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The Dofus and the Cabbages	By : bazile64 Category: +S through Z > Wakfu Views: 2582 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: wakfu is property of Ankama and not me, i make nor claim any profit from this fanwork.

Chapter List
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AN: Set during Episode 18, during that delicious bit right after the formation of the brotherhood of the tofu. shame they had to transition to another scene, right when it was getting good...
Well, this is my answer to that.

Tristepin couldn’t sleep. Despite the relative comfort of the extra large boowolf fur he’d been able to stitch together, he couldn’t make his mind settle enough to slip into unconsciousness. He could try hitting himself over the head with Rubilax to sleep, as he’d done back when he had still wandered Amakna alone, but he was beginning to value his braincells a bit more these days. Besides, he’d promised to wake up in time for his turn at watch. Knocking himself out usually guaranteed a good eight hours of rest, and judging by the position of the moon, his turn was due in less than two. He turned over again in the fur. It wasn't that the cold was keeping him up, the temperature outside wasn’t too far off from the bitter chill of the desert nights from when he lived and trained with Goultard. Le maître would often send him out into the desert for weeks at a time to fetch something from the nearest town, and the heart of the desert night was as ice-cold as the noon was broiling.
Tristepin twisted around again, cradling his head in his arms as he stared at the embers of the fire. When it was his turn for watch he’d be sure to try and throw another log on the pile, as he’d rather not have to wake the little dragon to restart the blaze. Thinking of Adamai, his eyes stared past the fire where Yugo and his (strange to consider it) brother lay curled around each other. Adamai’s head butted up against the boy’s stomach. Yugo’s hand that was not idly curled around the dragonet’s stubby horn was cupped around Az, holding the tiny yellow puffball close to his heart. Tristepin’s eyes softened in brotherly affection for the kid in the funny hat. It was good to have family. Good to know where you came from, good to have someone to rely on, even when the whole world was against you. Tristepin was glad Yugo had at found least some of what he’d been looking for, sincerely happy for the friendly courageous little guy. Despite his fondness of the Eliatrope, he couldn't help but feel a quiet pang of jealousy.
He could never see that bastard Louis offering to share warmth on a cold night. Maybe if Gabrielle had lived he could...but that was a memory he knew would never let him sleep if he gave it his full attention. He turned over a third time in as many minutes, and instead tried to remember the names of the stars to distract himself.
Most of the patterns in the sky he didn't recognize, this far north from anywhere he’d been before...but there was Le Arc de Cra, and the Big and Little Gobbal, horns pointing the way to the Whip of Osmodas, wrapping around the Shield of Feca. He was disappointed to find his very favorite constellation missing until he spotted it peeking through on the other side of the frozen treeline.
The great hero Rykke Errel, dragon-slayer and mighty swordsman. Tristepin’s hand rose towards the sky, tracing out the constellations shoulders, belt, and long sword in the air. The great dragon Bolgrot whom Rykke had slain was also a constellation, but, as his mother had explained oh-so-long ago, the dragon was so afraid of Rykke that he never appeared in the sky at the same time as the fearsome warrior. Before he knew it Tristepin was reciting the legend under his breath, in time with the memory of a much more feminine voice, along with a lighter echo of his own.
“and in all of Amakna, only Rykke Errel was brave enough to stand up to the dragon. He looked that big scary dragon right in the eye and do you know what he said?” A giggle, as a tiny boy kicks against the sensation of his mother’s long fingers tickling his stomach. “He said “let’s-”“LET”S BE FRIENDS!” proclaims the boy over his mother’s soft chuckle. “That’s right, mon petit chevalier, he conquered that dragon through the strength of his heart, and the dragon swore loyalty to Rykke and vowed to leave all the villages alone and instead help them.”
“But Maman, I thought Rykke had to kill the dragon in the end.” A sneering voice interrupts from the doorway. A twelve year old boy with mud and blood caked on his knees tromps into the small cabin before being intercepted by the fiery gaze of his mother.
"Louis!" she scolds, "Don't you dare track that mess into my clean house!”
She turns over his hands, inspecting the knuckles. “Who have you been fighting with this time? I hope it was for a good cause and not because they called you some petty name this time.”
A stuck out lip yields no sympathy and the boy stomps his foot in anger. “They questioned your honor, mother! I had to teach them a lesson!”
The youth slides a grubby hand through a mess of what was once white curls, now streaked with dark mud and even darker drying blood. Then he flings the hand at the tiny boy still sitting beside his mother’s rocking chair. The younger of the two cowers slightly in the heat of the accusatory glare.
“They said you cheated on father! They said that little crybaby shrub couldn’t be my real brother! They said he was a Iop-spawn with his orange hair and his stupid yellow eyes! and they called you Choufleur the whore de Iop!”
The words, although from a secondary source, look like they had slapped her right across her olive skinned cheek. Suddenly her bright emerald hair flares in the wake of her wrath and she grabs Louis roughly by the arm and throws him out the door. “None of that! Your grandfather was a devoted follower of Iop, there’s no reason to shout Iop-spawn like it’s a disease! I don’t care what those godless heathens in the village say, Tristepin is your brother and I will hear no talk to the contrary in my house. You go to the stream and clean up, this instant. Go!” she fumes “and it’ll be wood-chopping duty for you until your arms fall off if I hear another word.” She yells after her eldest just before slamming the door.
“So you don't wanna hear talk but I'm not allowed to fight other people who repeat it? What a joke!” Tristepin could hear his brother grumbling loudly as he stomped away. Little Pinpin’s face screws up in an effort not to shed tears and is quickly picked up by his suddenly becalmed mother.
“Don’t listen to that kind of talk, Pipoun. You got your handsome looks from your grandfather, you happen to have his looks while Louis looks like your papa.” Tristepin clutches at the green tresses that cascade into his mother’s lap, sniffling. His tell-tale flaming orange hair curls dejectedly against his scalp. She pets his course hair affectionately.
“Maman...is that why papa likes Louis better? Because they look the same?”
Choufleur tightens her embrace on the tiny boy, bowing her head. “Of course not, he likes you both the same.” Tristepin pretends not to see the glitter of saltwater haunting the corners of her eyes under her bangs. “Pipoun...whatever you believe, whatever you hear...know that you came into this world with love. That whenever I see you I am reminded that there are heroes still in this world.” and she fell quiet then, rocking her youngest son and continuing to stroke the hair that had been the cause of such distress.
“Maman, can I hear more of the story now?” Choufleur smiles; a full, sincere, dazzling smile full of adoration and light. “Of course, Pipoun. Now, one day, Rykke met a beautiful enchantress named Helsephine...”
16-year-old Tristepin ground his teeth at the memory, turning back onto his side. Hadn’t he told himself he wasn't going to go down that line of thought? Damn that Louis, ruining his favorite story with his accusations, forever ruining what could have been his most precious memory. He seriously considered beating himself into sleep, just to beat out the combined ache of thinking of Maman and the sheer wrath he felt at thinking of Louis. He clenched his body, and balled his fists, as if he could force the memories out through his muscles. With a sigh he relaxed. He turned within the fur toward the plains stretching below the cliff that the group made camp atop. Scanned the rest of the heavens, he hoped to find another set of stars to focus on that didn't involve painful memories.
Suddenly, a bright flash streaking across the night caught his eye. “A shooting star?” He sat up, hoping to catch another glimpse. Straining his eyes into the darkness, trying to adjust his night vision despite the glare of the nearby fire, he was able to make out a dark figure standing on the lip of the plateau, some 100 yards away.
Her face was illuminated for a fleeting second as she shot another bolt of magic into the night, her elegant features cast in high relief for but an instant. He noticed, despite the darkness, that she was holding her arms close to her body. The shot seems slightly off, fishtailing slightly. As if the hand that cast it were trembling. Considering his boowolf skin a final time, Tristepin picked himself up and slung the heavy pelt over his shoulder.
He tried to be somewhat stealthy about his approach, but the Cra’s long ears couldn’t be fooled, Tristepin’s armored shoes crunching the freshly fallen snow. He arrived in time to see a gust of wind whip across Evangelyne’s clothes, and watched the archer shiver.
“You know, we’d all be warmer and safer in Ruel’s bag than out here.”
She turned and gave him an “Oh, it’s you” sort of look. She shivered again, and bent down to sit on the lip of the cliff.
“You go inside if you’re cold, Pinpin, unlike you, I’ll be safe out here.”
Tristepin scowled at the implication. “What do you mean, unlike me?”
“I mean without me you would have been turned into roast turkey against the Black Raven, not to mention the time I had to put on a dress to rescue you from the ugly princesses.”
For a minute, Tristepin’s heart froze and he fought to keep his shame and temper under control. Then she turned and gave him a dazzling smile to show she was joking and didn’t mean it, in the light of which he melted, all forgiven. But he still resented the idea that he couldn’t save himself.
“Hey, that wasn’t my fault, I was under a spell!” He hrrumphed. Another cute smile from eva, along with an adorable wrinkle of a nose tipped with red from the cold.
“You know, you looked really pretty in that dress.” He said sincerely. This seemed to throw her off completely, and she shuddered slightly in a way that didn't entirely look related to the cold. Still, seeing her shudder reminded him of why he’d originally come over. He took the pelt in both hands, meaning to just wrap the fur around her and leave, suddenly had an idea flash across his head. It was probably closer to an instinct or an impulse than a complete idea, but he took it and ran with it. She was cold, He couldn't sleep, she looked so lonely hunched against the bitter wind, (and soft, a different part of his brain chimed in, and huggable, don’t forget huggable). He slung the pelt over his own shoulders and sat down close beside her, draping half of the luxurious fur around her shoulders. She tensed, but didn’t move to get up. Pressing his luck, he slid an arm around her waist once he was sure the pelt wouldn't slip. He could hear her breath catch in her throat. He had slightly miscalculated how close they’d end up when he’d sat down, their faces nearly cheek-to-cheek. Their legs didn’t have an inch of space between them, and with Tristepin’s arm around her she fitted into the crook of his shoulder like a missing puzzle piece. Slowly, almost as if they had rehearsed it, they simultaneously turned to look at one another.
In some of the books he’d read, ( while Tristepin hadn't really gone to school that he could remember, he did know how and in fact liked to read...even if it took him twice as long as other people and it helped if there were pictures) particularly the ones Goultard used to make fun of him for reading, he’d heard of people “being lost in their lover’s eyes”. He’d never really understood what that phrase had meant. But sitting there, his gaze locked on her big, bright eyes, her pupils slightly dilated, searching his face just as he was searching hers, he finally wondered if this is what the stories were talking about. His whole existence seemed tied up in studying those leaf-green facets, noting the very light shoots of gold color interspersed throughout. He felt almost hyper aware of the details of her face. He found himself studying the fan of her eyelashes, the shape of her freckles, the tinge of the delicate pink blush spreading across her cheeks. But the depths of those eyes he found himself returning to time and again, seeing himself reflected there, as if trapped within a world of emeralds. Her gaze flickered, breaking from his to a spot somewhat lower on his face. He realised she was looking at his lips, and noticed her blush grow faintly stronger. A light went off in his head. He tilted his chin forward, closing his eyes as he did so.
He could hear her sharp intake of breath, and hesitated, suddenly wondering if he’d read her wrong. It certainly wouldn’t be the first time. He edged his face forward a few more millimeters, close enough to feel the warmth of her skin. He stopped just short, barely a hair’s breath from contact.
He wanted to do the noble thing, wanted to let her meet him halfway or give her a chance to escape, but his hands itched to just grab her, press her into him until no one could tell where one ended and the other began. A heat was rising all over his body that had little to do with the pelt over their shoulders.
She turned her face away. Tristepin hastily moved his head around too, suddenly transfixed by the rivets in his sabatons, blushing furiously. His heart felt like it had dropped out the bottom of those shoes, and was plummeting down the cliffside below. He felt like someone had stuck rubilax straight through the center of his chest.
So he had misread her! Curse his iop-brain, why did he think she’d wanna kiss a bwork like him? She’d been nice enough to let him put an arm around her and sit all close, and he’d nearly ruined it! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!
He continued to berate himself, until she said, “You know....I did think it was really heroic of you, the way you blocked Grougaloragran’s attack on Oma. I don’t know of anyone else who could have stood up to a dragon’s fire like that, for as long as you did.”
Pinpin’s chest swelled with pride. “I just wanted to protect everyone.” He said modestly, while preening on the inside. He sat up straighter. Maybe she didn’t want to kiss him just yet, but maybe he had hope for the future.
“Well, I was impressed.” She finished. The silence resumed. Tristepin’s chest started to deflate a bit. What was he supposed to do now? He’d come over to her with the intent to hug her and give her some warmth. Well, he supposed that’s what he was doing...but there seemed to be an emptiness in the air, or a tension...something in between a pause and a beginning. Indescribable, and awkward.
Eva broke it. “Was there something you came over here for, Pinpin?” she said, her voice quavering slightly.
“Not really. you...just looked cold.” He finished, lamely. “and I couldn’t sleep?” His voice cracked slightly on the end, as if unsure if insomnia was a good enough reason and he was asking her opinion.
“Oh, ok.” she fidgeted.
The snow fell softly around them. It was so quiet they could hear crackle of the embers yards behind them in the dying fire.
“Pinpin...” she started, hesitated, started again. “Pinpin, the other day, when we were talking about dofus...do you really think babies come from cabbages?”
“Well,” he said, pausing to turn over his thoughts, “I don’t know for sure or anything...but no one’s told me any different, so I guess I never really thought about it. I think I might have heard something about storks though...why?” His face screwed up at seeing her expression and he made a small logic leap. “They don’t really come from either, do they? That’s why you laughed at it.” His shoulders drooped.
Eva had the decency to look sheepish. “It’s not your fault no one sat you down before and told you these things, I’m sorry I laughed.”
Another long pause.
“Do...do you know where babies come from then?” and for reasons he didn't understand, he started blushing all over. Something in him knew this wasn’t the kind of thing you asked the girl you were pretty much in love with.
She might have thought so too, because she stiffened up and started turning red all over as well. “Well, I, that is...Amalia’s mother sat us down and told us about it, yes.”
“Could you...would it be ok...would you tell me about it?”
She snapped her head around to stare at him in surprise and a small amount of sheer shock. “Y-y-y-you want me to tell you where babies come from?”
[how can he sit there, with his arm around me, so close beside me, alone on a cold night under a warm blanket and look so innocent? and yet so masculine and confident, with his broad shoulders and quirky grin and the line of his jaw inches from my lips arggg stop it eva.]
“Why not? You’re always so good at explaining things, and so smart...and I’m sure you could do a better job than Ruel.” And not charge me five kamas or be as fun to look at. He silently added. “I trust you,” was he actually said, and she lit up for an instant in a way he knew was 100% spontaneous. Her eyes widened and she dipped her head immediately afterwards, to hide the smile that had risen unbidden. He caught a glimpse of it though, and all it served to do was put his attention back on her lips...which was going to make listening to her very difficult, if she was going to keep looking that cute and kissable.
She fussed with the blanket while appearing to stall for time. “I don’t know Pinpin...usually it’s something your parents tell you about, or at least somebody older...” She concentrated on arranging the pelt around her legs, tucking part of it in between them. Her hands brushed his leg. While that slight contact made his heart skip a beat, it also felt like she was trying to create a bit of separation between them with the gesture.
“You’re older than me.” He pointed out simply.
“Oh! Yes, I suppose I am, technically...” She chewed her bottom lip. She had drawn her knees up off the cliff and wrapped her arms around them. Yet at the same time she seemed to lean into him more. She sighed.
[those shoulders are really not fair. those big broad shoulders and firm biceps that make you just want to wrap your hands around them and that solid wall of chest that makes you wanna curl up against it and...]
“Please Eva. Don’t make me go ask Ruel.” Tristepin said into her ear, not really meaning for his voice to go all low and rumbly, but when she shivered so deliciously against him in responce, he decided he liked the effect. “C’mon Eva. I want to learn.”
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The Dofus and the Cabbages