On Sunday morning Mark sleeps in. It's the second morning in a row he's done so instead of being woken up by an alarm. Mark is a creature of habit by necessity of survival - he'd learned to be an early riser to avoid getting in trouble for illegal parking.
It's the first full weekend in Eru knows how long, that Mark has had an entire weekend with a roof over his head, an actual real bed to sleep in - a futon, but a bed nonetheless - and feels like he can really, truly relax.
Which makes it hurt all the more that soon he'll have to get a move on and look for a farm in the area that's hiring seasonal workers for the harvest. He wonders if there's a chance that maybe Sören and Anthony will let him stay in the guest room during the winter, but he worries he might be pushing his luck and look like he's taking advantage.
Mark tries not to think about it. He has more immediate concerns - after he feeds the cats he takes a picture and texts Anthony as proof "his babies" are OK, and there is no reply from Anthony like usual. He hopes nothing happened. His mind's eye conjures horrors of car accidents, or maybe even meeting with a serial killer...
Stop it, Mark tells himself. They're probably fine.
Then bitterly he thinks to himself, It's like your entire family died horribly, or something.
Mark sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose, rubs his face, and makes himself coffee.
He does some tidying around the apartment, even though they didn't ask him to - he wants it to be a surprise. A few adjustments here and there, and he ends up getting the motivation to empty and change the catboxes, clean the toilet, mop the floors, wipe the kitchen counters, dust and vacuum. He makes a very late breakfast once the kitchen floor is dry, and then he looks at the clock with tired eyes - it's afternoon now.
He needs a shower. That's one of the luxuries of staying here, he can take a real shower. He can wash his hair.
One of the complications of living in a van since the 1970s is it has made Mark somewhat claustrophobic, which is why he tries to be out of his van as much as possible during the day even if it means sitting in a Starbucks or a McDonald's - and now, Phoenix Books - or busking, if he's not working. He doesn't expect Sören and Anthony to be home until evening, since they'd said on Friday they'd be coming back on Sunday evening, so he thinks it will be perfectly safe to shower with the door open.
He takes his time in the shower, savoring the feel of the hot water on his skin... the lavender-scented soap. He lets himself drift mentally, just being, a welcome respite from always having to pay close attention to his surroundings in case things get ugly, which has kept him alive for thousands of years but has also made him kind of a nervous wreck. It's so good to just release the tension and not have to think at all, only enjoy.
And then it all comes crashing down.
Mark ends the shower after what feels like an eternity, and the moment he steps out, he hears keys in the door.
"Oh shit," Mark says under his breath. "Oh shit, oh no..."
"Mark?" calls Sören's voice.
"Hey Mark, we're home," Anthony yells, then with a nervous chuckle he adds, "We're kind of early. It rained."
Mark quickly grabs a towel. He hears a knock on the guest bedroom door - he doesn't remember shutting it - followed by Anthony calling out "Mark? You in there?" and then Sören's footsteps down the hall, Sören saying, "Man, I gotta piss..."
Seamus trots in first, just as Mark gets a towel around his waist, and the minute Sören steps in, Seamus grabs the towel and yanks it down on the floor, then Seamus picks up an end in his mouth and starts dragging it like prey, while Mark stands there completely naked.
Mark's hands go to his crotch but it's too late. Sören is looking down, and then he looks up. "Er, sorry. The bedroom door was closed and I thought. Uh. Ahhhh. Um. Sorry." Sören turns pink and darts off.
Mark hears the guest bedroom door open with a meow. "Snúður, did you shut yourself in there? Silly cat," Anthony says.
Mark's immediate thought is that it's a good thing they didn't leave the cats alone over the weekend, if Snúður was prone to this sort of behavior. Mark's next thought is Oh fuck, now Sören knows what I've got down there. He swallows hard; while Sören and Anthony appear to be liberal - Anthony still has a Bernie Sanders sticker on his car, in 2021 - and he knows they're gay, that doesn't necessarily mean they're not transphobes.
Well, I'm about to find out. He braces himself for the possible end of the friendship as he puts on another towel and quickly scuttles to the guest bedroom to change. While he's changing, he can hear Sören and Anthony whispering, as if they're discussing something they don't want him overhearing. He can't quite make out the words - he has very sensitive hearing, much moreso than a human's but there are limits - and yet, he knows it's definitely about him.
His heart hammers in his ears. Once he's changed and comes out of the guest bedroom, he feels like a death row inmate walking to the execution chamber, one leaden step at a time.
Anthony has put on tea, like everything is perfectly fine and normal. "Would you like some Earl Grey?" Anthony asks Mark as he goes over to the stove. "I thought a cuppa would be nice on a rainy day like this."
"Yeah, thanks," Mark says, and shuffles over to the armchair, where Seamus promptly sits on him like he didn't just expose his genitalia ten minutes ago.
Sören is sitting on the couch and gives a polite little smile before he looks off to the side, like he's trying very hard to not picture Mark with his clothes off. Mark's face burns and his heart beats even faster. Oh shit. Oh shit oh shit oh shit ohshitohshitohshit.
When the tea is ready, Anthony takes out the tea service - so formal of him - and sits down. "Thank you again for watching the cats for us," Anthony says.
"You're welcome." Mark gives a tight smile.
"I hope they weren't too much trouble."
Only just now. Mark gives Seamus a look, and Seamus headbutts him hard, purring loudly. He hops up on Mark's shoulder and starts kneading with his claws. "I enjoy their company." That is true - even now it's hard to resist Seamus, and he gives Seamus some skritches.
"I'm sorry we didn't give you advance warning we were coming back early," Anthony says. "My phone got soaked - " He gestures to a bowl he just put out of dry raw rice. "And Sören didn't charge his phone."
"It's OK." Mark takes a deep breath. "I, ah. I." His eyes meet Sören's, and instead of apologizing for the incident in the bathroom, he cuts right to the chase. "So now you know."
"Know what?" Anthony glances at Sören, and at Mark, looking genuinely confused.
Mark realizes Sören might not have outed him, only mentioned Seamus yanked away the towel and ran off with it, not what his genitalia looks like. But he doesn't know what was said, and he presses on - better to just get this out in the open now. "I'm trans."
"Oh no," Anthony says under his breath.
There it fucking is. Mark feels like he's going to vomit, but a split second after that, Sören grins and says, "Hi Trans, I'm Sören."
Anthony facepalms, and then starts shaking with silent laughter.
Mark feels the tiniest bit of pressure eased off. "Was your 'oh no' -"
"I knew what Sören was going to say," Anthony says with an eyeroll and a smile, before he tweaks Sören's nose and gives him noogies. "Because it's the exact same fucking thing he said to me the night we met."
"Oh." Mark laughs hysterically, both with relief and fondly remembering his father had a very similar reaction when he came out. And then it hits Mark. "Wait. What?"
"We're all trans guys," Sören says, gesturing to himself, Anthony, and then Mark.
Mark's eyebrows shoot up, not able to believe what he's hearing. "WHAT?"
Sören and Anthony just nod quietly.
Mark's head is spinning. He puts down his tea and presses his temples, feeling like his brain is going to explode. He takes a good look at Sören, who looks like a modern-day Viking, and then at Anthony, boyishly handsome. "You guys are bullshitting, right? You guys are making fun of me -"
"OK, look," Anthony says. He gets up and heads over to a bookshelf. Mark watches as he takes down a leather-bound photo album, and then Anthony hands the photo album to Mark. "Here's some proof."
Mark flips open the photo album. He sees some baby pictures, then a dark-haired toddler girl making faces as a woman who looks a lot like a brunette, bespectacled, green-eyed Annie Lennox holds her. Then the toddler girl ages up to somewhere between seven to nine years old, with long dark hair and green eyes, like Anthony's eyes.
Then he comes to a photograph of a dark-haired teenager wearing a Nirvana hoodie and jeans. A teenager who looks very much like a young version of Anthony, only with long hair and more feminine facial features and goth makeup, and it starts to register.
There's a photo of Anthony - late teens or early twenties, Mark guesses - before transition, with long hair, slim and small-breasted, dressed in a black midriff top with black Tripp pants, standing in front of a Hot Topic store. Wearing goth makeup. Looking very serious, almost angry. Mark raises an eyebrow. Anthony leans in to see which photo Mark is looking at. Then Sören does.
Sören cracks up laughing. Anthony laughs too, turning pink. "Yeah, that was my goth phase," he says. "I visited the States for the first time on a gap year before uni and I had to go to a Hot Topic and get a photo op."
Mark snickers too - as much as he feels increasingly out of step with pop culture, he knows what goths are. He wonders what younger Anthony was like. Mark continues to flip through the photo album. There's another photo of Anthony before transition, with hair in a pixie cut, wearing a blue cardigan and white slacks, with that serious, stern expression again.
Then Anthony pre-transition... in a bride's dress with a veil, holding a bouquet of flowers... wearing a very tired, very done facial expression. Anthony leans in again to see which one Mark is looking at. "Oh yeah, that was when I got married to my first husband. Steve."
"Scumbag Steve," Sören says.
"I hated every minute of wearing that thing. I felt like I was doing very bad drag," Anthony says with another chuckle.
Now pre-transition Anthony is in a light grey cashmere sweater, arms folded, smiling a little... next to a man in a deeper grey cashmere sweater with unruly auburn hair, light facial hair, handsome features, square-jawed, ruddy complexion, a smartass look on his face. Anthony leans in again. "That's Steve."
"What happened?" Mark asks, then feels like he's prying - it's one thing for Anthony to disclose his trans status, it's another thing for Anthony to talk about his life story.
"I'll get to that in a bit," Anthony says. "Go on."
Pre-transition Anthony is sitting in a wood-paneled law office, wearing a barrister wig and robes, and an aloof, coolly amused half-smile. Almost smug, cocky. Mark gets the sense Anthony was a terror in the courtroom.
Some more photos of pre-transition Anthony and Steve, and then... alone, wearing a grey suit with glasses and a big cheesy, goofy grin. Same face, same hair, but overall more masculine. Anthony once again looks over. "That was after I came out and began transition. No T yet, but I wore a menswear suit for the first time. With a binder and a packer."
"You look... happy," Mark says, not able to get over the smile compared to the rest of the pictures.
"I was. I was very proud of myself that day. It was the first time I experienced gender euphoria." Anthony smiles.
"Gender... euphoria." Mark rolls the words around, unfamiliar.
"I take it you're not online much. The opposite of dysphoria, basically, something that makes you feel good about your gender identity and expression."
Mark comes to another photo of Anthony - this time his face has masculinized to the familiar face a couple feet away, hair cropped shorter, and he's wearing glasses, a white button-down shirt, dark navy vest, trousers, lighter navy tie, standing in front of a wood panel... smiling. He looks dapper - quite attractive; Mark's cheeks start burning again, not wanting to notice Anthony like this - but more than that, Anthony looks happy. The photo seems to radiate confidence.
Anthony leans in to see where Mark is lingering and he smiles and nods. "That was me in 2015, after I'd been on T for two years," Anthony says. "And what a difference it made."
Mark looks at the photo of Anthony wearing a suit for the first time, then at the photo from 2015. The testosterone definitely masculinized his face, and Mark can hear the effects in Anthony's voice.
Towards the back of the photo album are photos of a little girl with long curly black hair and sad brown eyes, who becomes a solemn-looking young adult... then more androgynous... and then Sören as he is now, with his beard.
Mark hands the photo album back to Anthony, who puts it away.
"Those needles you'd mentioned seeing in the bathroom are our testosterone injections," Anthony says. "I've been on T since 2013, and Sören has been on T since 2015."
Mark doesn't take testosterone, and has never had surgery - he was naturally small-breasted and herbs and magic helped him to avoid a more obvious female body shape, but that's only gone so far. His chest is flat but he still has a vagina, his clitoris grows a couple inches long when erect but not to a full-sized penis... and he's been pregnant four times, though not in a long time. Living in Middle-Earth for millennia, it helps that his species is tall so even being "short" for one of the Eldar, he's taller than most humans. And he's trained his voice deeper. People assume he's male if he's got his clothes on.
"So you're trans." Mark still can't believe it. At best, he'd hoped that they wouldn't be transphobic. This was... beyond his expectations. "I had no idea. I can't tell."
Anthony looks at Sören, who smiles that adorable smile. Mark feels that little flutter and hates himself for it. Do not have a crush on these guys. Anthony looks back at Mark. "Sören and I met at a gay club in Reykjavik in 2017... and we had no idea. We got hot and heavy and I took him back to my hotel room and I told him 'Before we go any further, you need to know... I'm trans.' And then he said, 'Hi Trans, I'm Sören.' And then he said, 'So am I.' I thought he was taking the piss. Nope. We'd never been with another trans guy before, but we were horny and decided to take a chance, and. Wow."
"Fireworks," Sören says. Anthony nods.
"More like a mushroom cloud." Anthony grins. "But anyway... we didn't know, just by looking at each other clothes on. We're stealth, we're only out on a need-to-know basis. I assume - and hope - most people assume we're cis guys. It's not that we're ashamed to be trans, it's just... easier and less dysphoria-inducing if we pass, y'know?"
"And we didn't know you were trans either," Sören says. "We couldn't tell that day in the bathroom when you ran out with your shirt off. And I was completely shocked when I saw you had a pus -" Sören claps his hand over his mouth and lets out a little "meep" through his hand.
Anthony narrows his eyes at Sören. "Now, he may not want it called that -"
"It's OK," Mark says with a laugh. "You can say pussy."
"We say it," Sören says. "Or boypussy."
"But not bussy." Anthony makes a face.
"What?" Mark has never heard this before. "Buh... bussy?" He can barely get the word out, it sounds so ridiculous.
Sören snickers. "Jæja, bussy. Short for boypussy -"
"I'd... I'd got that, thanks," Mark says.
"Oh god. Speaking of bussy." Anthony's eyes widen. "Mark, do you remember that awful lady who was in the shop a few weeks ago, the one with pink hair, who was giving my husband a hard time?"
"I do," Mark says.
"Well... you've got to see this." Anthony takes his laptop, and after he pulls up the site he wants, he hands the laptop to Mark. It's the Yelp page for Phoenix Books. Mark sees the latest review right away - a one-star review from a Bev Debussy, whose avatar is the same fuchsia-haired middle-aged woman Mark recognizes from that day in the store.
The review starts off with Dear Consumers, you should know if you plan on purchasing luncheon at this establishment, they are extremely unprofessional. Not only is the food unhealthy and made from low-quality ingredients, but it's made by someone who looks like a bum off the street and he has the worst attitude...
It doesn't stop there. It's an entire wall of text that goes on and on and on, nitpicking every little last trivial detail about the shop and Sören and Anthony themselves in excruciatingly florid prose. Mark's eyes start to glaze over.
When he can't take it anymore he passes the laptop back over to Anthony. "Wow. The gift that keeps on giving."
"Yeah." Anthony rolls his eyes. "So anyway, I did some Googlemancy and found out she owns a farm a couple counties over, that has a small store and lets people do apple picking in the fall. I'm thinking about taking Sören on a day trip and then returning the favor of a one-star review on Yelp, her business is listed, but I'm probably an arsehole."
"Do we really need to spend the gas money to go up there?" Sören asks. "Just for you to get revenge with a snarky review? Really? Besides, it's probably... like... an eldritch portal to some Lovecraftian New England nightmare." Sören wiggles his fingers and makes a deliberately goofy "spooky" face. "Those apples are probably fucking contaminated, stealing souls for the Dark Lord or some shit."
Anthony chuckles. "You're right. Well... it was a thought." Anthony sighs. "Fitting her name is Debussy, she's a real twat."
"Too bad she shares her name with the composer," Mark says.
"Hm?" Sören asks.
"Clair de Lune," Mark informs him, realizing Sören probably doesn't listen to classical music.
"Ohhhhh... that was her name," Anthony says, pressing his hand to his face and wincing like he's in pain.
"What?" Mark is confused.
"Clarissa. The one chick I shagged when I was at uni, because people constantly assumed I was a lesbian based on the way I presented myself, but I didn't like it. I'm not into girls." Anthony makes a face.
"I see. I go both ways, but I don't like labels," Mark says, thinking about the mortal partners he's had over the years. All the times he's loved and lost. And you can't keep breaking your heart over and over again, like that. Besides... they're probably monogamous. Most people are. And even if they weren't, you're homeless, for fuck's sake. Your life is a mess. Your head is a mess -
"That's cool," Anthony says, nodding, and Sören nods too.
"You were going to tell me about your first husband," Mark says, curiosity getting him again. Also, a welcome distraction from thinking about Sören and Anthony that way.
"Right, sorry, ADD." Anthony makes a "whoosh" motion over his head. He clears his throat. "The reason I go by Anthony and not by Tony is because when I was Antonia, everyone called me Toni, with an I. So it feels too much like being deadnamed, the only person who's allowed to call me Tony is my uncle Nigel, who pretty much raised me after my mum started drinking."
"I'm sorry," Mark says, genuinely feeling sympathy for Anthony having an alcoholic parent. "Was it just your mum, or -"
"My father died when I was very young," Anthony says. "I was a tomboy even before Nigel began raising me, I've always thought of myself as a boy - in fact, that's part of why he and I got along, he said I was like the son he never had. My mum wanted a little doll she could play with and dress up so I was... a disappointment to her, I think, though she did accept me 100% when I came out to her."
"That's good," Mark says.
"OK anyway - where was I?"
"You were telling me you go by Anthony and not Tony because -"
"Right."
"And you just... chose the male version of your name?"
"First name. I did something very different for my middle name." Anthony makes a face again. "My deadname is Antonia Evangeline Elizabeth Hewlett-Johnson -" Mark tries not to laugh; Sören doesn't even try. Anthony gives Sören a look, then he cracks up laughing too. "Yeah, I know, I know, I sound like a posh twat, don't I."
"Just a little." Mark smiles; if only they knew they're sitting in front of an elven prince...
"When I got all my papers in order, I became Anthony Trent Hewlett-Johnson."
"Trent." Mark's smile becomes a smirk. "Like Reznor."
"I had a huge crush on him as a teenager," Anthony says. "I didn't want to go with my mum's suggestion of Cornelius as a middle name, that sounded too old-fashioned and snooty, and I didn't want to take my late father's name Roger as my middle name, either. I was at a loss for names, but I didn't want to be without a middle name, so I went with the guy who inspired a lot of 'I don't know if I want to be him or fuck him' moments that helped me connect the dots about what was going on with me. So yeah, Trent as in Reznor, yes that's my middle name, yes I know how cringe that is, but it was either that or Gavin, as in Rossdale, my other big stupid teenage crush."
Sören has a gigglefit. "My name wasn't all that complicated. I used to be Sigrit, I didn't want to go with Sigurð because that's my late father's name... I took the name Sören after Kierkegaard... and also my great-grandfather, who was an inventor, flew a hot air balloon around Iceland. Kind of a character."
"Yours was a little more imaginative than mine," Anthony says.
"Only just a little. Not really much mental effort to choose the name of the guy who wrote extensively about melancholy when you've been fucking depressed since you were a kid."
Mark wants to give Sören a hug, but he holds back. "Mine wasn't that imaginative either. I was a Maggie." Mark shifts uncomfortably in his seat - that's another half-truth, he goes by Mark Lauer because his name is Macalaurë, it's easier to not slip up that way. Then he eases slightly with a smile as he thinks of his family tradition of having not-very-imaginative names, being the son of a man who named all seven of his sons -finwë, though Mark had started life as Kanafinwiel.
Anthony nods.
"So... your first husband." Mark notices Anthony is way more distracted than usual, but then he knows it's not every day people come out and he's guessing Anthony is nervous. Mark doesn't mind the tangents - he likes getting to know them.
"Right. Well, everyone at uni thought I was a lesbian, like I said... and then when I was in my diploma conversion group, this bloke Steve in my class got dared by his mates to ask me out and try to 'convert' me. Little did they know I needed no converting because I do in fact prefer men. I accepted the date with Steve and it went badly, lots of fumbling, but then he apologized and asked for a second date to make it up, and that went better, and..." Anthony makes a vague hand gesture. "We got married in 2007. We were both members of Lincoln's Inn, we belonged to the same chambers... so it was really, really awkward when we split up. Enough so that once I had my top surgery, thanks NHS, I decided to visit the States again, this time to stay. I got my law certification in order and I lived in New York, working for the ACLU. And I was going to tell you what happened with Steve." Their eyes meet and Anthony purses his lips.
"Only if you want to," Mark says, already feeling a pang of sympathy without knowing what happened yet. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. I -"
"No, it's fine. I mean hell, you told me you're AWOL and probably in legal trouble if you go back to Canada, so you might as well hear the sad story of my life. It's not as bad as you're probably thinking, it could have been a lot worse, but..." Anthony's shoulders heave as he exhales sharply. "So, I found out I was pregnant. All of my gender issues came to a head. I had an abortion, without my husband knowing. When I told him, he was... displeased."
"I mean, it's your body, your choice," Mark says, and adds, "I've had two abortions." That feels awfully personal to disclose, but also he feels like he can trust them with at least that much. What he can't trust them with is telling them the abortions happened back in the days when you drank a concoction of pennyroyal tea and other herbs and hoped you didn't die.
"Right, but Steve... didn't see it that way. And I know I probably should have told him, but I felt like if I did, he would have been at me to keep it, and I..." Anthony shakes his head and closes his eyes. "It was too much. All the dysphoria..." When he opens his eyes they're too bright. Sören puts an arm around him and whispers, "...elskan."
"He wanted to know why, and I was honest with him. A little too honest. I told him I'm a boy on the inside and then... I told him I don't want to live a lie anymore. And that was when he backhanded me and said he wasn't, ah. The f-slur." Anthony shudders. Sören hugs Anthony tight and whispers "elskan" again.
"He hit you." Mark's fists clench, feeling a surge of murderous rage.
"Just that one time. He threw me out, I came home to find bags on the street and the locks changed. I went to stay with my uncle Nigel, I attempted suicide a couple weeks later, when the gossip at the office started..." Anthony blinks back tears. "And then I began treatment at the gender clinic."
"I'm glad you're still with us," Mark says sincerely. He hurts for what Anthony went through.
Anthony nods. "I am too." Anthony turns to Sören and kisses the tip of his nose. "I found someone much better than Steve."
"That's a low bar," Sören says.
Anthony laughs. "Point, but still." They rub noses - Mark melts a little at the cuteness - and then Anthony turns back to Mark with a sad smile. "My coming out story isn't as tragic as some. My uncle and his partner support me, and my mum does too. That's more than what Sören has..." Anthony turns to Sören.
"Both my parents are dead and I have nothing to do with the rest of my biological family," Sören says, "except for my second cousin who's also named Sigrit. She did Eurovision, part of a group called Fire Saga."
Mark doesn't know if that's a good or bad thing.
"My aunt and uncle were drunks, then they got religion and that was somehow even worse." Sören winds a finger in circles at his temple. "They think I'm going to hell."
Mark thinks of the Void... and the Doom. But his people's gods disapproved of him long before Fëanor led them out of Valinor. Indeed, it was part of why Fëanor stood against the gods. "My father was very supportive of me. He was... an artist, an inventor... and he said I was creating myself, like living art. He was proud. My mother... not so much. She really wanted a girl, I have... had... six brothers, so she was disappointed. Enough so that it caused problems in the marriage."
"That sucks," Anthony says, and Sören nods. "You say had, past tense. Did they disown you -"
"No. They died." Mark closes his eyes and once again sees Maedhros plunging into the chasm.
"Jesus Christ." Anthony lets out a low whistle. "You have seen some shit, haven't you?"
"A bit." Mark nods. I have seen eons of shit, Anthony Trent Hewlett-Johnson. I have seen shit since before your grandfather's grandfather's grandfather's grandfather's grandfather's grandfather's grandfather's grandfather.
Sören springs up, and walks right over to Mark. He holds out his arms. "Hug?"
Mark stands up to accept the hug, and a moment later Anthony is hugging both of them.
"It's really some coincidence that your path crossed with ours and we're all trans," Anthony says. "I don't believe in God or anything but it still feels like, I don't know, we were meant to meet each other."
Mark feels that way too and it scares him a little. He doesn't want to get attached to these people any more than he already is. Fall is coming, winter is coming and he needs to work and save up if he's going to survive. That means leaving in a matter of days. One week, maybe two at the most.
Sören squeezes him, and Mark tousles Sören's curls - then feels like he should have asked first, but Sören smiles. Mark can't help noticing how pretty Sören's hair is. Worthy of a Noldo. In fact, his father wanted curly hair just like that...
Sören smiles a lot like how Fëanor smiled. Mark thinks of the art in the guest bedroom - Fëanor would have liked him. Especially his sense of humor.
Mark thinks of one of the paintings in the gallery in the shop, the one with what looks like an obvious Silmaril glinting in the waves. He recalls a conversation with Sören about those paintings.
"They're very... mythical. It's like seeing into other layers of reality."
Sören nods. "A lot of them are based on dreams I've had."
Mark closes his eyes. Definitely quite some coincidence, meeting them. He wonders what's going on, why Sören has dreamt of the Silmaril.
In the meantime, he feels like he's found a home and family just to have it ripped away from him again, and that tears him up inside. But for this moment he accepts their embrace, allows himself that moment of warmth, of peace. Each of those moments keeps the flame going a little longer... defying the Doom.
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