It was autumn, with red and yellow leaves dancing in the wind, with frost crunching underfoot, and the näkki was sitting at a rock by his pond, and he was singing and he was beautiful.
He had been beautiful and singing and beautiful back then, too, that fateful night when they had met. But it had been different. Emil could recall the voice. The sleek voice, seeping into his head, muffling his thoughts like moss and murky water - and he couldn’t even think to mind it. He hadn’t minded the gleaming, glittering eyes of gold staring into his, or the pale, smooth skin, glowing oddly in the light of the water. He would have gadly died in the ams and charms of shimmery glamour. He almost had.
Almost.
Now, it was a quiet song, the clarity of a whispery voice. The näkki was covered in greens and grime, and his eyes were not gold. Something was very wrong with his eyes, but at least they were his. And maybe that was his beauty. He was real and he was honest and he was Lalli.
Emil said his name, sometimes. And Lalli would always flinch, but then he smiled, a very small and very bitter smile. And sometimes his eyes would glaze over, and Emil would repeat his name again, and again. Lalli. Lalli. Lalli Hotakainen.
The fight was never truly over.
There were good moments and there were bad moments, but there was trust, for Emil had never trusted anyone more than he trusted the infected mage. And Lalli trusted him too, to know his name and know his pond.
Lalli didn’t really need the coat, but Emil made it for him anyway. Well, not made it per se - it was a spare coat from Keuruu, and Emil fixed its backside to fit a näkki. It was thick and warm and far more protective than the ratty rotting tunic Lalli wore in the water. Emil had this shallow hope that maybe, it would make him feel a little more human. It was silly, he knew - but sometimes he held Lalli’s hands in his own until they were dry and warm.
They never stayed warm for long.
But what was okay, because it gave him an excuse to do it again.
