Who: Samra and Hamlin (who hence forth shall be known as Sam and Ham)
Where: her kitchen in her house in the town of Hamlin
When: Monday morning
What: Hamlin notices Samra's bond of marriage is worse for the wear. She reveals to him why. There's quite a bit of...


Her kitchen was small, but open and very tidy. One hardly noticed the size of the room since it was so clean and well kept. It had many windows facing the lush backyard and very little in the way of clutter. A table could be pushed back into the wall when not in use and collapsible chairs had been spellbound to pop out of a closet when called. Even the counter was out of the way, tight against the wall and only so large as was required for everyday cooking.

Samra already had the table out and two chairs. She'd brewed a pot of pomegranate tea, something she knew Hamlin could not resist. She was in the process of putting together some kind of light breakfast when he let himself in the backdoor.

"Morning," he called cheerfully from the hall next to the kitchen. He was barefoot, as usual, and smiling brighter than the early morning sun.

She was used to his good moods in the morning; it always seemed the best time of day for Hamlin, when everything was fresh and new and all manner of things were possible. "Good morning," she called back, though obviously less enthusiastic than her daily guest.

He sauntered in and plunked into one of the more comfortable chairs, padded and cozy. He smiled over at her and poured himself a mug of tea. He always loved that Sam's mugs were mismatched and set ahead in pouring her a cup in blue patterned glass that was a wedding present from her mother. His was painted with colorful flowers on a blue and green background. After one small sip he beamed. "Pomegranate," he said, delighted that she would remember how much he liked it last time he was here.

"One of your favorites," she said, turning back to him for a brief smile before she continued with the muffins she was attempting to bake. Her hearth-craft was always interesting to witness. It was mostly made up, inventive and creative like most other things Samra attempted to do. Sometimes their breakfasts were wonderful and tasty, other days a complete disaster which Hamlin would promptly clean up with a laugh before taking over and cooking something they'd both like to eat.

He sincerely hoped her muffins would be nothing to lament this morning. His eyes trailed over her in the usual fashion, taking in her typical long skirt that brushed the floor when she walked. Her feet were bare, already dirty on the bottom and a little up the sides. She'd been digging in the garden this morning already, as her dirty fingernails would later confirm when she sat at the table. No matter how she washed her hands, there was always a trace of her garden dirt under those nails. As he looked up towards her waist and the peculiar t-shirt she was wearing, an odd pattern that clashed with her pretty skirt he noticed something amiss. Tied round her waist was the marriage bond she shared with Garage, held a little slack and stretched in the direction of Salem Academy. It was faded, not the usual vibrant red Hamlin had frequently caught glimpses of when she moved in just the right angle of light. Once again, she swished toward the dutch oven and he couldn't see it anymore.

Hamlin frowned; he wondered if she had noticed. It was so very early in their relationship to have the kind of troubles that would break the bond. He knew Garage, not nearly so well as Sam. He knew of his jealousy, of his repeated distaste of his friendship with Samra. But that would appear on his end of the bond, those little breaks and discoloration would happen on his side of the bond. This was clearly on Samra's end and he didn't think that she had any problems with her husband. He knew of her love for him, deep and uncontested. He was surprised in the instant he saw it.

She turned back to him, saw him deep in thought. After being so cheerful it wasn't like Hamlin to dive down into his brain and get quiet. "What?" she asked, hand on hip, a little flour wiped across her forehead.

His frown deepened. Do you come right out and say something or do you pass it off as one of those Hamlin Graves' things? He looked into Sam's face, her eyes gazing back at him with that twinkling of faerie magic. "Have you noticed," he nodded to her waist, to the hip where the knot was tied and extended out into the world.

She hadn't expected it, forgot that Hamlin could see it sometimes. "Yeah," she said softly. "I know why, but I can't see a way to fix it."

He was all ears, gazing at her with intensity. She left the muffins in the oven and came to the table, her hands reaching for the mug and finding his fingers instead, extended in a gesture of warmth and solidarity. She took his hands and held them quietly, looking to her feet for a long time. "My name," she whispered and he understood the way that only good friends could.

He knew why it was a sticky situation. If she told Garage her true name, her faerie name, she could be at his mercy. It seemed such a tiny betrayal that she couldn't trust him with it, but Hamlin knew her hesitation. Garage was a master of iron. He could subdue her, control her, ruin her completely. It was a threat hanging over their marriage, though neither Hamlin nor Samra would ever think Garage capable of such things. Yet still, that tiny grain of mistrust.

"You were right not to tell him," Hamlin said softly. The reason why he knew the name was because he had been with her on the day it was given to her. Not all half children were given true names, only the exceptional, only the fae blessed. "It's too dangerous, particularly because of his uncle."

"Do you really think Gideon would stoop?" she began, but she silenced her own question. She knew Gideon capable of such things, even if her husband was not. If Garage knew her name there was always the danger that Gideon could find out. Pretend as he might, her uncle in law was not a fan of Samra Chance. The man couldn't place it, didn't know she was a half-faerie, but he sensed that something was different about her, sensed that she could easily tarnish his family's respectable image.

Samra sighed heavily and Hamlin squeezed her fingers lightly. "It's troubling," he said softly, "but a necessary precaution."

She didn't want to cry over this and fought down the emotions struggling to surface. "If I can't trust him our bond will break."

"No more for your reasons than it will for his," Hamlin replied quietly. He had told her of the problems he'd seen at Garage's end of the marriage, another glimpse he'd caught when visiting Salem Academy. It was something like eavesdropping, but it was always accidental. He could catch little things like that out of the corner of his eye. When he could, he tried to help. Hamlin was infamous for saving marriages (only since assuming the identity of his grandson; the former Hamlin was never so much the matchmaking busybody).

She looked away, her hands slipping from his. "You have other things to worry about than my little problems." She rose from the table and checked on her muffins. A little longer and they'd be almost done. A curl of steam swished past her, a little breeze of magic she hadn't meant to cast. Sometimes in her frustration the elements she was born with acted on their own. By the end of the day it would be raining and Hamlin hadn't foreseen enough to pack an umbrella.

It was Hamlin's turn to sigh and gazed out of her kitchen windows at the backyard and the other houses off in the distance. It was a pleasant neighborhood here, the laughter of young children playing a few yards away filtered in through the open window. "Your little problems concern me more than anything else," he said truthfully. "Your happiness is more important to me than the blanket plague, and all my other scheming." He ran a hand back through his hair and bit his lip as he looked over to her. Now was not the time to admit his own feelings, his own secret happiness that couldn't come to fruition just yet. Even as he loved Sam he couldn't watch her marriage denigrate just to fulfill his own longing.

He'd been denying it for years, the strong tug of emotion she seemed to elicit from him. The way she soothed him, her very presence brought him laughter and more joy than he'd known in all of his 345 years. If only he'd realized before Garage had stepped in and stolen her heart. If only he'd been smart enough to tell her how he'd felt as each new pressure fell upon his heart. He looked at her and let denial wash over him once more. If you ever get to have her, it won't be now. She has to come to you on her own.

She looked at him from the opposite side of the kitchen. She noticed the look, had grown familiar with it in the past few months. She still wasn't aware of its meaning, but she was as content as he to deny what was beginning to happen between them. She was in love with her husband, had been since the day he saved her and agreed to keep her secret. Yet her relationship with Hamlin Graves, which had existed from the day of her birth had begun to alter. She could feel it, knew that something was growing between them, something that had been preordained. Since neither had the gift of Fortuna magic they couldn't see which roads destiny would take them on.

Samra Chance and Hamlin Graves didn't know they were already stepping tentatively down a long road that they were meant to share only with each other.

"I'm happy enough," she said simply. "I'll tell you when you should worry about me."

"I'll know," he said just was succinctly. Mere words wouldn't be necessary. He knew that the day she needed he'd be there. He looked back to his tea and sipped quietly, his thoughts on the matter beginning to settle. "So what do you have planned for today?" he asked brightly, as if their previous discussion had happened hours ago, maybe weeks.

"I thought I'd head over to Cap Ou Pas Cap. I have this new invention that I think focuses anti-magic. Of course, I don't know any fixities of the top of my head, so I can't try it out."

Hamlin laughed. "You could try Enki."

"Too little," she replied, pulling the muffins from the oven. She set them on the counter as steam billowed off of them. They were chocolate flavored muffins with cherries studding them. She knew the chocolate wouldn't sit very well in her stomach, but she loved it anyway. "Besides, I don't even know if he's capable of anti-magic."

"I'm not sure. I figured a shifter would be your best bet after a fixity." She shrugged as she started to carefully pull the muffins from their tins. She couldn't use any cast iron so she had to make due with other metal pans. He shook his head lightly. "Have you given any more thought to him?" he asked, speaking of Enki, whom he hoped Samra and Garage would adopt.

"I have, but honestly Hamlin, can you really picture me raising a shifter?"

"I wouldn't have asked if I didn't think it possible." He figured it would take at least a few more weeks before she genuinely considered his request. It was no easy thing to adopt, particularly not a child with magic hard to control. He thought he'd let it go this morning, leave it where it was and give her more time to think.

She brought him a muffin, setting it on a plate in front of him. "Why do you insist on making chocolate when you know you're just going to get sick later?"

She smiled. "I like the taste of it. Worth the bellyache."

"You say that now," he said, pulling a piece of hot muffin from the top and tossing it into his mouth. He chewed appreciatively; this was definitely one of her better experiments. "Well done," he announced after swallowing the piece.

Her own muffin was already desecrated by the time he'd passed judgment. She didn't know why, but suddenly she was ravenously hungry. Her thoughts, her feelings, everything was pressing in this morning. It wouldn't be a prolonged and lingering breakfast as usual. She'd clean up quickly and head out early this morning. There was too much in her head and she needed to be outdoors.

Hamlin sensed it and finished his own muffin quickly. "Might I have one for the road?" he asked with a smile. "I've got things to do myself. I should probably put in a visit in New Meridian. Haven't been in ages."

She knew him well enough that she could read the lie under the words. He was being polite, only because she needed him to be. "Yeah," she said. "Take as many as you like. I probably shouldn't eat any more today."

He nodded and watched from the table as she packed up the entire batch of muffins in a bright, cloth-lined basket. He finished up his tea, only a little sad that it was so short a breakfast. There was always tomorrow he supposed, or maybe the next day. Usually if a breakfast was this short Sam needed a few days to deal with whatever words had transpired between them.

He kissed her cheek after rinsing his cup and gingerly took the basket from her fingers. He hadn't kissed her a lot before now and usually it was on the forehead. The cheek seemed really close to the underlying problem and he tried not to regret the way she blushed and looked away. "Have a good day," he called softly from the backdoor.

She leaned up against the window pane in the kitchen, her forehead leaving a mark on the usually pristine glass. Watching him go had been a new habit, just as much as the little kisses. "You too," she said, though he couldn't hear her as he walked down the back path towards the side of the house and the garden gate. "You too," she said again with a heavy sigh as the clouds began to thicken on the horizon and her heavy heart began to rain.