Disclaimer: I don't own Sevenwaters Trylogy, nor I haven't read but Daughter of the Forest, so I don't know what the hell really happens after the end.

Claim: Cormack/Conor.

Warnings: Slash. Obvious incest is obvious, but can be taken as brotherly love. Vague spoilers. Unbetaread, which means spelling/grammar mistakes.

Musical Recommendation: Beautiful Mess – Jason Mraz. The lyrics have nothing to do with the story, but the melody goes just right with the mood.

Babblings: I certainly loved Sorcha's story, but I through we needed just a little more of everyone else. The twins where my favourites and I wanted to give 'em some loving~





Vanilla in Wonderland's Productions

They are twins.

(Even if they are so different, even if their paths are so apart one from the other. Even if they don't understand each other.)

They are twins, and twins are supposed to be together, always together.

(They were supposed to be together forever, Cormack thinks.)

But their destinies had been cruelly torn apart- their delicate, intricate paths had been tangled, and now it was hard, hard to know-

After all, they were only nineteen. Not quite childs anymore, not quite men yet. They were supposed to be enjoying their happy ending (their little sister was alright, and they were human again, human at last), even when nothing was like it was before, even when they knew it could not last. It had been proven on that one rainy day, and really, who could blame them.

(After all, they were only nineteen. Not quite childs anymore, not quite men yet.)

Looking back, it just had to be obvious. Cormack is the oldest (by twelve minutes). Even if Conor is by far more wise, by far more mature, by far more old when you look deep into his eyes. Cormack is still the oldest. Cormack had always been there for him.

And after all, all the pressure, all the burden and all the responsibility... He had always taken care of everyone - he had always been one step forward of everyone. But Conor is just nineteen. And Conor, he... He needs protection, too.

That's why, when Cormack saddles his horse, puts on his riding boots, when he's about to leave, Conor can't help but take his twin's hand.

(Because, if Cormack goes, who will hold him like he isn't the Chosen One, like if they could go back to the innocent days of their lost childhood, but naïve, childish, unknowing, sweet, charming Cormack?)

Conor doesn't need to explain himself, not with Cormack. Cormack understands without voice, nor inner or outer. He just does.

"Go safe on your journey, brother." That's all he can mutter, but Cormack knows better (Cormack sometimes knows better of him than he himself does).

And that's why, as his twin circles his arms (strong arms, product of all his training) around Conor (slender Conor, because of all those restless days he spent reading, learning) out in the safety of the stable's porch, as the rains pours outside, he can't help but hide himself in those arms.

(Because there are times in which he needs to be the weaker one, there are times in which he needs to be the one who is protected.)

And when Cormack smiles his crocked smile, the most charming one, reserved just for him, the one Conor can't quite manage, even if he smiles back, even when his image must be the mirror of his twin's, there is something in those gray eyes that can't see but the next moment, something that tell Conor that everything's going to be alright.

And so he believes, and keeps smiling and smiling back, one sole tear running down his cheek. He believes even when reason tells him otherwise. Because Cormack would never lie, not to him.

"And you," His brother whispers, and kisses the space under his jawbone and ear. "I think it's your journey that will be the longer one."

They say no more, and there aren't more farewells that gray afternoon. Cormack swings easily into the saddle and looks at Conor in the eye. He hesitates, and bends a little, his face just inches away from the other's. Conor looks up, and Cormack presses his lips to his.

It's a chaste kiss, short and simple, their fist one actually, nothing like Sorcha's and Red's display of affection. It isn't a declaration but a promise. He parts with a wet noise, and grins shamelessly. Cormack grins, and his face clearly says I know something that you don't. Conor raises an eyebrow quizzically.

This isn't the end yet. Because twins can never be apart from each other for too long. Because twins are the favourite kind of people for the Fair Folk to play with. And their path (their path, the one they take together, aside from the one each one separately has chosen), their own story has just begun.

Suddenly, everything is how it should be.

We're still here
What a beautiful mess, this is
It's like taking a guess when the only answer is "Yes"

Through, timeless words and priceless pictures, we'll fly like birds not of this earth
And tides they turn and hearts disfigure
But that's no concern when we're wounded together




More babblings: The button down there grants three wishes (:

Edit: *spoilers* I can't belive Cormack dies that way in the second book. I... I cried so hard (Now reading this story makes me wanna cry). It sucks JM makes you fall in love with her characters in the first book, just to get rid of them in the second. Oh, well. I Guess life's that way.