s, Frieren placed an understanding hand on Eisen’s shoulder. They shared an ocean of sorrow not many would.

And after eight years of painstaking translation, Sage Ewig’s grimoire, like the one before, turned out to be fake.

Frieren disappeared into the woods for two days afterwards.

When she emerged, she apologised tearfully, and you held her as she wept all night.

She began to set out on other smaller journeys, for more magic and potions and objects and trinkets, the advancement of transport allowing her to travel greater distances in much shorter times.

When she was away, you ambled around the estate, visiting the spots of your childhood—the clifftop with the rock where you trained in long-distance offensive magic, the stream where you learnt to build and suppress mana, and the tranquil woods where you collected herbs and kindling.

You received visitors, prayed, wrote letters, cooked, and mused.

When it wasn’t too cold, you sat on the porch on a rickety rocking chair, warm cuppa in one hand, a photo of you and Frieren in the other. Enclosed in a brooch, the photo was taken the day she proposed with some camera apparatus she’d secretly purchased the week before. In the photo, you and Frieren beamed at the camera, the prospect of a whole lifetime of love lighting up your faces.

You knew Frieren was out searching for ways to extend your life span.

Each time she returned, you would hear her walk into the house, footsteps heavy and tired. A thump, as her suitcase would fall to her side. I’m home, Fern, she would call. Then you would look up from your book to smile at her, sadly, and she would smile back at you, equally as sadly.

You knew she was struggling with what was to come.

But how could one break every clock?

Unlike elves, time was one demon humankind still could not vanquish.

 

One night, you lay on her chest, listening to the beat of her heart.

How fascinating it was that the hearts of elves never failed! A hundred thousand times a day, for a hundred years, and then hundreds and hundreds of years after that. But with all those beats, and all those years, hundreds of losses. Hundreds and hundreds of losses.

“Frieren.”

“Hmm?”

You shifted to face her. “I want you to live. When I pass.”

Her face, like shutters closing tight, went blank.

“I mean it,” you pressed. “I want you to keep living. Keep searching for silly spells. Continue humankind’s progress. Keep spending time with others. Take another apprentice, another lo—”

“I don’t want to talk about this, Fern.” Tears pooled in her eyes.

“Frieren, we will meet again one day, in Aureole! I want —” your voice cracked as your tears broke free “— I need you to promise me that you will keep living and cherishing all the moments in this world and your life. I cannot bare the thought that my death might destroy you or even worse, that you might do something stupid like dying because of me! I don’t want you to regret ever loving me—”

“I could never!” Frieren snapped fiercely. “How could you even say something like that?” Her tears spilled over. “I have never regretted and never will regret a single moment of loving you even knowing what was to come.”

“Then, promise me, Frieren. Promise you will live. That this will not destroy you!”

“If you want me to say it, I will—I’ll keep living! I’ll do all the things we’ve done together and more. But the one thing I will not do, is promise that losing you will not destroy me because it will! It will absolutely destroy me because I love you, Fern. Devastation is but a small price to pay to have experienced this love with you at all.”

“Frieren…”

“But Fern, I will survive!” She swiped her tears away. “I will survive it because we will meet again one day and I do not want you to scold me if I did not continue to live.” A weak smile. “You are scary when you are mad.”

You snorted.

She snorted.

And soon you were both giggling at how surreal and ridiculous the conversation felt. But you felt lighter. You hadn’t realised how much your worries had seeped into your bones, made you sag.

Of course Frieren would survive. She has survived many losses. She would also survive you.

You pulled her close and she burrowed into you and you wished—oh, how you wished!—that you could stay like this for eternity.

But then, her hands on the back of your legs, roaming upwards along your thighs, over the curve of your bottom, to dip into the hollow of your lower back.

A moan escaped your lips.

She kissed you fast without any warning, before you could fend her off like how you had been doing in recent times. Her fingers skimmed across your stomach, no longer flat, and your breasts, no longer firm, and you flinched, embarrassed and ashamed. She did not care. She gently nudged away your hands that tried to hide, to shield, and pinned them above your head, reassuring you with insistent kisses, the dim light from the fire allowing you to glimpse the desire in her eyes. Desire for you that nothing, not even age, could ever take away.

And so you surrendered.

You allowed yourself to indulge the want to be one with her again, beaten down by self-consciousness as you grew old. You gave yourself up to her with the same abandonment she showed by embracing her love for you. And for the rest of the night, she made love to you with a tenderness that made you ache, and an anguish for millenia more of your love and life together.

---

More years passed.

Your body did what bodies did. Wheezy coughs and unexplainable pains became constant companions.

It would not be long.

You both knew it.

Frieren did not go on any more journeys.

Nearly every minute you spent together. Each morning she woke you, put on your clothes, fed you breakfast, and wiped your mouth.

But you kept brushing her hair—it was the one thing you were loathe to give up.

After breakfast, she brought you out to your chair on the porch. Together, you reminisced, read, laughed, and discussed ideas for future technology. Then she cooked dinner, changed you into nightclothes, and you clung to each other until morning came.

 

One morning, the brush clattered to the floor while you brushed Frieren’s hair; your hands trembled uncontrollably.

You looked at each other in the mirror for a very long time.

 

On the last day, you sat up on the cliff where it all began, nestled under a blanket in Frieren’s arms.

The rock across the chasm teemed with new life. Flowers bloomed out of weathered cracks and filled the hole that you once blasted a long, long time ago. Petals fluttered as butterflies and hummingbirds flitted and explored.

“Frieren,” you said quietly. “Thank you for the wonderful journey.”

Strands of your hair tangled in the wind, white through silver.

You felt Frieren swallow. “Thank you, Fern,” she whispered back. “For making the journey wonderful.”

Carefully, you angled so she could graze a kiss on your lips. When she pulled away, you held her cheek, and although you have spent decades taking her in, you spent another precious moment to do it once more, tracing her face with your fingertip—her long-lashed emerald eyes, cute button nose, and terribly kissable lips. She still smelt of woodsmoke and caramel.

Then you sunk back into her. She laid her hand over yours, your wedding rings touching.

“I love you,” you said.

“I love you too.” She tightened her hold. “Wait for me, Fern. One last time.”

“I will.” You took a deep breath. “Live for me, Frieren.”

“I will.”

“Alright.”

Warm and fufilled and ready, you closed your eyes.

Chapter 6: vi. acceptance

Aureole was a place of imagination.

An ever-lasting lucid dream. Whatever one wished for, whoever one wanted to be, wherever one fancied going, whoever one wanted to see (as long they were in Aureole)—all would eventuate. One could stay put in a sanctuary of their making or trawl the endlessly changing landscapes. You could walk from the arid, heat-soaked deserts of the Southern Lands into the smothering blizzards of the Northern Plateau in just a few steps.

You made your decisions:

First, you chose to inhabit the healthy, supple, and fit body of your twenties.

Second, you chose to live your afterlife in your cottage, surrounded by the same tranquil woods and bubbling stream. The exact same cottage you had lived in with Frieren, monstrous dragon skulls and all. There, you lived your afterlife the same way you lived the last decades of your life—reading, crocheting, cooking, musing.

And receiving visitors.

Heiter was there to greet you when you first arrived in Aureole, young and grinning with a jug of beer in his hand.

Then your old friends who had passed before you—Stark, Methode, Sense—appeared to say hello.

You even made new friends—Flamme and Himmel—who you soon grew to know very well.

And later, friends who’d passed after you—Übel, Lawine, Kanne—arrived and visited in quick succession.

Each time someone appeared in Aureole, you all waited with bated breath for news of the living world and the people you knew. But with every arrival, and as the decades flew by, apprehension began to churn in your stomach.

Then Stark’s great-granddaughter arrived, a hundred years after your death, and confirmed all your worst fears.

Frieren had walked into the woods the day after your funeral and disappeared without a trace.

 

You knew she was grieving.

And so were you.

But how else does one live without half their heart?

Grief ate at your bones, carved you hollow. An exquisite pain unlike any other—

Anguish when you woke up alone in bed. Spikes in your chest each time you turned to share something and she wasn’t there. The gnawing urge to know what she was doing, what she was thinking, where she was. Tender skin where she used to touch, to caress, to soothe.

The loss of Frieren was a gaping wound that would heal at the most infinitesimal pace, only to be torn open with every thought, every reminder of her.

You wondered if she felt the same.

You hoped not.

(At least not to the same extent.)

But the evidence suggested otherwise.

She had disappeared for more than a hundred years.

Oh, Frieren…

You ached for her. And you ached for her.

But then, one day, at long last—a descendent of the baker in Strahl arrived at your cottage with a message. Immeasurable relief staggered you, brought you to your knees.

Because after nearly two centuries since your passing, Frieren had picked up your letter from the bakery.

---

The letters were a decades-long project you started when you left Anfang and completed the week before you passed.

Everywhere you could, you left Frieren a ciphered letter—a memory—to find one day. You hoped she would make it a game, a purpose, a whatever she needed as long it could keep her going, keep her living.

In all, you wrote over a over a thousand letters, hidden in places and left with people all over the continent.

 

With the baker in Strahl:

Dear Frieren,

I hope you bought the egg tarts.

Remember how we bought a carton and ate them by the riverside? It was the first time you’d ever tried some and the look of absolute delight on your face was something I will remember forever.

Although I was less impressed when you wiped the crumbs from my face to distract me while you stole the last two.

Enjoy another carton by the riverside for me.

Love, Fern.

 

With the chef in your favourite restaurant in Warm:

Dear Frieren,

This town is momentous for two occasions.

First, it was where you bought me dessert and my hairpin for my 16th birthday.

Second, it was where you bought me dessert and a new hairpin for my 75th birthday.

I was just starting to cough then, and you grew increasingly worried with each night I spent hacking away. Unbeknownst to me, you planned us a trip here to the seaside for my birthday but also for the fresh air. We went to this same restaurant and you ordered the Merkur pudding as I knew you would. But this time, you knew what I wanted to order.

I am still as overjoyed as 16-year-old Fern that you tried to get to know me.

Love, Fern.

 

Under a bench in Eisberg, enchanted so only Frieren would detect it:

Dear Frieren,

It was on this very bench that we huddled under a blanket to watch the fireworks for the National Foundation Festival. We were tasked with protecting Serie, two years after your request for time.

You may not remember, but I remember. 

Because you held my hand as fireworks lit up the night sky, and my heart couldn’t stop racing at the feel of your thumb caressing my knuckles. I was filled with such longing for you. For you to caress the rest of my body and not just my hand. For you to have the same overwhelming feelings for me that I had for you. It was all I could do to not kiss you right there and then.

Still today I wonder if you were doing it on purpose that night? To inflame me such. If you did, it was well done. Anytime you caress my hand with your thumb now I am taken right back to that evening and overcome once again.

Maybe one day I will know the answer.

Love, Fern.

 

After that first letter was picked up, you soon started to hear of others—those left with people—that had been delivered. But the ones hidden away, you could only pray that she would find on the new journeys she would undertake.

And when Tor, the twentieth gatekeeper of Aureole, arrived with her message, your chest swelled in nervous anticipation.

It seemed that Frieren’s first journey was the one back to you.

 

With Tor, the seventeenth gatekeeper of Aureole:

Dear Frieren,

If you are here, then you will be entering Aureole in due time.

I wondered for a long time if you would come to see me.

In my most logical moments, I don’t want you to. I want you to live. To do more great things. To get to know more people. To not spend your time chasing after me.

But this is my confession – In my weakest and most selfish moments, I want you to visit me. I want to see you again. To look into your eyes. To kiss you. To hold you. To talk to you. To make love to you.

I will miss you more than you could ever know.

(A tear is smudged into the paper here.)

So, if you are here to come visit me, I will be waiting for you. As always.

Love, Fern.

---

On a day just like every other, you were reading on your couch when you heard the front door open and shut.

Then, footsteps. Light and familiar. Tentative.

You raised your head.

And your heart stuttered.

Frieren.

The elf stood at the doorway to the living room.

She looked the same—wide emerald eyes, cute button nose, and terribly kissable lips; pristine white outfit with gold detailing; banyan tree ring on her finger—and different all at once. Bone-deep desolation wore on her, weighed her down.

You looked at each other for a long, long while.

Then, teardrops spilled over as she stumbled across the room to crumble in your arms.

You drew her close, pressed her tight as she lay with you, sobbing, shoulders shaking violently. Her fingers scratched at your back, heart-wrenching cries resounding in the quiet room. You rested your cheek on the top of her head and hummed soothingly, waiting her out, allowing your own sorrow to flow.

Another long while more, and her sobs gradually subsided. She pulled back to look at you, cradling your face in her hands. Gently, she traced your features—young again and unlike your last years together—with her fingertips, just taking you in, searing your image into her mind.

“You are beautiful, Fern. I’ve missed you so,” she whispered.

You smiled. “And I’ve missed you too, more than you could ever know.”

“Oh, I think I do know.” With a soft smile, Frieren followed the path of her finger with her lips, the gentlest graze against your brow, damp eyelashes, the bridge of your nose, slightly parted lips, and then you were kissing with a desperation that set you alight, all softness devoured by the overwhelming need to be together—to be one—again.

You didn’t know how long she would have here, but by the Goddess, you would make the most of it.

Closing your eyes, you willed yourself into the bedroom, the sudden change in surroundings making Frieren blink in confusion. But she went with it without question. She tore at your clothes with a fervency so akin to the first times you slept together and you were completely undone by the feel of her smooth hands on your body, the warmth of her mouth, and the slickness of her. Every sinew in you strained taut for her touch.

A sentiment felt in kind.

She seized your wrist, moving you to stroke her, tears still cascading down her cheeks. Her legs hooked tight around your hips; her sharp gasps pierced the air. You relished the feel of her again, hungering for every taste, drinking up every drop. And as she locked eyes with you, biting down on her bottom lip while she crested over the edge, you were whole again—here was the other half of your heart, back where it belonged. 

 

After, you lay with your legs intertwined, foreheads touching.

“I was so worried when people said you disappeared” you murmured, eyes stinging again.

Frieren brought her hand up to cup to your cheek. “I had to. I had to get away from civilisation and all that reminded me of you. You know…” She smiled weakly. “I thought I was prepared… but I was still shocked at how devastating losing you was.”

“Oh, Frieren! I was hoping that your racial characteristics of emotional stoicism would’ve insulated you somewhat.”

“Ah, but that was before I experienced love! “The greatest feeling of them all”, as an apprentice of mine once said.” Her grin faltered. “Some days I woke up and I was okay. I foraged, I ate, I read. But some days I woke up and was paralysed by the knowledge that you weren’t by my side anymore. That you weren’t the one who woke me up, that you would never get to see all the new things in the world, that we would never analyse another spell and create new magic together.” Her voice splintered with pain. “It was so, so hard, Fern!”

Her face crumpled as centuries of grief broke free, and you folded her into your arms, chest growing damp from her tears. “I understand, Frieren.”

“But slowly, it got easier. The grief became more tolerable. But I needed that time, okay? I needed that time for myself.” She paused to look up at you, then said very quickly in an undertone, “And to build my mana for the most time possible here.”

“Frieren!”

“Save your breath, Fern. You confessed to wanting me to visit you.”

“But—”

“Thank you for your letters by the way,” she barrelled on. “They do serve as good motivation for not isolating myself from here on. I look forward to collecting them all.”

“Frieren, you cannot spend the rest of your life coming here to see me!”

“I’m a grown elf, Fern. I can do what I like,” she said petulantly.

You gaped at her.

She stared back, defiant, but then suddenly winced, her colour paling. “Look, we can spend my limited time here debating what I can or cannot do with my life. But I would much prefer to hear about you and what you’ve been doing.” She clasped her hands together, pouting. “Please, Fern?”

You couldn’t help but sigh. Despite the passage of time, she was still the same insufferable, stubborn elf that you loved. “Fine,” you relented. “But I want to hear about your journey here and what the world is like now!”

Frieren beamed. “You first, please. If I am to spearhead research on Aureole and souls, I must have information to take back.” She looked around the room, an exact copy of the one in the living world. “I have surmised enough to know this is a land of imagination.”

“And you would be right.”

Quickly, you explained the magic of Aureole and what you have been doing—the people you have spent time with, the landscapes you’ve explored, how time could flow at any pace you wanted. In return, she explained reluctantly that she actually had just spent the better part of two centuries in the woods, grieving and isolating and building her mana, until she was strong enough to make her way back to you.

“I have to go now,” she said quickly at the look of exasperation that flashed on your face, her voice strained. “But I promise that I will live! Then I will be back.”

“Frieren—”

She silenced you with her lips over yours. “Please, Fern. Just trust me.”

“I do, I just—”

She kissed you again. “And wait for me.”

“Always, Frieren. But—”

“Good. I love you.”

Then she was gone.

---

Afterlife in Aureole continued.

You read, crocheted, welcomed new arrivals, spoke to friends, and drifted in and out of consciousness.

Frieren kept her word.

Unlike before, accounts and sightings of her grew common, the elf integrating herself back into society and travelling far and wide to complete quests, teach, and collect magic and your letters.

You wondered where she had gone, which letters she had found.

 

Nestled under the roots of the Banyan Tree:

Dear Frieren,

We got married today!

There are no words adequate to express the happiness that fills me at this instant.

I will love you to the end and beyond.

Love, Fern.

 

Enchanted and tucked behind the noticeboard in a town near Ende:

Dear Frieren,

Surely you will remember this town.

It witnessed your legendary once-a-decade temper tantrum. All villagers avoided you for days after.

How was I to know that the elf I was talking to was flirting with me? She was just like you in your early days, expression so unreadable and actions so unpredictable. When she asked me to go outside with her, I thought she wanted to fight me not fuck me!

Perhaps you may want to consider searching out and educating your fellow elves on the fine art of emotion recognition and expression?

Serie could be a good first candidate.

Love, Fern.

 

With the innkeeper in a village in the Western Ridges of the Central Lands:

Dear Frieren,

Here was where we made love for fifty-six hours straight.

It began innocently enough.

This was the first room we had that included a private bath, and you took the opportunity to wash me using a cloth.

But in no time at all, you discarded the cloth and used your hands instead, palming me everywhere—fondling my breasts, squeezing my bottom. Perhaps it was the way it’d been two weeks of making camp with no privacy. Perhaps it was the way my thoughts were already occupied by the deepening blush on your cheeks as you washed me carefully and deliberately.

But whatever it was, it didn’t matter.

Because you eventually found me far, far more than appropriately wet and took me straight to bed to use as you wished.

Ah, I still remember it all! My hair clutched tight in your fist, head yanked back. Teasing me with painfully slow strokes then quick, tight circles to push me into the first climax. Only a minute of ecstasy, before you quickly followed with your hot tongue to draw out the second; then your tongue again and a finger at my entrance for the third. The fourth, when you rode my face, unaware of how rough you were in your pleasure, your arousal sticky on my cheeks and chin. Then the fifth, when you got on all fours for me to take from behind; and the sixth soon after you came, helping me finish again in your mouth.

I won’t bother recounting the rest. I trust that your memory has been sufficiently prompted.

I think we tried almost all the positions in that naughty book you have and created a few ourselves. No one can deny we were inventors of every kind.

I’ve enclosed a photo I captured while writing this letter. As you can see, I had to touch myself while recalling these blissful hours.

I hope you do too.

Love, Fern.

---

The second time Frieren visited, you were playing the piano.

Learning how to play musical instruments had become your new hobby, and so far you had mastered the clarinet and the violin.

Frieren appeared on the seat beside you, startling you into producing an atrocious dissonant chord.

You spotted that familiar, dangerous look in her eyes—and found yourself naked in seconds, Frieren getting straight to business.

“Wow,” you exhaled deeply after you were done, lying side by side on the floor right by the piano. “Not even a hello first?”

Frieren clicked her tongue. “If you wanted a hello, then you shouldn’t have left such tremendously stimulating material behind with the innkeeper. What did you expect me to do upon receipt?”

“I did provide a suggestion! Which could be accomplished entirely by yourself and without making the journey over here.”

“And why not both?” She asked before rolling on top of you again.

That was a fair question… but any argument you might have attempted was soon driven out your mind, Frieren well-versed in many ways of persuasion herself.

 

The third time Frieren visited, you were having dim sum in your dining room with Flamme, Himmel, and Heiter.

This was not a friendship group that you expected to flourish, and yet somehow it did. Dim sum was often the highlight of the arbitrary week.

Frieren appeared on a chair at the table, startling Heiter into knocking over his cup of chrysanthemum tea.

The rest of you stared at her, chopsticks and dumplings suspended in mid-air.

She stared back, then at the spread of dishes at the table, and said, “You really are enjoying yourselves here in Aureole, aren’t you?” She leaned over to peck you on the lips. “Hello, sweetheart.”

“Well, well,” Flamme said, the first to recover. “If it ain’t the preeminent researcher on Aureole and souls.”

“If you didn’t make such a ridiculous proclamation as such, perhaps I wouldn’t have to be so.”

“Hello, Frieren,” Himmel said calmly, pouring her a cup of tea. “I think your research has been highly beneficial. It’s made it much easier for our new arrivals to acclimatise to life in Aureole.”

“Are you the welcome committee?” Frieren asked.

“No.” He shook his hair from his eyes in a deceivingly careless gesture, calculated to be the perfect amount of attractive. “But a fair amount do come to visit me and who am I to deny them the pleasure of my company?”

Heiter laughed. “Didn’t you say recently that you’ve been disappointed at the decreasing—”

“At the very least,” Himmel said loudly over Heiter, “I am sure the knowledge of Aureole has significantly eased the anxiety of death.”

“Is it true that the barriers on the Doorway are resetting into greater levels of difficulty each time you enter?” Flamme asked.

Frieren nodded. “Yes, it took me three years in my last attempt and five for this.”

“Really?” You frowned. “Perhaps you shouldn’t—”

“Time is no obstacle to seeing you, Fern.”

“Speaking of, how many years has it been since Fern’s passing?” Heiter asked before you could protest.

“About seven centuries or so.”

“Oh. That would explain the decreasing number of visitors. I wonder if people still remember us,” Himmel said. “I hope so. I did not preserve my good looks in all those statues only for people to forget.” He winked at Flamme.

Flamme blinked.

Frieren blinked.

You and Heiter raised your tea cups to take a sip.

“Well… Demons are less of a threat these days…” Frieren replied slowly, her head swivelling around the table in adorable confusion. “Your heroic acts are less remembered.”

“I see.” Himmel nodded in resignation.

“Well, it was nice to see you anyway, Frieren.” Flamme stood up. “We shall leave you two alone now. Come on, Himmel, Heiter.”

And with knowing smiles, they vanished. 

 

The fourth time Frieren visited, you were playing Monopoly™ with Stark, Methode, Übel, and Sense.

A gift from one of Stark’s descendants, game night had become a regular occurrence. Unfortunately, it often resulted in Übel threatening to slaughter Methode (even if it wasn’t possible in Aureole) for her greed in a variety of perplexingly ingenious ways before Sense would sigh heavily and take them home. 

Frieren appeared on a cushion by your side, startling Stark into nearly upending the board if it weren’t for the cat-like reflexes of Übel.

“Frieren!” Methode gushed.

“Oh, thank the Goddess,” Sense said, throwing down her meagre remaining money. “Finally, we can end this farce. Methode nearly has us all bankrupt again anyway.” Her hair reached out to cocoon Methode, Stark, and Übel—a coil stuffed into Methode’s mouth to stifle her protests—and before anyone else could say anything, she nodded politely to Frieren and vanished with the others.

Frieren wasted no time, drawing you close to her at once.

After you made love, you curled together under a blanket by the fireside, snug and warm. Her mana had increased over the millennium such that her time in Aureole could stretch to hours.

“Frieren, I know you’re a grown elf…” You started, deciding to voice the discomfort that had been bubbling since her first visit. “And you seem to be doing great things in the living world… But as much as I enjoy your visits, I wonder if you are truly living out there?”

“Not this again.” Frieren propped herself onto her elbow, eyes narrowing. “Tell me, Fern, why do you wonder this?”

“Well… it’s starting to feel like I’m a long-distance wife rather than, you know… a dead wife.”

Frieren scrunched her brows up thoughtfully. “Aren’t you technically both? You are my wife, who is both dead and a long distance from me.”

“Frieren…”

“I’m just saying!”

You pinned her with sharp eyes. “But if you keep loving me and coming here, then won’t you move on in the living world? Take another lover?”

“Just for the purpose of entertaining your silly argument, humans have very short life spans. So even if I did—and I have not—taken a new lover, I could have had a new lover and still visit you.”

“But your feelings for me will remain and…” Impotent frustration surged in your chest. “I… I don’t want you to be stuck on your long-dead lover! I want you to be happy out there!”

“It’s not like they’re mutually exclusive.” Frieren huffed in annoyance. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You live here forevermore with our friends, previous lovers, visitors, and new arrivals. Have you taken another lover?”

“Of course not. Why would I? I love you. And you’ll be here at some point.”

“And how is that different to my circumstances?”

“I mean…” You paused, slightly baffled. “In here, I see only who I want to see and if I meet someone and don’t like them I can easily vanish. But you’re in the living world! You have to meet new people all the time, make new connections; and you can’t just vanish! You’re bound to find someone else that you’ll love too. Even if they die.” Your chest twisted as unexpected jealousy soured your mouth. “You’re not obliged to visit only me. You could visit a new dead lover—”

“Fern,” she cut in quietly, placing a hand on your chest to slow you down. “Humans often take one lover for the entirety of their lives. Is it so hard to comprehend that elves may want to do that too?”

“Humans don’t live for eternity.”

“Even more importantly then. If an elf has found the one, wouldn’t they want that person and only that person for eternity? Especially when our particular circumstances mean that I can continue to visit you, I don’t see why I would waste my time and effort getting to know and loving another.”

“But what happens when you leave Aureole each time? I can’t bear the thought of you returning to the living world and feeling sad being without me!”

“I won’t deny that it is heartbreaking leaving and having to live without you. But is it not the same for you when I leave?”

“Well, yes… But I entertain myself with my hobbies and friends and sometimes I just sleep for a very long time, to be quite honest. Then time passes and you are here again.”

“And are you happy living like that?”

You thought for a moment. “Yes.”

“Then, again, how is that different for me? If I am happy to collect magic and travel, socialise with my ever-changing party members and friends, oversleep once in a while, and then decide to come visit you… is that not considered living as well?”

You hesitated, her words sinking in.

“Fern,” Frieren said patiently, brushing the bangs from your eyes to gaze intently at you. “In the vast tapestry of my life, there are some lovely patches of colour in the people I’ve met and the experiences I’ve had, but you, Fern…” Affection softens her face. “You—our time together, the life we’ve built, the love we share—are by far the richest, brightest, and most expansive patch of them all. I have found a kind of magic in our love that I do not believe is possible nor do I want to recreate with anyone else.”

“Frieren…”

“Fern,” she insisted. “I would not have proposed to love you for all eternity—especially when eternity is a very real thing for an elf—if I did not want to love you for all eternity. You are the only person I have ever fallen in love with and I simply have no desire to love another. Both you and I have worked so hard for me to understand love and what it entails. So, seeing as we are in agreement that I am happy and “living” by your standards…” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “Please just let me love you the way I want to.”

Warmth bloomed like wildfire in your chest.

She was right.

She had fought so hard to grow, to learn about emotions—to recognise, accept, and express them—so she could understand her love for you and love you. You yourself fell in in love with an insufferably unpredictable and stubborn elf, and even in an eternal land of imagination, would not imagine it any other way. So who were you to define what love or living means for her?

You made a disgruntled noise in your throat. “It maddens me how easy it is for you to say such terribly romantic things now,” you grumbled. “Where’s the elf who literally had to research what love was?”

Frieren laughed, lacing your fingers together to raise your wedding ring to her lips. “Indeed. How far I have come!” A smug expression lit her face. “Perhaps I should take your suggestion and educate my fellow elves with my expertise. Or why stop there? I shall write a book for the masses! I could name it: “Wherever you go, that’s where I’ll follow: A love story about a master and her apprentice that transcends time and death”?”

“Quite the mouthful, don’t you think?”

“You’re right. It could use some workshopping.” She leaned down to kiss you, slow and triumphant. “I love you, Fern.”

“And I love you, Frieren.”

---

The conversation put to bed any qualms you had about Frieren’s visits.

Each time she visited after, you simply were with her.

No questions, no judgements, no worries.

You listened to and discussed her life in the ever-changing living world—her new party members, new technology she invented or helped with, the occasional apprentice, her long-standing feud with Serie that reignited without the threat of Methode, and the increasingly dangerous political changes.

In return, she lapped up every last bit of gossip in Aureole—Kanne and Lawine adopting their fourth child, Sense and Übel fighting and making up for the umpteenth time, and Himmel’s (so far) unrequited crush on Flamme.

 

The twenty-seventh time Frieren visited, you were listening to Flamme’s conundrum about Himmel.

Frieren arrived, startling Zoltraak, the dog you’d recently adopted, into jumping off Flamme’s lap.

For a long time, you both stared at the fresh, long white scar that marred her skin from the bottom of her ear down her neck and under her clothes.

“A new war,” Frieren explained as she sank into the couch and you probed worriedly at the scar, discovering that it ended just above her sternum. “With demons finally eradicated for good, it seems humans have decided to turn on each other.”

“The cycle of life,” sighed Flamme. “I wonder what it is within us that violence marks all our eras?”

“Ask Serie,” Frieren said in a dark tone. “We’re on opposite sides of this war. She’ll never fight me directly, but there are new and powerful magical weapons, harnessed monsters, and a whole fresh generation of war mages and shadow warriors. Truthfully, I don’t know how this one will go.”

“You’ve seen many wars and eras, Frieren. You’ll also see this one through,” you said, more to soothe your worries than Frieren. But she squeezed your hand in gratitude anyway.

When Frieren left, Flamme let out a long sigh. “The world will never know how lucky it’s been to have had Frieren. An elven mage made for peace.” She smiled wistfully. “Without her—without the wisdom of one who has survived hundreds of wars; the strength of one who has eradicated demons and Demon Kings and human despots; and most importantly, the kindness of one who wants to better the lives of humans—the world would be in a much, much sorrier state. She has done so much and more for humans than any other mage in history. Even you and I, Fern.” ”

“Indeed,” you said. “Let’s hope they treasure her all the more for it.”

 

The twenty-ninth time Frieren visited, you were walking along the riverside in Strahl.

Frieren arrived, startling the few souls around you, some recognising her with gaping mouths and some vanishing at once.

“The war is over,” she sighed in relief. “Serie are I are cordial again.”

“Oh, thank the Goddess,” you said, wrapping your arms around her. She felt more frail than usual, and you thought there might’ve been the faintest of lines on her forehead.

“They made a statue of me for ending the war,” she said in a slightly disbelieving voice as you continued to stroll along the riverside, hand in hand. “I think it might be my first solo statue.”

“As they should. You have done so much in your life, legendary mage Frieren.”

Frieren gave a little shudder, making you chuckle. “I guess,” she said. “I did not do it for recognition though.”

“No,” you agreed. “You did it for humans. For the love of magic. And for yourself.” You patted her head.

“And for you too,” she added. “I want the world to flourish with the technology you created. For the sights and wonders you love to remain. And for people to experience the phenomenon that is love. Those things cannot happen if the world burns.”

“No, they can’t.” You stopped to face her, and she looked up at you.

The evening sun cast her face in a golden glow, and the very love she wanted to preserve in the world sparkled in the depths of those beautiful emerald eyes. Strands of your hair tangled together in the wind, purple through silver.

“I’m proud of you, Frieren,” you said, chest full.

“Thank you, Fern.” She smiled. 

You bent to kiss the crown of her head.

---

More time passed.

Wars came and went. Natural disasters ravaged and cities rebuilt. Eras flourished and collapsed.

You continued to live in Aureole doing exactly what you wanted, leaving the living world for the living.

Frieren came and went.

As always, you waited.

 

On a night just like every other, you sat on your couch by the lamp, reading the book Frieren had eventually published.

Zoltraak lay curled into your side, her soft snores rising above the crackle of the fire. You stroked her fur, whispering the elven lullaby Frieren had taught you so long ago.

A click. As the front door opened and shut quietly.

Zoltraak raised and cocked her head, tail twitching into a wag.

You sat up straight.

Light and familiar footsteps. Almost a spring in them.

A thump, as a briefcase fell on the floor.

Your heart thudded.

That was new.

Then, “I’m home, Fern.”

And breathless, in disbelief, you looked up.

Frieren.

She smiled, eyes misty. “For good this time,” she said. 

At last.

No more waiting.

You went to her as she came to you, finally reunited and together for the journey of eternity.

 

 

- The End -

 

Notes:

and here we are! i couldn't stop thinking about Frieren and how she grows to learn about her feelings, how she then copes with newly learnt feelings etc. that this story just fell out of me! it's been such a fun and interesting ride with these two on their journey and i hope you enjoyed it as well.

thank you for reading this lil' story! if you like the story, i'll be most grateful if you dropped a kudo & comment for any thoughts, comments, questions, anything at all. doesn't matter what date it is, i love hearing what you think!

also thanks to those so far who have left kudos, and those who took the time to leave a comment previously. comments truly feed my soul and motivation to keep writing and i re-read them nearly everyday (and especially when the writing anxiety hits). 😊

special thanks to SakuraAyanami and Xarcrack for dropping a comment every chapter. it's always so heartening to know people are following the story and are interested enough to keep reading!

also special thanks to Khon for your lengthy and insightful comment on the first chapter. it really warmed me to know that people re-read chaps/fics and pay such close attention to the detail. i hope you liked the rest of the chapters as much as you liked chapter 1!

thanks again for joining me on this journey. until next time! 👋