Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Roland's arm moved in an arc, leaving dust in its wake. Marianne stepped back, horrified. Bog, frozen, hand outstretched, unable to get to his beloved, unsure if she felt the same way as he, unsure if she could resist the potion's effects, but holding on to desperate hope that maybe -

And then the first rays of morning hit Roland’s shining hair.

And fate was frozen.

----------

When the stars cleared from everyone's eyes, there were cheers. Roland held Marianne in his arms and oh it looked like the perfect picture. The heroic fairy prince, radiant in the sunlight, having saved his princess, triumphantly declaring his love and saving the kingdom...the gathered Fairies ate it up. The applause started spontaneously, and grew to encompass everyone in the clearing, goblins hesitant, fairies ecstatic, leaving a little pool of confused silence around those who knew what had truly happened.

Dawn seemed most confused, her head buried in Sunny’s hair, without words for once in her life. Her heart welled up with love for her Sunny-bunny, but outside the little bubble that surrounded the two it was as if the world had gone mad. Her strong, wise sister, who had gone through hell to save her, was standing mutely at Roland’s side, a dazed expression on her face. Where was the sister who had flown into a rage and thrown Roland out of a party a mere week before? Where was the girl who just minutes ago was at Roland’s throat, hell bent on saving her sister? Why was she just...accepting everything?

And Boggy - Bog, she corrected herself - was looking just as lost, hidden in Roland’s shadow, when wasn’t he the real hero? He had fought just as hard for her, even after Dawn had been nothing but trouble for him. He’d stood by her sister, then flown Dawn to safety, even when it had meant potentially leaving Marianne in a crumbling castle. And Dawn couldn’t help but remember the heartbroken waver in his voice as he had called for Marianne, as if the loss of one Fairy was more tragic than his whole world crumbling around him.

"I - I don't understand." Sunny whispered from beside Dawn, echoing her thoughts. "I thought Marianne hated him.” But he wasn’t just looking at his life-long friend, or the monster King that had saved his beloved; he looked on, past them, and saw at the edge of the light Sugar Plum hiding behind Bog’s shoulder.

She was cowering, her blue form almost white with fear. The same magician who had cheered so loud as to alert the entire castle of her escape was quaking, shrinking into herself until she was barely bigger than one of her Plummets...and somehow that only proved to Sunny what he and Dawn already felt was true.

Something had gone very, very wrong.

-----------------------

The Bog King listened glumly as the arrogant ass - Roland - prattled on.

" - and now that the Princesses are back safe, thanks to yours truly, the wedding's back on! Ain't that right, sugar sweetums?"

Marianne looked dazzled, but mutely nodded, and Bog felt a knife twist in his heart. Of course Marianne had fallen for Roland. He was everything a Fairy could want, and Bog himself was too hideous…how could he have been such a fool and thought otherwise?

"Its what's best for the kingdom!" Roland continued, gaining nods from the Fairy King and soldiers. "We wouldn't want our Queen to have to run off to the Dark Forest for every little incident, would we?" more nods, and now laughter. No, they wouldn't want a queen to do that, would they? But Bog bristled, and Dawn felt much the same from across the clearing. How dare Roland imply that Marianne was anything less than competent? She had stormed the Dark Forest on her own, made peace with the Bog King, and had Roland not shown up...well, things would have gone much differently. Who knew where that moonlit walk might have gone?

No. Bog chided himself. It was clear she returned none of his feelings. And that was fine. If only...if only she would start acting like Marianne again. Where was that spark of fire that had crashed her through his window with hell in her eyes and vengeance on her breath? Who was this simpering creature who stood silent while Roland played King?

"So, we'd best get back to the Kingdom, right? Got a wedding to plan, army to run, all that - "

Just grind the knife in harder. Bog thought, trying unsuccessfully to hide his grimace.

"But not before apologizing to B- to the Bog King." Marianne said quietly.

"What, honey buns?" Roland’s grin was fixed, but there was steel in his eyes.

She found her voice, and said more strongly, "Not before a proper apology. Really, Roland, we've invaded his kingdom!"
Across the clearing, Dawn saw Roland's eyes go hard, and something in her shivered, even as that beautiful smile snapped back on. "O'course, sugar." He turned to Bog. "Sorry, your Gobliness. We've just had a lovers' tiff." Bog stiffened. "and I'm sorry y'all got involved in it."

"Lover's tiff?" Snarled Sunny, muffled behind Dawn. "He nearly got us all killed!"

"And I'm sorry y'all see something wrong with that. Can't you accept my apology?"

"What apology-" Sunny was still firmly muffled behind Dawn. She didn't want Roland hearing any complaints...but she wasn't quite sure why she felt that. Perhaps it was the memory of his sword at her throat...or the steel in his eyes as he had tightened his grip on Marianne.

"And of course we will make reparations for damages to your castle." Marianne added. Roland turned on her, surprise written on his face.

"Now Marianne, that surely isn't necessary - " His sentiment was echoed by the Fairy King.

"And that old castle was near falling down anyways!" Roland grinned, and the fairy guards nodded innocently. "Really, no one should have been in there - and he did kidnap - "

"Still, the Fairy Kingdom always pays its debts." Marianne said, her voice taking on the ring of authority for the first time since being hit by the potion.

"Ah - of course, sweetums. Gotta trust the Princess on this one, gents."

Dawn bit her lip to stop herself from exploding at the coddling tone Roland had taken, and the way Marianne completely ignored it. How could her sister not see the way he was treating her? For that mattered, why wasn't anyone striking him down for -

She yelped as she felt a sudden clammy hand on her arm, preventing her from saying anything.

"Remember how you felt after the love potion?" whispered Grizelda.

Dawn's brows knitted. She had been head over heels for Bog, bouncing and singing...of course that wasn't Marianne's style. But now she was mostly silent, dazed, saying nothing.

"Wh - "

“Interesting, isn’t it?” Grizelda said, her eyes slitted and her smile fixed as she appeared to help the younger Princess up.

"Of course the Dark Forest is happy to accept any help you are willing to give." The Bog King said, teeth gritting but unwilling to completely cut off ties to the Fairy kingdom, despite the unmitigated disaster this whole situation had turned into.

"Really." Roland smiled. "Here I thought the Dark Forest was strong enough not to need help."

Smile, chuckle from the watching crowds, and Bog had to resist the temptation to slice the pretty bastard’s head off. It wouldn’t do to kill the future King in front of his subjects, no matter how much he might want too…

“Then again, you did lose to a woman, right?”

His resolve snapped and he was across the space in half a second, looming over the oh-so-fragile fairy couple. Roland stepped back, shocked at how fast Bog had come to defend himself...though it wasn't just Bog's pride that had been insulted. How dare he suggest Marianne was anything less than a warrior worth respect! "Why you - "

"Gentlemen!" Marianne placed a firm hand on both leader's chests. "Roland. Bog. " For a second her daze faltered, and her hand curled on Bog's chest. But she rallied quickly. "As kind as you have been to let our people into your forest unmolested, we really should be leaving. Thank you for your...hospitality." Again a waver, as if there was something more she wished to say, but she turned away as Roland made a show of turning the army around and getting them grouped up again.

"Marianne!" She paused as Bog called out to her. "Ah - Princess." He corrected as he saw the Fairy King narrow his eyes. "You fought well. If you...if you wish to return to the Dark Forest, you are welcome at any time."

The pause lengthened, Marianne seeming frozen, caught half between the sunlight and the cool shadows of the forest. Finally she nodded, once. "Thank you, Bog. You are welcome in our kingdom as well." And, while her father was still sputtering at the brazen offer, she flitted forward to ride behind Roland on their way out of the forest, leaving the rest of her friends and family behind.

Bog slumped against a tree. "Well. Tha's the end of tha."

"Sorry, Boss." Thang said, patting him cautiously on the shoulder. "I thought you really had a chance - " Stuff stepped quickly on his foot, silencing him.

Bog stared at the backs of the retreating Fairies, Roland’s hair still flashing gold in the rising sun.

“No, I didn’t. Not against that.”

-----------------------

As the fairy army headed out, it was Dawn and Sunny who were left the most confused, still trying to understand the strange spectacle they had seen. Dawn rode behind Sunny on Lizzy, arms around her new love, while Pare trouped alongside the army, trying not to tread on pretty fairy wings. She was eerily silent until they had left the Dark Forest behind, and were finally back into the flower fields of the Light Kingdom.

"That's not Marianne!" she finally said.

Sunny sighed. “Yeah. But what can we do about it? Everyone saw Mr. Perfect Roland dust her, and she didn’t immediately punch him in the face, so he has every right to her.”

Dawn pouted. “I know it’s traditional and all, but you know, I think I don’t like Love Potions! Marianne hated Roland, and now everything’s fine again? It’s like she’s a completely different person! How could anyone do that to the one they love?”

Sunny gulped. ‘Well, about that…”

Dawn caught the warning tone in his voice, and pursed her lips. After a lifetime of listening to his tells, she knew when he was feeling guilty about something.

“...I was the one who went and got the Love Potion. Not Roland.”

The bright fairy bit her tongue and tried her best to think about what Sunny had said, rather than simply brushing it off, as was her natural instinct. Being too forgiving had gotten her into messes before...

“So...who - “ she began.

“You!” Sunny nearly shouted, then sunk lower in his seat as several fairies glared back at him. “I got the potion for you, okay? I thought that you could never love me, and when Roland suggested it, I fell for it, and so this whole mess is all my fault!”

Again, Dawn tried to remember her sister’s advice and think before shouting at him, though it was hard. But Marianne certainly didn’t seem to be thinking, and so that left it up to her, didn't it? What would the elder sister have said, if she found Sunny sneaking around with a Love Potion? Other than kick him out of the castle on the spot.

“You thought I couldn’t love you back?” her voice sounded tense, so she tightened her arms around Sunny. “That was how Roland got to you?”

His shoulders sagged. “Yeah. I mean - who’s ever heard of a Fairy and an Elf, right?”

Marianne would have laughed at Sunny’s worry, but Dawn knew that would only hurt him more.

“Its new. I like that. And - before I knew how weird it makes people, I thought Love Potions were romantic too. But...maybe this whole thing could have been avoided if you just talked to me.”

“And then your sister wouldn’t be crazy about some blond-haired jerk.” Sunny grumbled, but leaned into her arms anyways. “Dawn...I’m sorry. I should have trusted you more, and should have told you what I was feeling. Even if you didn’t love me back, that would have been better than seeing you taken away and not knowing if I’d ever see you again.”

“But you came for me!” she said. “You came into the Dark Forest twice, and made it back! And if you had just given the potion to Boggy - er, Bog King - then you could have saved me on your own too!”

“That’s a big ‘if’, Dawn.” Sunny replied. “But Roland did sure make a mess of things. I wish I’d never given him the potion!”

“Why did you, then?”

“Because...because he told the army why I’d gotten it.” He sighed again. “I knew he wanted it for Marianne, but I never thought he’d use it, after all the trouble we went to - Dawn?” Her arms had stiffened around him, and she had sat up straight. “Dawn, what’s wrong?”

When she spoke, there was a strength in her voice Sunny had never heard before. It sent a shiver down his spine…but a good kind. For just a moment, she sounded as strong and fierce as Marianne, ready to run into all kinds of danger or adventures to protect the people she cared about. True, she still was a bit hesitant, but anger quickly drove the waver from her voice.

“Roland - he teased you, just like he teased Marianne about coming to rescue me, and Bog about wanting his castle back. He’s - he’s being mean just because he can, and somehow people act like that gives him the right to do it more!” Her wings fluttered angrily, dusting the area with the smell of her perfume.

“Well, yeah, he’s a Fairy." Sunny said. "People have to listen to him.”

“But...Marianne and my father aren’t like that. They listen right back, and never make fun of people for caring.” She paused, a realization hitting her. “Sunny - what will happen if Roland becomes King?”

Sunny shrugged. “People will be happy, I guess. Everyone likes him, and your Father was basically throwing Marianne at him, even with all the rumors of affairs.”

“No, Sunny, think. All Roland wants is an army. Marianne told that to me over and over again. And now he has one, and the first thing he does is invade the Dark Forest, when you and Marianne had it all handled by yourselves. Now he has an army, and Marianne.” Dawn gulped. “What if he wants more?”

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Chapter Text

It was a month later, and the Fairy Kingdom continued on as if nothing had changed. Oh, there was news of a royal wedding, but such things take ages to plan, and there was a coronation to set before that. King Desmond had finally chosen to step down, leaving his daughter and her fiance in charge.

But the shift in power, even if it was not official yet, had resulted in only small changes. More guards on the border and now the army paraded every day, with General Roland in the lead, shining and greeting his future subjects. The population loved him, just as Sunny had predicted, and each day there seemed to be more Elves and Fairies who took time from their busy activities to stand and cheer for the future king.

But Dawn was more concerned about her sister than the parades or the coronation. In the month since that terrible night Marianne had withdrawn, going about her daily tasks as if in a trance, standing listlessly at Roland’s side. About the only time Dawn had seen some of Marianne’s old fire was when in council, where the old curmudgeons could incite ire in even the sweetest creature in the meadow. Dawn knew this from experience; the old fools could spent half an hour dissecting her dress and hair and choice of friends whenever she attended, before even starting the meeting proper.

She hated the meetings, but had tagged along more and more often over the last month, if just because it was the only place where she could speak to her sister without Roland looming, since he found council tedious and 'a waste of my precious time'. In the council chambers Marianne would yell and bang on the table, chiding the old fools about their backwards views and idiotic policies, away from Roland's disapproving eyes, back to the old Marianne that Dawn hadn’t thought she loved until it disappeared.

“The elves have given more than their tithe this month, and yet you would ask for more next month? How is that fair?”

or

“What use is an army if we can’t do covert ops?”

or even

“Why don’t we have a representative from the elves here? Or one from the Dark Forest? This affects them as well!”

Dawn had to stifle a giggle at that one. There were looks of complete horror from the men of her father’s generation. It was hardly a surprise. They had grown up seeing elves as servants and farm workers; now there were rumors that the princess was in love with one, and the future Queen was fomenting for emancipation.

“Really, Marianne - “ began one courtier. “The Elves have never needed - “He was silenced with a raised brow and quickly amended himself. “Ah, I mean, your majesty.”

“Just because it’s always been done this way doesn’t mean it’s right!” Marianne snapped. “The elves provide 80% of the food for this kingdom, and lose over half of it in tithe. And yet we have no spokesperson for them. How is that fair?”

“But someone from the Dark Forest? Those people are monsters, not just simpletons.”

Dawn bit her lip, trying not to explode, though it was difficult. Sure, she was used to people making disparaging remarks about Sunny’s people, but until she had started tagging along to council she hadn’t realized how much of an effect those old prejudices had on how the kingdom was run. Nor how deep seated those convictions ran. Marianne had protected her from much of the bullying Sunny had been subjected to for having a fairy best friend. Now nothing could protect the pair from the disgusted looks and cruel mutters, and of course Sunny was having the worst of it.

But exploding was Marianne’s job. The best Dawn could do was give her silent support and try to learn something to use when she herself had to oversee councils.

“Monsters they may be, but without trade from their kingdom our own has been stifled.” Marianne answered, apparently ignoring the implication about elves.

“Really, your majesty. Aren’t you just eager to get your hands on more primrose petals?” Councilman Dogwood grinned and nudged his colleagues, prompting chuckles and rolled eyes. Young love was the indulgent thought, and Dawn could see as Marianne gritted her teeth. Leave it to one of Roland’s allies to bring up primroses again.

“No, in fact I was talking about the acorn harvest. Or the spice route that used to run down stream all the way to the port in Cliffside. Or the half dozen healing herbs that only grown in the Dark Forest which we used to trade for. There are far more than a few love potions at stake here!”

“Come now, Marianne.” King Desmond said. “We’ve managed since the border closed down. Why should we change anything now?”

The future Queen sighed dramatically. “Because I’ve seen the Dark Forest, Father. Their people are suffering just as much as ours are. And while we fairies might not see the cost, the elves and vole-folk have. Their birthrates and life-expectancy, even size has decreased steadily since the border was closed off, and it’s directly tied to the lack of basic nutrients.” She turned to Dogwood and the rest of his cronies. “Something we would have known about years ago if we had a representative from any of those people as part of the council!”

Dawn nearly cheered at the chagrined look on the council’s faces. Maybe they didn’t care one whit about the fact that little elves and fuzz-folk were going hungry for grub-bark stew, but threaten their future harvests and suddenly and unimportant problem became a serious threat.

“Ah - it seems you have done your research, Marianne.” the King said, caught between being overwhelmed by his daughter’s fierce personality and impressed at how easily she swayed the council. “But tensions with the Dark Forest are at an all-time high since the...incident.”

“Then its the perfect time to make amends! Invite the Bog King to a trade discussion. None of this would have happened if he’d had a better understanding of what the Fairy Kingdom needs and can provide.”

Counselor Gaillard, the army attache, snorted. “More like we would be playing right into his hands.”

“Releasing valuable information!” agreed Cranesbill.

Dogwood nodded. “If he had any idea of how much we depended on them…”

“Boggy isn’t like that.” The words slipped out of Dawn’s lips, and suddenly she was the center of attention. “Um. I mean that...The Bog King seemed reasonable enough when potions weren’t involved. He let us leave his kingdom with an army and everything! So...so maybe all we need to do is talk to him!”

Her grin lit up her face, and even the sternest of counselors found themselves smiling in return.

“And if you cannot protect us from a goblin in our own castle, what does that say about this army that my fiance is so proud of?” Marianne added, and Gaillard flushed crimson. “Anyways, I promised that we would repay them for the destruction of their castle, and a Queen keeps her promises.”

The council and King shifted uneasily, but Marianne had successfully argued them into a corner and they could do nothing but nod unhappily to the plan. They would certainly grumble, and be sure to be far away from the palace should any goblins come to visit, but they could not openly disagree with the the plan Marianne laid out.

Roland however…

“Sugar Pie!”

He was there waiting for them as they left the council chamber, looking immaculate as always. If Dawn was less charitable she would have suspected Roland of listening at the doors, an idea that proved to have merit when he immediately chided his future wife.

“Did I hear you were gonna send an envoy to the Dark Forest to ask that - “ He paused and made an exaggerated shudder - “King to come and visit?”

Dawn walked a step behind the couple, as if she was giving them privacy rather than listening to every word, and saw as Marianne’s shoulders slumped.

“It seems the best way to prevent a war, Roland.”

“Aw, sweetie, you don’t think I could defend you?” Even from the back Dawn could tell he was making hurt eyes at her sister.

Marianne sighed, but quietly. “Its not that - “

“Then what is it, hunny bun? You don’t need to worry your pretty little head about that Dark Forest. I can - “

“I know, Roland. But as Queen - “

“You’ll be perfect. But ya gotta stop thinking so much, Marianne. You’ll get wrinkles! And I can’t have my Queen have wrinkles! What will the people say?”

That she’s doing her job. Dawn thought to herself. As they walked, Marianne’s shoulders slumped more and more, until she was leaning against Roland. And all the courtiers they passed in the halls smiled at the sight, as if Marianne was simply so in love with Roland that she had to hold herself against him even in public.

In fact, Roland always seemed to keep to the most public places when showing affection to his betrothed. Even after a council session that apparently had exhausted her enough to need his support to make her way back to the royal wing, he took a meandering path through the palace, stopping in the great hall (“Gotta show off this face, eh, sweet-cheeks?”) and dining area (“Man, I’m famished. Sure you don’t want something, honey bear?”) before finally making their way back to the future Queen’s own hall.

And everywhere compliments were showered on the Royal Couple.

“M’lady, you are looking stunning today. M’liege as well, as always.”
“Oh, I’m so glad you went back to wearing white! You two match perfectly!”
“Roland, excellent parade today!”
“I can’t wait for the wedding! And for royal children again!”
“Roland, vanquished the goblins yet?
“Queen, you look so much better without that garish makeup.”
“I can’t wait until you’re King! There’ll be some real changes around here!”

And on and on, complements for Roland, all on his looks or policies or army. For Marianne...backhanded compliments on her hair or clothes or on her return to the simpering girl that she had been before Roland had broken her heart. It baffled Dawn and made her angry in equal measure. How could anyone treat their Queen in such a way? As if she was merely some right hand to her King, rather than a ruler who needed no one.

Perhaps it was merely that Roland steered them towards his own friends and allies, and rarely bumped elbows with the old warriors and strategists that Marianne called on for advice. No, when they were together Roland and Marianne were surrounded at all times by the same-faced legions of Roland’s friends, all parroting whatever ideas Roland supported, and silencing themselves immediately at any hint of a frown on his face. Dawn was ashamed to realize that, before her revelation about Sunny, she had often fallen in with the very same fairies that now swarmed Roland and insulted her sister.

But Marianne did nothing, when a mere month ago she would have scoffed at their titters and torn her detractors apart with words if not with blows.

Now she remained silent by Roland’s side until the reached her rooms.

“And if I can’t change your mind about this whole ‘goblin’ business, I won’t try.” He promised. “I’ll even have one of my Lieutenants fly the message over to the Dark Forest for you.”

“Thank you, Roland. It means so much to me.” There was relief in her voice, as if she was glad that this wouldn’t turn into another battle over policy...despite the fact that Roland knew less about trade than even the slowest of the council.

“I’m sure it does, sweetie.” He flicked his hair, then leaned over and kissed her on the mouth, to happy sighs from handmaidens and lieutenants alike. And then he gallantly left her at the door to her room and went off with his Lieutenants on ‘important royal business you needn’t worry about, sugar pie’.

Dawn sneaked in after he’d left, while all eyes were on Roland’s perfect armor and shining hair.

“I don’t like the way they talk to you.” She said, bluntly, after shooing out her sister’s handmaidens and firmly closing the door.

Marianne sighed, and Dawn finally got a good look at her sister’s face since she had begun speaking with Roland. Gone was the fire in her eyes, replaced with dull acceptance. Gone was the straight spine and fierce expression. In place of all of that her sister looked...washed out, as if all the color had been drained from her face, leaving her a pale reflection of the sister she knew and loved.

“It doesn’t matter what they say to me, Dawn. They still have to play nice with their future ruler.”

“And you call that playing nice?” Dawn bounced on a rose petal, sending the whole bed swaying.

Marianne didn’t even have the energy to yelp, just collapsed backwards into the soft center of the flower and let the swaying take the tension from her shoulders. “They like Roland. As long as they like one of us, it doesn’t really matter.”

“Listen to yourself!” Dawn said. “Are you going to spend your entire marriage ruling the kingdom while Roland gets all the praise?”

“If that’s what it takes to be a good Queen…”

“Where’s the sister I knew, who’d be up at dawn, naming attacks after people who wronged you? What’s all this ‘perfect queen’ stuff? Before the kidnapping - ”

“That's just it, Dawn!” Marianne interrupted. “You were kidnapped. And I was right there, and I couldn’t do a thing to save you. I was so...so selfish, only caring about my own strength, when I should have made sure of the guards and been patrolling the border. When I’m Queen - “

“What are you talking about?! Its Roland’s fault that I was kidnapped, not yours, or mine, or even Sunny’s! If Roland hadn’t - “

“Roland was just trying to be romantic, Dawn. After I hurt him like that...he was just desperate. Just like Sunny.”

Dawn threw her hands up in the air. “Yeah? But Sunny apologized, and said he was wrong. Roland dusted you and now you’re getting married. Don’t you see something weird with that?”

Another sigh, and Marianne massaged her eyes. Without her signature makeup, the deep circles that had grown over the last month looked worse than ever.

“You don’t remember what it was like, Dawn, before the Ban on Love. When Primroses still bloomed free, without the taint of the Dark Forest. It was tradition, back then, to brew primrose tea for your sweetheart, and use a primrose as your wedding bed. Diluted Love Potions were for sale on every street-corner in the elf cities, and there were whole festivals dedicated to the flower. We really thought there couldn’t be love without a primrose. The older generations remember that, and think of what Roland did as romantic, even heroic, to go so far to see the old traditions upheld.”

“But he wasn’t thinking about any of that! He just wanted to get his army and his crown!”

“Dawn!” Marianne snapped. “Roland - he’s not like that anymore. He’s grown up. Maybe you should too.”

Dawn’s mouth popped open, and she felt tears prickle in her eyes. Marianne could be harsh sometimes, but she never snapped.

She sniffed, hard, to keep the tears from leaking out. “So...all those going to council meetings, and playing nice with those stupid old men and mean ladies...that’s not enough?”

“Oh Dawn.” Marianne sat up, wrapped an arm around her sister, and pulled her into a hug. “No. You’ve been doing wonderfully. I’m sorry I snapped at you. The last month has been...hard. But that’s no excuse.”

Dawn sniffled into her sister’s shoulder. “Its just that you’re so different. Sunny noticed it too. Ever since the potion...you’re just not you anymore.”

Marianne leaned her head on her sister’s. “People don’t want me, Dawn. Roland is showing me that. They want a Queen they can depend on, not someone who will disappear in a crisis.”

“But...you came to rescue me. Wasn’t that right?”

“In politics, you have to worry about more than what is right and wrong. You have to make the best choice for everybody.”

Dawn tried to listen to her sister’s words, tried to believe them, but just couldn’t. Marianne sounded so sad, so resigned. That wasn’t the sister she knew, who had fought her way to the Bog King’s castle and made an ally there rather than an enemy.

For a second, she remembered her sister then, as Marianne and The Bog King had fought to save Dawn from Roland. The two had been so in-sinc that words were barely necessary, and they had effortlessly moved together, balancing each other's attacks, their eyes in the final moment showing the same fiery passion and rage and single-minded determination. Never before had Dawn ever viewed her sister’s anger as something that could be good, but in that terror-filled moment she understood how that fierce need to protect and fight could save a country, and felt lucky that two rulers would go so far for her.

But since then the fire had disappeared from Marianne’s life, extinguished by the force that was Roland. And that was wrong. Dawn didn’t have the words for it, couldn’t explain it in a way that could get past Roland’s indulgent quips and Marianne’s harsh logic, but still. That burning passion, kindled and stoked by two disparate rulers, had saved them all, had stopped what could have been a war, and perhaps could have united two kingdoms. And now it was all but gone.

“So...if it was better for our kingdoms...would you marry the Bog King?”

For the first time in as long as Dawn had known her, Marianne seemed at a loss for words. Conflicting emotions flickered across her face; shock, as if she had never considered the idea, followed by a slight smile as she remembered their fight, guilt for even thinking about anyone but Roland, and finally serious consideration.

She touched the bracelet Roland had given her as proof of his commitment, a gold band wrapped with Roland’s sunny hair, a constant reminder of their bond. It must have taken an elf jewel-smith an entire day to make the bangle, and Roland had presented it before the whole court the day after their renewed engagement had been announced.

“I suppose...I would consider it.” She finally admitted, guilt having returned to her face as she fiddled with the bracelet.

A mischievous grin flitted across Dawn’s face. “I bet Boggy would be a lot easier to love than Roland.”

“What? No! Roland’s perfect!”

“Bog would let you spar.”

“Queen’s can’t be covered in bruises - “

“And yell at as many people as you’d like.”

“That’s hardly a good thing!”

“You could have yelling contests!”

“Dawn - “

“And drop anyone who called you ugly into the bog mud!”

“Really, Dawn, you can’t be serious!”

But Marianne was chuckling at the image anyways, and something inside Dawn eased at the sight of her sister snorting in amusement. She mimed chubby Dogwood slipping and sliding in the mud, yelling for elves to come pull him out, and Marianne cackled. So she kept going. Next it was Gaillard having his ears tugged by goblin children, and Marianne joined in, joking about flighty fairy girls fainting at the merest hint of mud...only to be covered when they hit the ground. After that it was a free-for-all of impressions; their portly father running around to fix things, the goblins laughing and joining in (Marianne seemed able to get their brutish accent flawlessly), and the big nasty Bog King glowering over everything while hiding a smile and Sugar Plum wailing about how no one could ever love a council-fairy, even with a potion. Oh, it was a good image, the whole court splattered and failing, one Dawn would have never picture a month ago. Maybe she was growing up after all.

They laughed together until tears ran down their faces and the little handmaidens had peaked in to make sure the Princesses hadn’t gone mad.

When they were done Marianne pulled Dawn into another hug, this one strong and loving.

“Thank you, Dawn. I needed that.”

Dawn leaned into the hug, happy to have her sister back, if just for a moment. “Just promise me you won’t listen to Roland on everything.”

The future Queen nodded. “Fine, fine.”

“And…” Perhaps it was time to push her luck. “ Can you give me a copy of the letter you’re sending to the Dark Forest?”

Marianne fished in her desk and pulled out a slim paper. “Sure. But why?”

Dawn looked at her sister, finally happy after a month of grim acceptance, and decided not to ruin the moment with her suspicions. “I...just want to practice writing replies!”

The lie seemed weak, but the future Queen accepted it without question - something the old Marianne would have never done - and handed the letter over. “Alright, then get to it. I’ve got another ball to prepare for.”

“Oooh! Let me help you pick out your dress!”

And the afternoon devolved into dresses and makeup and laughter, but the letter, and Dawn’s plans for it, seemed to burn from the pocket of her dress.

----------------------------

“You want to do what?!” Sunny yelped.

“Shhhh!” Dawn placed a finger over her lips. “Don’t tell anyone!”

“If I didn’t love you, I’d say you’re crazy! In fact, I’ll still say it! Dawn, you’re crazy!”

The couple was sitting hidden behind a drapery on the royal balcony, enjoying the morning and their breakfast away from the prying eyes of the rest of the castle. But there were still enough courtiers around that Dawn didn’t dare risk explaining her plan loudly. Sunny’s screaming certainly didn’t help in that.

“We’ll take Lizzy. That should protect us.”

“Protect us? You’re talking about going into the Dark Forest. We barely got out of there last time!”

“Yeah, but now we know Boggy, and he’ll let us right in.”

Sunny thunked his head on the banister. He had been ecstatic at Dawn’s sudden spike of maturity following her kidnapping, even if that meant they had less time for each other as Dawn took on more royal responsibilities. But they rarely had time to meet out in the meadow, now, and it was hard for him to sneak into the upper castle with half the fairies looking to kick him out on sight and his elvish friends not treating him much better.

So yeah, he might have been missing some of their wild adventures, but this was the worst return to form ever.

“I’m not sure which is worse, the idea of going back into that forest of ‘everything is trying to eat you’ or the idea of what your father would do to me if he found out that you had gone back!” He complained.

“Oh, Dad’s going to send us in. I’ve got a plan for that!” Dawn beamed, and Sunny knew that he would do anything for that smile, suicidal or not. “Now shhhh! Roland’s coming!”

They both scooted back further into the shadow of the drapery, Dawn hugging Sunny close and listening with all her might. Sunny did his best to concentrate, difficult as it was when he was being cushioned by some very distracting ‘scenery’.

“She wants to send an invitation to that cockroach! Hah!” Roland’s voice.

“Hah!” the lieutenants echoed in unison.

“She’s so sweet, thinkin’ she can tame that monster. But it’s up to me to protect her! We can’t let anything as evil as a goblin threaten my Marianne.” more murmured agreements from the lieutenants. “You! Sean - “

“Its Jainus, Boss.”

“Whatever. You, fly to our border guards and make sure our forces are ready to defend against any goblin invasion, no matter how small! Not a single one of those hideous creatures shall ever threaten this kingdom again!”

Jainus nodded and took off, armor catching in the sunlight as he wheeled and headed for the border.

“You, Sean - “

“Eric, Boss.”

“I don’t like that tone, Sean. You keep an eye on Marianne. Can’t let my Future Queen get in any danger. Don’t let her go outside the castle without an escort. For safety reasons.” He winked and the remaining two chuckled hollowly. “Of you go. Finally, Sean - “

“Its actually Jo - “ The fairy stopped. “You know, close enough. What can I do, Boss?”

There was a slither of paper, and Dawn caught sight of an envelope that looked identical to the one in her pocket.

“Dispose of this.”

“Is that...kind of like treason, Boss? Since the Queen said specifically to deliver that to the Dark Forest?”

Roland sighed dramatically. “Sean, Sean, Sean. We have to do what is best for the Queen, and for the Kingdom. And what’s best is for me to be King, and to keep the Dark Forest as far away as possible, until we can deal with it for good. It’s what everyone wants, Sean.” And, to prove his point, there was a ripping of paper as Roland tore the note once, then twice, and handed the tattered pieces over to John. “The Queen will appreciate everything we’re doing. As long as she doesn’t find out about it, right?”

John blinked, staring at the destroyed note in his hands, then smiled glassily at his Boss. “Of course, Roland. It’s for the best!”

When both fairies had left; John to chuck the note into the kitchen fire and Roland to prepare for his parade; Sunny and Dawn tumbled out from behind the curtain. Dawn was smiling grimly.

“See, Sunny! I told you Roland wasn’t to be trusted!”

Sunny ran his hands through his hair, panic on his face. “This is a lot more serious than just a few extra girlfriend’s Dawn! That’s - That’s going against everything Marianne wanted him to do.” A thought flickered across his face. “We gotta tell her.”

Dawn caught his hand as he turned to leave. “No! It won’t work. Roland’s got some kind of weird hold on her. And she’s convinced herself that he’s what’s best for the kingdom.”

“That’s what’s best for the kingdom? He just committed treason so he could plan what sounds like a war!”

“I know, I know. But everyone likes him. If we told Marianne or Dad, it wouldn’t work and Roland would figure out that we’re on to him. Do you think that would go well?”

Sunny gulped. Maybe Dawn would survive, but an elf accusing a fairy, and a royal one at that, of treason? He’d be exiled in an instant, and then he’d never get to see Dawn again.

“Fine, fine. So you think there’s a solution in the Dark Forest?”

“Well, the old goblin-lady said something to me, about how Marianne wasn’t acting as if the Love Potion had worked. I think she knew what was going on. All we have to do is go talk to her!”

“That’s a bit different than going and finding an antidote…”

“That’s just what we’re going to tell my father, silly. And then he’ll send us into the Dark Forest, and no one will get in trouble!”

“Dawn, that is the stupidest plan…”

---------------------------

“...and that’s why I want to go into the Dark Forest.” Sunny concluded, examining his shoes and trying not to look into the eyes of the Fairy monarch.

King Desmond leaned back in his throne, a deep frown on his face. He had assumed something very different when hearing that his younger daughter and her paramor wished to speak privately with him. In some ways the question was a relief. In others…

“You believe Marianne was...poisoned by something in the Dark Forest?”

“Haven’t you noticed how tired she is, dad?” Dawn prompted, squeezing Sunny’s shoulder encouragingly.

Sunny nodded. “She hasn’t had the energy to spar or come to breakfast, and she can barely keep herself awake at the dances. Even the kitchen elves have noticed something’s wrong.”

Desmond stroked his beard. He, too, had notice a change in his daughter, and not a good one. “I had thought...that it was the stress of the coronation and her new duties that was affecting her. I never considered - “

“But dad, there are all kinds of horrible things in the Dark Forest. And she had some killer bruises after that night - any one of them could have been a bite from something nasty.”

“You’re right. We should have the royal physicians look over her immediately.” Desmond said.

Sunny opened his mouth, but Dawn quickly interrupted. “Right. And in the meantime, Sunny could go into the Dark Forest and ask if anyone recognizes the disease. What were the symptoms again?”

“Lethargy, decreased energy, slowed thinking and reaction times…” Sunny easily listed off.

King Desmond’s eyes flicked to Sunny, and for the first time in almost a year they softened. “You...you would do that for Marianne? Go into the Dark Forest?”

“Of course.” Sunny answered automatically. “She’s my friend, and my future Queen. I don’t want her sick any more than you do.” Saying it, he realized it was the truth. Sure, Dawn had talked him into this plan, but Marianne had been a constant in his life for as long as he could remember. The idea of her being this miserable and tired all the time was unacceptable, and he would do anything in his power to fix it. Even if that meant going back into that hell hole.

Desmond smiled. “Thank you, Sunny. My daughters are lucky to have you as a friend.”

Only the impending terror of the Dark Forest kept Sunny from floating out of the throne room. The King had smiled at him. Maybe things weren’t so bad after all!

-----------------------------------

Chapter Text

In the month since what Sugar Plum was calling ~that second fateful night~ much had changed in the Dark Forest. Spring chased its tail into summer, sending the more sensible of the goblin folk up into the canopy to catch breezes and escape the cloying damp of the lower forest. Fog rose at night, and humidity descended in the day. Insectoid folk sighed happily and got to work, filling the forest with a constant buzz, while those whose job was growth rather than decay recouped their spring losses and coaxed green from every possible surface.

In the meantime, the ruins of the castle were still being excavated, and the royal household had moved back into the Winter Palace, deep within an ancient burrow close to the wreckage. It was cramped in the best of seasons when half of the staff hibernated, and now was almost unbearably stuffy.

Bog didn’t seem to notice.

“Increase the border watch.” he said. “No more fairies getting through, even accidentally. And keep an eye on those pretty ‘guards’. Ay want to know the instant they move.”

Thang nodded and skittered off to relay the orders. No one wanted to be around the Boss for long anymore. He had always had a legendary temper, and delighted in terrifying the goblins into submission. A month before, Thang would have prayed for a silent King but now...this was just creepy. Bog was still liable to explode at little things, especially news from the Fairy Kingdom, but now most of his time was spent silently looking over books and maps, saying not a word and glaring any noise-maker down rather than harming them.

Stuff had flat out refused to deal with him, convinced as she was that the Bog King was only a noise away from eviscerating the entire castle staff. She had been overseeing much of the excavation work, partially because she was one of the brighter staff members, but also because it usually kept her as far as possible from their leader. And she was stepping carefully whenever it became necessary to be in his wing of the cave. Griselda was better company than the King, and that was saying something.

Thang missed Stuff terribly, and wished she would explain why his king had become this strange shadow of himself following the fall of their castle. Bog hadn't even sung once since it crumbled, even at the ceremony to bury the two goblins who had died in the crash. Thang had at least expected a refrain of 'Disrespected' during the last council meeting, with all of the old goblins baying at the Kings heels to invade the fairy kingdom, but even then he had remained silent and won the councilors over out of sheer stubbornness rather than his usual pyrotechnics and threats. Thang wasn't the only one who had left the meeting very, very concerned. It made no sense to the little goblin.

“Sir, news from the mushrooms - “ a different goblin began.

“Does it make any sense?” Bog asked without looking up.

“Sir?”

“The message. Does it make any sense?”

“Uh...no?”

“Go take a dragonfly and find the source of this ‘news’. Report back in ten minutes.”

“Uh. Yes’sir Boss sir.” The goblin threw a hasty salute and ran for the kennels, sliding around the tunnel corridors with practiced ease and glad to be out from under the Boss's eyes.

When the creature had disappeared, and Bog was certain there were no more hidden goblins observing him, he slumped back in his chair and put his head in his hands. The numbers were abysmal. Half the armory was underwater, so dark and murky that even their best frog-goblins couldn’t risk trying to excavate it until the muck settled. They’d lost the entire dragonfly hatchery, and only luck and fast swimming had saved some of the larval nymphs. Rudy, one of the dragonfly keepers and coincidentally another girl his mother had thrown at him, had been in constant tears over the loss, and he kept finding her in odd corners of the castle or at the salvage sight looking lost and hopeless.

He couldn’t blame her. They’d lost almost a season of nymphs and the fliers had already laid their eggs and few would bear again. It was conceivable that the loss would cripple their stables for years to come. All of Rudy’s hard work, all of her careful breeding and seasons of planning, destroyed in an instant. Bog, never one to admit to empathy, had found himself comforting her, helplessly patting her between damselfly wings while tears trickled around her multi-faceted eyes. Now she was just a shadow of the obsessive breeder who had talked his ear off over their one ill-advised date.

Others had fared equally poorly. Goblins as a lot generally didn’t mourn their dead, but the silverfish chef had gone down with the spring stores, and so they had lost a genius along with everything collected thus far in the season. He left a family behind, and dozens of friends and apprentices who mourned his death. And of course they had nowhere to store the food that was coming in now, and nowhere to air the furs and skins of game. Anything that needed air to dry or a breeze to set was gone, along with all the tools, weapons, and any ledger that was often consulted. The treasury survived, but that meant much less to the goblin creatures who relied more on barter than coin. Without their tools and supplies much of the castle wealth was simply gone. Added to the loss of the royal chambers and quarters for the entire castle staff, most of his servants had lost their homes and fortune in one unfortunate night.

At least the library was intact. Bog wasn’t sure if he would have wanted to survive if they had lost that. It was deep within the Winter Palace, far from where any normal goblin would ever wish to go. Bog had been spending more and more time there, away from prying eyes and the incessant demands from the various factions. Irresponsible? Perhaps. But watching the excavation of his home was too sad and unless he wanted to end up like Rudy he had to keep busy. Preferably away from the constant arguments and squabbles that were the normal way for goblins to deal with problems.

“Grub for your thoughts? Oh wait, I don’t need to, I already know!”

Unfortunately, freedom from the less literary goblins put him in danger of the only two other people who might voluntarily pick up a book.

And Plum’s shrill voice could cut through his brooding in an instant, especially when she was mimicking him.

“I should have moved the castle years ago, out of an old dead stump and into something that wouldn’t fall apart at the first attack!” To add insult to injury she pranced a bit in his form, and he rolled his eyes.

“Plum!” And there was his mother’s voice, snappish as ever. “We’re supposed to be helping, remember?” She turned the corner into the library, carrying a full tea tray with cups enough for a small army. “We brought you tea, dear.”

“Thank you, mother.” Bog didn’t even have the energy to add his usual exasperation or sarcasm to his voice. His thanks almost sounded...sincere. Enough that both Plum and Griselda paused for a moment and exchanged glances that they thought he couldn’t see.

Griselda skootched into the bench next to him, and looked over the accounts and missives he was working on.

“Otch, no wonder you’re depressed! All these numbers…”

“And here I thought it was because he lost the love of his life and his castle in one fell swoop!” Plum added from the other side, and Bog had to resist banging his head into the table. One step-mother was bad enough, but now he had two of them, and they were equally invested in his love-life, or lack there of, and in making his life more miserable than it already was.

“What Plum means is that you’ve been a mess since that pretty fairy got snatched away by that wasp-faced freak.” Plum shivered but nodded in agreement. “And you just aren’t the same, son.”

“That’s very nice, mother, but ay 'ave more important things to do than moon over ah fairy.”

“Really?” Plum added. “Because I was passing your room a few nights ago and…”

“Plum!” Both goblins snapped, and Bog’s ears flamed. Of course Plum would know. The pixie got into everything, and had probably been listening at doors ever since she got wind of Real Love in the air. Why he ever though he might have found some privacy…

“What? Something has to make Mr. Grumpy over here happy, and if it happens to have Butterfly wings…”

“Whether or not I had feelings for the future Queen of the Fairy Kingdom is immaterial. She is betrothed to that boy who dusted her with the Love Potion. Which, I might add, worked fine, which you, Plum, said wouldn’t if she had found Real Love - “

“Usually yes, but - “

Bog continued over her. “- which proves rather nicely that she did not return my affections.”

“And you’re just going to give up?” Griselda interjected.

“Ay’ve had enough girls screaming at the sight of me for one lifetime, Mother. What do you expect me to do, fly over to the Fairy Kingdom and declare mah feelings in front of an entire country that would much rather kill me on sight?”

“Actually, yes. But that’s a later part of the plan.” Plum said, beaming.

“Sir - “ Thang interrupted, appearing at the door out of breath.

“Not now, Thang.” Bog growled, and turned to Plum. “Do you want to go back into the silk cage? Because that can be arranged - “

“Sir - “

“I’d like to see you try, buddy-boy.” Plum smirked. “I wonder how much you’ll regret it this time - “

“SIR!”

Bog swiveled. “What, Thang?”

The goblin shrunk under his angry King’s stare. “Visitors, sir. From the Fairy Kingdom.”

“WHAT?!”

“Boggy!” Dawn squealed, skidding around the door and hurling herself towards her former crush.

“Finally!” Plum said, a smile returning to her face..

“Took you long enough.” Said Griselda. “Now we can get started.”

-----------------------

The Bog King’s vision narrowed, until all he saw was the fairy barreling forward. Possibilities flashed through his mind; Oh no, she’s been dusted again! followed by Ay canna dodge fast enough then Ay canna hit ah nice Princess and So this is how the war starts? and She must be some kind of emissary finished with Ay’m gonna 'ave ta take this, aren’t ay?So he let her ram into him, knocking him back off the bench, and didn’t squirm too much as the blond girl wrapped arms and wings around him and gave him a squeeze strong enough to crack his armor.

“Boggy! You look…” She searched his face as she searched for a word. The Bog King did not look well; deep circles beneath his eyes, graying scales as if he needed a molt, deeper lines around his mouth and eyes… “different.”

For a second the king’s heart shuddered, remember a very different fairy he’d said the same thing to. But it hurt to remember the girl’s sister, so he pushed the thought from his mind.

“What brings you to the Dark Forest, Princess?” He asked as he extricated himself carefully from her grip. “And, ah, friend?” He looked beyond blond spikes to see the girl’s thief of a paramor glaring at him.

“Well, two things. First, there’s this!” An envelope slapped onto the table. “You are formally invited to a trade meeting in the Fairy Kingdom next week, by order - oh, I guess its not an order, since you’re King and all - by request of Princess Marianne.”

Bog sat down heavily and pulled the envelope towards him, utterly shocked. Marianne wanted him to visit? No, he told himself sternly. The future Queen wished to meet with a fellow ruler. Of course. It made sense. Though there had been no such negotiation between the Kingdoms since, well, since he’d made his declaration against primroses over fifteen years before. And before that...there hadn’t even been a fairy emissary at his coronation. Or his father’s funeral. He remembered one, maybe two meetings between the two kingdoms in his lifetime that weren’t on the sites of battlefields.

“I know, it’s basically unheard of, but Marianne’s convinced that it’s the best for both our kingdoms.”

“And...people agree with her?” Bog was still shocked. He could believe just about anything from Marianne, but why would the kingdom accept it?

“She talked all the old fools into accepting it just this once. And Roland tried to sabotage it, but that’s why I’m here!” Dawn grinned. “I wanted to talk to you - all of you - about Roland.”

--------------------------

Bog leaned back as the younger fairy princess explained her sister’s strange behaviors and sudden change in habit. It was all much as he expected and a glance at his mother found her nodding along, just as unsurprised. Plum, however, was hovering above the table, almost vibrating with nervousness, and was only restraining herself from chattering aimlessly out of politeness.

Dawn didn’t seem to notice the pixie’s agitation, but the thief - Sunny, Bog remembered - had narrowed his eyes and was following the restless flutters of the sorceress.

The boy was smarter than he looked, Bog realized. The Princess too, though her naivety was holding her back. But not many fairies or elves would have recognized the source of their Queen’s problems and without the least hesitation gone to hated enemies for a solution.

There was silence, and Bog realized Dawn had stopped speaking and fluttered back to her chair. Now she was looking expectantly at him, as if he could simply wave his scepter and solve the problem. And even though he pretended to delight in suffering, shattering that innocent hope was going to be hard.

“I’m sorry. There’s little I can do to help your sister. She’s fallen prey to something much, much more powerful than I.”

He expected tears, then. But he had underestimated the girl. Instead, her eyes flashed and determination settled on her face.

“So you know what’s going on!”

He glanced at his mother and then nodded once.

“Well?” The fairy demanded. “If you’re not going to help us, at least tell us about it!”

“Oh, sweets, we never said we weren’t going to help!” Griselda interrupted. “Its just that no one can wave a wand and fix this. Its going to be much harder than that.”

“But...what is going on? What is Roland doing to my sister? What is he?”

“That’s simple to explain.” Plum said, her voice wavering. “Roland is a Wasp King.”

--------------------------

Sunny and Dawn exchanged glances. A Wasp King? Plum said it with such finality, as if the term explained everything, but neither had ever heard of such a creature.

Bog sighed and rolled his eyes. “Fairies. Can’t remember an apocalypse if it doesn’t sing. Western Wasps? The Darkest Magic? The Cursed Love? Come on, I know they tell horror stories about it in the Dark Elf villages.”

The two Light Kingdom citizens shook their heads, still confused.

“The Glamour Plague.” Plum said, her voice faint compared to her usual bombast. “That was what it was called in my hive.” She settled on the table, pixie dust coating the papers and tea things. “But in fairy lore it was always the Primrose and the Prince.”

Dawn started. “Oh! I remember that! My sister told it to me when I was small. It was one of my favorite stories.” Sunny looked blank, and she summarized, her eyes going hazy with memory.

“A long time ago, there was a magical kingdom with an evil king. Everything the king wanted, he took, and because of his Dark Magic no one could resist him. But then the King claimed a beautiful princess for his own, and she went willingly because of his magic. But the princess had given her True Love a love potion, which left him immune to the Evil King’s magic, and he was able to rescue her and free the kingdom. And everyone lived happily ever after, and that’s why you drink a Love Potion on your wedding day.”

She stopped. “Was that right?”

Bog grunted. “Close enough. Bit nicer than the goblin version.”

“So Roland’s like the Evil King in the story? But Roland doesn’t have any magic!” Sunny complained. Dawn nodded.

But when she looked up, she found the three from the Dark Forest looking at them strangely.

“Everyone in the Fairy Kingdom has magic.” Plum said, as if explaining to a small child. “Just as everyone does in the Dark Forest.”

Griselda snorted. “See? I told you we should have started from the beginning! What are they teaching in schools these days?”

----------------------

“Its pretty simply, y’see?” Griselda began, after serving everyone tea and snacks that Dawn and Sunny tried not to think too much about. “Everyone has magic, if just a bit. Like you, what do you think your magic is?” She pointed at Sunny.

“Me? I’m an elf! Elves can’t…”

“Pssh. I’ve seen you singing!” Plum chimed in, then flicked herself into Sunny’s form, miming his signature dance. “Isn’t that magic?”

“Elves usually have creative or growth magic.” Bog added. “Its why you have so many farmers and craftspeople.” At Sunny’s stubborn disbelief he added. “You haven’t noticed that some elves can double the yield of a field simply by standing in it? Or create a piece of art in half the time as most fairies?”

“Well...I always thought it was just skill.”

“Skill, yes!” Plum said, starting to smile a bit. “But magic too! To make shoes last longer, or paint to dry, or food to grow faster...magic helps along what skill begins. They balance and support each other.”

“But I can’t do any of that…”

“And you never wondered why? Your gift is so clear! You make people happy when you sing! And stronger and smarter and more courageous too, if you’d ever been properly taught.” Plum bubbled, then leaned close and winked. “Of course, you could keep hiding yourself too, but that’s no where near as fun.”

Sunny blinked and tried to digest Plum’s words, even as the conversation continued around him.

“And of course Bog and Marianne’s abilities are just as clear.” Griselda said, to which Bog humpfed. “As rulers, their job is to protect. Both are rather strong at it, too, given how fast your sister and my son learned their responsibilities. Fighting, diplomacy, anything and everything to protect those they have vowed to serve.” She smiled fondly at her son. “Even holding a castle up to let his family escape.”

“And me?” Dawn asked, still confused. “I don’t have any magic, do I?”

Plum answered this one, her tone returning to that unusual sadness. “Yours is more...subtle, Dawn. Just like Sunny can inspire and heal through music, you can do the same simply by being yourself. Haven’t you ever been happy, and everyone around you seemed happier as a result? That’s your power, to share your emotions with those around you, to comfort them with your presence and to ease their sorrows with your joy.”

“And of all of us, your power is the most similar to Roland’s.” Bog said. “You could say they are two sides of the same leaf.”

Dawn’s eyebrows knitted. “But I’ve always shared with everyone! How could that be bad?”

Sunny chewed his lip. “...if you give, then Roland takes?”

“Ding ding ding, Bingo!” Sugar Plum smiled glassily. “Wasps take. They take everything for themselves, and leave nothing behind but shells. And as each new person falls under their sway, the Wasp becomes more powerful as it feeds off their magic and adulation.”

Dawn shivered.

“That...does sound a lot like Roland.” Sunny admitted. “Everyone likes him. Can’t they tell he’s taking something away?”

“No. That’s the true power of a Wasp King.” Bog said, his voice grim.

Plum wrapped her arms around herself and nodded. “They exude an aura - a glamour - that infatuates and makes people want to submit, and the more they love him the more powerful he becomes.”

“And Marianne...that’s why she loves Roland and not you?” Dawn said, looking at Bog.

“No, actually!” Plum said, saving Bog from having to speak while blushing and sputtering. “As a Queen and a Protector, all of her instincts and powers are warning her of Roland. She’s exhausted because she’s fighting against him so hard.”

“Roland has the power of everyone who he can manipulate into supporting him.” Griselda continued. “That’s why the potion seemed to work that day in the forest; he was able to use his army to overwhelm her spirit. And now everyone who sees them together, everyone who believes they are the perfect match, everyone who cheers for ‘King Roland’...all of that can be used to tie her down. She’s fighting against the will of the very kingdom she fights to protect. Even someone as strong as your sister can’t fight against the will of so many.”

Dawn’s wings drooped. “But then...how can we save her? If Roland’s so powerful…”

“Your sister is strong as well. And smart. She knows something is wrong, but cannot do anything alone but resist.” Bog said, sadly. He had already known, that instant on the bridge, with the whole Fairy Army cheering for their future King, that his Marianne was lost.

“Which is why this is so much help!” Griselda said, slapping the note on the table and waking the rest from their depressed slump. “Alone, she might lose. So we’ll make sure she doesn’t fight alone.”

Plum hazarded a small smile. “One ruler might fall to a Wasp. But two…” the smile widened. “Two might just save the day.”

-----------------------------------

Later, when Sunny and Dawn had been given their instructions and sent on their way, with Bog seeing them safe to the edge of the forest, Griselda shared the last of the tea with Plum.

“See? That wasn’t so bad.”

“But…”

The goblin woman patted her friend’s hand. “I know. It won’t be easy. But I promise, I won’t let what happened to your hive happen here.”

--------------------

"Mr. Bog King?"

Bog glanced back at the elf, who had spent most of their trip back to the forest edge jumping at shadows and hiding behind his girlfriend's wings. But now he was chewing on his lower lip, clearly bothered by something less immediate.

"What is it, elf?"

"Sugar Plum seemed strange. Stranger than usual, I mean."

Bog turned back to the path. Leading the lizard around obstacles and dangers while keeping the hungry creature from taking a bite out of him took more concentration than he liked to admit.

"It makes sense. She has good reason to fear Wasps. Her hive was destroyed by one."

There was silence from the two on the lizard, and he turned back again to make sure they hadn't been snatched by a spider or some such. Instead, both looked pale, even the ever-enthusiastic Dawn.

"Plum doesn't have a family?" She finally asked.

"No. Her Plummets are all that is left of her people."

He batted aside a cobweb and then held the lizard back to let a caravan of beetles cross the path before Sunny spoke.

"What happened?"

The king sighed. "Ask Plum if you want the whole story, though I would recommend bringing tissues. Her tales can get a bit...emotional." That was an understatement, but he wasn't about to admit that the story of the Glamour Plague had terrified him as a child, all the more because he wasn't supposed to have been awake to hear it, and had watched his parents - his father - look scared for the first time. He didn't like to remember it, the panic and worry in his parents faces, as they dealt for the first time with a threat that could have obliterated the entire Dark Forest. They were lucky that Roland was no where near as experienced or subtle as the Wasp Queen that had destroyed the Orchard Kingdom of the Pixies.

"Plum's people are made mostly of magic, making them a tempting target for Wasps. Once a wasp gained entrance into their nest, it was easy for it to pick pixies off one by one, absorbing magic until until the only solution was to bring down the hive around everyone's heads. Plum is the only Princess that survived. The rest were either consumed, dazzled by the wasp queen, or remained with their mother to fight to the end. It's why her magic is so strong and unfocused; without a hive or a kingdom, she is a ruler with nothing to protect."

"That's horrible!" said Dawn.

Bog shrugged. "That's life, Princess. Just be glad your Roland is a young wasp, untried and unpracticed in his powers. We have more of a chance against him."

Sunny coughed. "But Roland's a fairy. He grew up in the elm-tree village. He didn't just appear out of no-where like your Wasp Queen."

"A wasp can appear in any clan, among any creatures who have magic." Bog explained. "There may even be wasps who live peacefully, never using their powers and thus remaining ignorant of the temptation. I doubt it. " He added with a derisive snort, hacking at a particularly enthusiastic plant with his staff. "But the books say it's possible. It certainly seems that your Roland had never consciously used his powers until he overwhelmed Marianne in the forest." He gave a particularly vicious whack, and the towering plant crashed to the ground, spraying water drops every which way.

"Boggy..." Dawn started. "we'll win. I'm certain of it. And I think Marianne does still feel something for you."

Bog paused, then shook his head and stalked on. "Don't tease me, fairy-girl. I might be helping you to save your sister, but that doesn't mean I expect her to jump into my arms once the curse is gone. Nor - " He amended quickly, not letting that image threaten his resolve, "Would I want her to."

Dawn made a quiet "hmm" sound, and Sunny felt warning bells ring in his mind. It was never a good thing, that sound. It meant that either Dawn had a plan, or she was stubbornly going to stand in the way of someone else's.

"Even if it would be best for both your kingdoms?" She asked innocently.

Bog hit a stinging vine out of the way. "This is what is best for our kingdoms, fairy. Peace, and your sister ruling with her right mind. Not forcing all that fire into someone's arms or drowning it in bog-mud." He pushed aside the final leaves of the path, letting bright sunlight into the Dark Forest. "She doesn't need anyone to be great." He said, a sad smile to his voice. "She could do it all on her own, if she just has a chance to bloom."

Dawn 'hmm'ed again but said no more on the subject until after Bog had disappeared back into the forest underbrush. He'd left them on the outskirts of the forest, in an area neither knew well, but Sunny recognized as outside the normal patrol of the Fairy Guards. A juneberry bush straddled the border between the two kingdoms, letting Lizzy and her riders sneak back into Fairy territory unseen.

Lizzy dashed into the sun and shivered happily at the heat and headed towards home. Dawn remained quiet, but after a few loping strides from the lizard began to hum happily to herself, drowning out the birdsong and the summer buzz of insects.

Sunny tried not to fall for the trap. He really did. But half way home the curiosity became too much, and he finally asked, "What are you so happy about?!"

"Isn't this wonderful?" She chirped.

"Uh, your sister's under the power of an evil fairy, who happens to have convinced everyone he's the best thing ever, and we're having to go to goblins for help. Wonderful is not the word I'd use."

"But Bog! He love's Marianne! And when there's love everything works out!"

"What are you talking about. He straight up said he didn't - "

"No, he said he never expected her to love him back. That's a very different thing!"

"Uh huh. He seemed pretty set on this 'alliance until the Roland-Wasp is dead' not 'alliance so I can marry your sister'."

"That's just what he said. He loves her, and I can prove it!"

"Right. Then do it."

'She doesn't need anyone to be great. She could do it all on her own...' She quoted. "Do you know who else said something like that?"

"Griselda?"

"No, silly. You did. I heard you telling Pare before we were even together."

Sunny blinked. He did remember saying something like that, a long time ago, when he was utterly smitten and had no hope of Dawn ever realizing his affections. He flushed scarlet as he realized Dawn might have heard all of his other complements of her, but she chattered on, oblivious to the heat radiating from his face.

"I think they're perfect for each other. He'd never hold her back, not like Roland. And he respects her, like an equal. He doesn't need her kingdom, and she doesn't need his, but I know she can't forget the night they spent together, and I know he can't forget her. I could hear it in his voice."

"Okay, big scary Bog King has a crush on your sister. I guess I can't blame him; your sister can be pretty scary when she wants to be, and the Dark Forest is nothing but scary. And I guess she's pretty, in a dark, badass kind of way."

Sunny considered. He'd never really thought of Marianne in that way; he'd been creeped out when she'd fallen for Roland the first time and had stayed away from the palace as much as possible. Seeing his tom-boy adopted sister liking boys was weird enough. The thought of her married to a perfect fairy boy was weirder. But being Queen? That fit. Kicking ass and ruling with an iron will? Years playing minion to mock battles in the courtyard had prepared prepared him for that as well. Storming a castle to rescue her sister from a dread monster? Yes, that as well. And if he fitted his mind to seeing her married at all, they he supposed that yes, he could see her with someone much more like the Bog King than a ponce like Roland. He actually liked the Bog King.

He froze, and re-evaluated the thought, wondering if he had caught it off of Dawn, it was so alien. Maybe 'liked' wasn't the right word. Respected. Their afternoon together had broken Sunny's fear of the man, despite all instinct and culture telling him to hate Bog. And Dawn was right; beneath the rough exoskeleton, Bog clearly cared about his people and was running himself hard to make sure they were safe. His own feelings for Marianne were secondary; from what Sunny had seen of the kingdom on their way to the palace, the goblins were preparing for an invasion, and would fight to the bitter end against Roland's forces. Sunny and Dawn had offered an alternative, and the Bog King was pointedly not using it to capture Marianne for himself. That...was rather decent of him, something that Sunny had never expected from a goblin.

And the Bog King was a million times better than Roland, even before they knew Roland was an ego-maniacal maniac. Bog intimidated people, using his rank and height and power to terrify, but he ruled over a mob that would listen to nothing else. He pushed and taunted, but someone like Marianne needed that, or she would either get bored or feel like she was being coddled. And despite that, he'd been so careful that Dawn didn't have a scratch on her from tackling him. And he'd looked so helpless and lost when she'd done that, as if he'd never expected anyone to be happy to see him.

Sunny chewed over this in his thoughts. Dawn's instincts weren't the best when it came to men, but maybe this time she was right. He might never like Bog, but he could respect him, and if the man made Marianne happy, Sunny would even side with his love and see to it that Marianne saw what her sister did.

"I can tell you agree!" Dawn declared. "So! Lets save my sister, stop a war, and unite our kingdoms. It'll be awesome."

--------------------------

"Marianne?" King Desmond knocked lightly on the door frame to the tiny examination room.

"Come in." His daughter called back, and he slipped in to find her adjusting her clothing.

Dawn and Sunny were right. Marianne did look exhausted. She had heavy bags beneath her eyes, and lines growing at the corner of her cheeks and brow. Her stance and expression spoke of stress and weariness, shoulders tense and mouth in a tight line, even in a relaxed setting such as this.

Desmond eased himself down beside her and wondered what he could do.

"Did the doctors find anything?"

She shook her head. "Nothing. They said it was simply stress, and recommended sleep." She leaned back on the examination table, tracing cracks on the ceiling with her eyes. "Dr. Ericson said most women feel this way before a wedding."

"Dr. Ericson is an ass who has apparently never seen a happy bride." Desmond answered, making a face.

That startled a laugh out of his daughter, and the tension in his chest eased a bit.

"All the nurses certainly rolled their eyes when he said that. And Dr. Ibis looked ready to kick him out on the spot."

"She was in school with your mother. I'm surprised she hasn't kicked him out already, if that is how he treats his female patients."

Marianne shook her head ruefully. "I would certainly back her up if she chose to do so. But..." She sighed. "Perhaps he had a point, father. Perhaps this is happening to fast. Ruling, that is. Not the wedding, that's fine. Roland...he's so eager for us to take our place as King and Queen. But I'm not sure I'm ready."

"Oh Marianne." Desmond rested a hand on her shoulder. "You are more than ready. You've been ruling at my side ever since your mother passed. Its simply time to make it official."

Marianne leaned against him, resting her head on his shoulder, her wings drooping. "Then why does it feel so much harder now? Why does every day feel like a fight? Roland finds it all so easy, and yet I've landed here because I can't sleep for thinking of all my responsibilities."

Desmond could only shake his head. "Power is a heavy weight, daughter-mine. It does not come easy to most, nor should it. You are coming to power at a chaotic time, with reports every day of more goblins on the border and unease among the elves, and yet you are still steering us towards peace. For the sake of your fiance and your people you are shouldering this burden and that is not something I would ask of you if you were not ready to rule."

"Then why does it feel that I'm doing wrong by the very people I am trying to protect? The council, the courtiers..."

"Change is hard on all of us, Marianne. I no longer know this world well enough to rule it. But you do. You are pulling us towards the future, and there are many that are stuck in the past. In the end, I think they will see how this change will make our kingdom stronger, and will come to thank you. But in the beginning it will be hard, and there will be many who will take time to convince"

Another sign, but she swung herself to her feet and hazarded a small smile. "I hope you are right, Father. I should trust myself more, and not listen to the words of fools who aren't out there doing the work."

Desmond returned the smile. "Exactly. Don't let the naysayers get you down. Prove to them your commitment to your kingdom."

Impulsively, she hugged him. "Thank you, Papa."

He returned the hug, trying not to think how frail and small she seemed in his arms. In his heart he knew she was ready for this, had been ready for it for years. Seeing his little girl finally take the throne should have been a glorious affirmation. He just wished more people would believe in her and not be distracted by Roland's frippery.

"I'm always here for you, daughter. Never forget that."

---------------

Chapter Text

"He did what?!" Roland's wings flared and he fought to control his temper. This was just a...setback, that's all.

"Gave the Bog King the Queen's message. An' a goblin just showed up with an RSVP." Eric gulped, and took a step back from Roland. The future king had started getting...creepy when he was angry. Less Roland and more something else. Something so beautiful it hurt to look at. Something with cold eyes and a smile with teeth too long...something one would do anything to keep from seeing again.

"Why didn't you stop it at the border?" He snapped at Jainus.

"It snuck in somehow, B- sire." the lieutenant answered. "The scouts think they have raiding tunnels beneath the barrier, but we've never been able to find them, and since no-one's been carried off in years..."

"So goblins could swarm the castle at any time?!" Roland slammed his fist into the planning table. "That is not acceptable. I can't have my wedding interrupted again."

"I don't know what we can do about it, sire." Jainus said. "Our patrols can only pick up so much, and if they have a way to get deep within Fairy territory before coming out..."

"I don't want to hear excuses, I want solutions!" He glared at his lieutenants, the beginnings of a pout on his lips.

"Uh...we could increase the patrols, and take them further away from the border." John suggested.

"We could keep them on foot, rather than sticking to the skies." Eric added.

Jainus shifted uncomfortably. Of the three, he was the one most often on the border. "But that might irritate the flower-farmers and the villagers."

"They're just elves, so it doesn't matter." Roland answered. "Do it. I don't want a single goblin able to even think of walking into my kingdom, until they're begging for surrender."

-----------------

A week later Roland found himself glaring over a laden breakfast table at an army of goblins. All right, there were only three. But each of them had wings of some sort, and had flown over his guards without a single sighting, leaving him completely unprepared when they appeared at the palace, not on time, but early. He hadn't even had a chance to pressure the council into rescheduling! Instead he had come downstairs for breakfast to find a tiny fly-like goblin politely announcing to the whole reception hall that the Bog King had arrived and would happily await the Queen's meeting wherever the Fairies wished to house them.

Roland, never one to rise early, especially after a night with one of his lady friends, had been jolted awake in the worst possible way. The fly had made eyes at him. Him! And then acted so completely according to protocol that he hadn't even been able to run it out without seeming impolite.

A fly had bested him. How embarrassing! And now, because of that interfering younger sister and her elf lover, the hideous creatures had all been invited to breakfast as if they were actually people, rather than a crack team of assassins intent upon ruining all his plans.

No matter. The creatures would embarrass themselves at the breakfast table, and he could leverage this into having them laughed out before any worse damage could be done.

"I didn't know blueberries grew in the Dark Forest!" Dawn exclaimed as Bog expertly sliced the offending berry into sections, looking for all the world as if he did this every day.

"They are rare. Our soil is too wet to grow them, but there are plenty of similar berries throughout my kingdom." He handed the plate over to the younger princess, having selected a slice. "But I've never had them chilled before."

"Its delicious!" Dawn insisted, cutting into her serving. "Right Sunny?"

The elf gulped and nodded, deeply uncomfortable amidst the crowd of fairies and royals. Dawn had insisted he tag along but now he was feeling as if he had more in common with the goblins than his supposed countrymen. He certainly was receiving similar glares from Roland and his cronies for acting so high above his station. Each time one of the fairies had to dip their eyes in the scan of the table to see him and hid rolled eyes or scoffs at the uppity elf he sunk lower in his chair.

"When I was a boy, I once had Blueberry Wine imported from the Dark Forest." One of the councilmen hesitantly offered. They also hadn't been warned of the goblin's arrivals, and so were forced to attend the impromptu meeting out of duty, unable to claim responsibilities elsewhere. This one, Buttonbush, was a stodgy middle-aged merchant but was doing his best to join the conversation. Several other councilors shot him appreciative looks.

"That is brewed from berries we import from an orchard beyond our borders." answered the third goblin, a bespeckled thing that appeared half-moth half- monster. She sipped berry juice through a proboscis and kept a satchel of documents at her side. "The Dark Elf village of Tree-Haven is famous for that wine among half the kingdom's hereabouts."

"I didn't know Elves lived in the Dark Forest." Marianne leaned forward, eyes bright and interested despite the early hour.

Bog nodded, focusing on the subject to keep him distracted from her bright eyes. "Elves and fairies alike have been leaving unwanted children at the border for centuries. Ya didn't think we ate them, did ya?"

An uncomfortable silence descended on the table for a moment, and he quickly added. "Of course without the primroses, that nonsense is much less common. But there are ten elf cities that owe fealty to the Dark Forest, and several more villages."

"F-facinating." Dogwood said, trying to smile. "How do you keep them under control?"

Bog raised a brow, and his eyes glittered. "Wha do ya mean? I dinna need to do anything. They're elves; they take care o' themselves. Much better at it than goblins, if ah'm honest. Don't have to smash nearly as many heads together when elves are involved."

There were titters around the table at this. Elves, ruling their own cities? Preposterous! But Sunny could already see the interest in Marianne and Dawn's eyes, and even old King Desmond was leaning forward. Sunny could already imagine Dawn dragging him back into the Dark Forest to find the cities, and to be honest Sunny was just as curious as she was. A whole tree-city, just of elves?

Roland coughed. "How...barbaric. Must everything be solved by violence with you people?"

"Of course not!" The fly-goblin replied. "But things can become...heated in the council chambers."

"An' bashing heads can be more fun than listening to trade rights for seven days." Bog muttered, only heard by Dawn and Marianne over the tittering of the fairy council members. Dawn glanced at her sister, to find her trying to hide a chuckle. Just last week Marianne had suggested a elf representative, and here the goblins were acting as if it was the most natural thing in the world!

"Oh please. As if elves could ever rule themselves." Roland said, earning nods of approval from around the room. "They're too small and insignificant. You need a fairy to lead. Someone who is smart, and handsome, and who people like." There were mutters of agreement, and Sunny sunk lower into his chair.

Bog snorted. "Well, goblin's dinna need ta be pretty ta get things done. Better leave things ta the people who know what they're doing, ay?"

Roland's eye twitched, and he looked ready to draw his sword right there. But Dawn piped up with another question on the Forest, and the tension in the room eased at her bright, cheery smile and innocent excitement. In the mean time the fly-girl kicked her master beneath the table, shooting him a warning expression.

"So what do you think of the Fairy Kingdom?" Marianne asked during a lull in conversation. She had barely touched her food, and Roland had kept a hand on hers throughout the entire conversation, but even then she was clearly fascinated.

"It's...bright." Bog said. Both the other goblins nodded, wincing slightly. The transition between the ever-twilight of the forest and the bright sunlight of the meadow hadn't been easy, especially on the nocturnal moth-woman.

"But beautiful." The fly added diplomatically.

"There are many things our people could learn from yours." said the moth.

"Like manners?" Roland muttered, getting a chuckle from the courtiers on his side of the table. He looked innocently at his fiance when she shot him a look.

"And I see many opportunities for trade." continued the moth, as if she hadn't heard a thing, even while the fly’s antennae drooped.

"Oh?" Buttonbush leaned forward. "Such as?"

The goblin woman's wings fluttered, a universal sign of interest among any with wings, and smiled with her fluffy antennae. "Foodstuffs, of course. Our elves have worried for years about the Light Kingdom elves being cut off from the forest."

Bog nodded at this; they would have brought a representative from the Dark Elves, had sneaking past the border guards not been necessary...and because he had been rightly worried about the treatment of elves in the light kingdom.

"And I am sure the oreads would find a market for their metal working amongst your farmers." The moth continued. Marianne sat up straighter at this; oreads were among the most reclusive species of elemental fae and few had been seen in the Light Kingdom since the construction of the palace generations before.

"And what would you want in return?" Dogwood prompted, a tad affronted at the blithe way the goblin described the differences between the kingdoms, as if clearly the fairies needed them more than the goblins needed the fairies! As if these barbarians could truly offer anything...but Dogwood wasn't a farmer, and Lady Holly and Buttonbush were eagerly listening, wondering if the goblins and their allies really could trade iron and steel, bark mulch and beetle dung.

The moth stroked her proboscis. "Grains, to begin with. Winter comes faster in the deep forest, and our citizens are not always prepared when it comes. Similarly, textiles; most of our clothing must come from tree-bark or leaves, the latter of which does little to cut the chill of winter. Medicines; your doctors are far more advanced than ours. And fine jewelry, of course. Your people are the best craftsmen for leagues."

Dogwood blinked, never having expected such shrewd, unbiased observations from a goblin. Everything in him recoiled from the idea, but her words brought with them the temptation of money, overriding any species prejudice for the moment. And it was always possible that he would be able to exploit the goblins just as much as he did his village's elves...numbers doubled in his mind and he had to restrain a look of glee.

Farther down the table Bog smiled to himself. He was no diplomat, he preferred to hit things, but Cycla would keep him in check and Cabby would live up to her nickname of "Tiger". If the tubby fairy thought he could pull one on the Dark Forest's lead trade negotiator he would be in for a shock. Despite her fluffy white wings and innocent eyes, Cabby had her own merchant empire stretching across the entire Dark Forest. Even the King might have needed to reach deep into the treasury to buy her services, but she had other motivations in helping them, and for once he was willing to exploit Plum’s abilities if it ensured a continued alliance with the Tiger. Anyways, war was bad for profits, and Cabby had jumped at the chance to protect and perhaps expand her empire.

Roland watched the exchange between the moth-woman and the counselors with pursed lips. The councilors were not fleeing in fear, and some of them seemed to be won over by the hideous creatures. Even Dogwood, with his harem of elf-girls and blatant distaste for anything not fairy, was listening with beaded eyes to the moth-creature.

Roland felt the girl pulling the counsel's attention from him. All his life others had seen to his needs, so talk of commerce bored him, and yet the power of money seemed just as effective as his charm and good looks. The idea was disconcerting; he felt each loss of attention as a whittling of his power, reducing him to making snide half-whispered comments to the flutter of his less powerful friends. At least they were still laughing, but this would have been so much easier if the goblins had acted as they should, like the beasts they were. Instead the cockroach-king remained silent, the moth was charming, and the fly girl comported herself perfectly, giving every indication that she knew fairy protocol as well as Roland himself. No openings to embarrass or silence them. It was infuriating.

“How long do they plan to eat?” He complained to Marianne. “Ya think they’re that hungry?”

Apparently Bog overheard, and sent a sneer in Roland’s direction. Neither he nor the fly-girl had eaten much, leaving their plates half full, as if to intentionally disprove all of Roland’s quips about goblin eating habits.

Roland blustered. “Is the food not to your liking, Majesty?” There, just enough scorn in the term to gain approval from his fans. Everyone knew goblins were brutish cannibals and carrion eaters.

“We ate before coming.” Explained the fly. “We did not wish to presume upon fairy hospitality.”

She fluttered her wings and batted her antennae at Roland, as if somehow that would be enough to disguise the double meaning in her words. It left the courtiers wondering what ‘fairy hospitality’ meant to goblins, and why the words sounded more like an insult than a compliment. Roland bristled, unsure which disliked more of the three, the clear threat of the King, or the two mysterious unknowns that were making people think.

“Then there’s no reason for y’all to stay here, right sweetest?” Roland asked, throwing an arm around his betrothed and shooting a glare at the King. Let them chew on the double meaning of that.

“Ah, of course. The meeting chamber should be ready now - “ Marianne began, but was interrupted by Buttonbush of all people.

“Could we, perhaps, beg a little more time before the official meeting, your Majesty?” he asked. Several other of the councilmen nodded in agreement.

At Marianne’s skyrocketing brow he quickly explained. “Its simply that this lovely lady has some fascinating insights. Before we speak of more serious things, perhaps…perhaps we should get a more complete picture of what she is proposing.”

Marianne was stunned and Roland near-furious. But the moth woman laughed and the fly mentioned, “The meeting was scheduled for the evening, ma’am. It would be no trouble for us to wait longer, if it would help your people understand us better.”

Bog nodded in agreement, pleased that his plan had gone so well.

The Queen thought for a moment, a small smile at the corner of her lips, as if she too was pleased by this turn of events. “Then let us reconvene in the afternoon. You are welcome to use the meeting hall or summer courtyard for your discussions…”

“Is that the beautiful garden we flew over on our way in?” Asked the moth. Marianne nodded, and the woman turned to Buttonbush. “Perhaps you could show it to me as we talk.”

Buttonbush rose to his feet quickly, followed by Lady Holly and Dogwood, and all three waited as the moth-woman elegantly took Buttonbush’s offered hand and immediately returned to their commerce conversation.

Roland watched them leave with narrowed eyes as the rest of the breakfast crowd excused themselves. King Desmond turned to his advisers and left in deep conversation, allowing the more easily disgusted councilmen and courtiers to flee. At least General Gaillard and his ilk remained untrusting of the goblins, glaring and dispatching guards to follow after all of them. But even there Bog had chosen well; the two female goblins hardly looked like any kind of a threat, and it was difficult to take the fly seriously when she began an animated conversation with Dawn on the current fairy fashions and the place of protocol within the industry.

A fly was discussing fashion. Hurriedly Roland excused himself, lest his disgust at the whole situation start to overwhelm his perfectly maintained image. But he made sure to chat with the exiting courtiers and staff, gently reminding them of their prejudices despite the unexpectedly civilized actions of the goblins, ensuring that his approval there was unshakable as ever. Their adulation eased his mood while he though furiously. Something had to be done before these goblins ruined his carefully constructed plan. But it couldn't be something obvious or something that might leave the council still uncertain of their loyalties. Damn. He wouldn’t be able to figure out what until he was away from the ugly creatures and had time to think.

His remaining allies with strong stomachs hovered over Dawn and Cycla's conversation. One, Harold, broke in with "And what is the protocol for eating people in the Dark Forest?" to general laughter.

Laughter which faded at the woman's immediate response. "Oh, the sentience test has been on the books for years. One doesn't eat someone who can speak, unless it is within an approved combat or social situation. Surely you have something similar?"

Harold rallied quickly and took on a condescending smile. "We've never needed to. Everyone here looks like people."

The fly fluttered her wings and rubbed her hands together. "That does make things much simpler, I admit. But some of our strongest allies are the mushroom-folk, and one wouldn't wish to lose such a useful allies simply because some cannot control their hunger!"

"And that doesn't cause...problems?" A genuinely curious fairy asked. "Couldn't babies who cannot yet talk be eaten?" It was a common tale among fairies, of goblins who would steal and eat babies indiscriminately, not caring about class or species.

"It can, yes, which is why most of our herding is done by goblins closest in species to our food stock, and thus best able to recognize emergent thinking." Cycla answered. "My father was a gnat farmer, for example."

"And everyone just...obeys these rules?" Harold asked, clearly unconvinced.

"Oh, there are some problems, of course. How you people can live with frog-folk..." The fly shuddered. "They are required to be muzzled during our councils. Too many have died because of their glib tongues. But there are rules for reparations to families if anything untoward happens, whether it be a hungry mouse attacking a mushroom circle or a frog getting loose in the grub hatcheries." She looked directly at Harold and smiled sweetly. "We are not complete barbarians, fairy, despite what you have heard and seen of my more brutal brethren. We are people just like you, merely more varied and resilient."

The fairy drooped his wings, and another of Roland's allies patted him on the back. Apparently the fly wasn't as easy a target as she seemed. The conversation continued on, as younger fairies couldn't help but be curious about the strange Dark Forest they had heard so much of since childhood, and eventually the whole group moved out onto the balcony to take in the sun and listen to the impeccably eloquent fly.

Which left Marianne alone with Bog.

"I must admit, I never expected goblins to be so..." She searched for a word as the servants cleared the table things away, leaving behind nothing but a pot of tea for the two monarchs.

"Different?" Bog supplied, earning a smile that bruised his heart. "Female goblins are often more intelligent than their male counterparts. Cabby and Cycla are two of my most prized staff."

Marianne raised a brow. "I don't remember seeing them in your castle..."

"Generally I send my non-fighters away when I'm worried about a fairy invasion." He said wryly. "But Cycla and Cabby both live outside the castle anyways."

"Ah." Marianne sipped her honeyed jasmine tea. "How is the rebuilding going?"

Bog huffed. "We'll need to build a new castle. For now, it is easier to stay in the Winter Palace while we excavate what we can from the ruins."

"May I ask why you chose to place your castle there in the first place? A rotting stump on the edge of a ravine does not seem the most...stable of castles."

For a moment Bog's face fell, and Marianne wondered at the pang in her heart over the winsome expression. "It was my father's castle, built originally into a living tree. But when its Dryad died...the tree did not last much longer. And he could not bear to move." He examined the tea in his cup, not meeting her eyes."She was my seed mother."

Suddenly the quirks of Bog's form made much more sense. Half bark, half exoskeleton, wings and yet strong legs made to root deep...a perfect mix of the two species. And now she remembered rumors of the hideous Dragonfly King and his beautiful, tragic wife chained forever to a monster. But she had never thought of those boogeymen as Bog's parents, real people and not faceless enemies lurking just past the border.

"So Griselda..."

"Is my step-mother. But she began as a nursemaid, the only sorceress powerful enough to keep me alive after my birth mother died." A wry grin spread across his face, and he imitated his mother's voice "Twenty one months in my womb, and this is the thanks I get?"

Marianne laughed, a guffaw really, big and loud and undignified. The sound startled both of them. She quickly covered her mouth, Roland's voice at the back of her head chiding her for being unlady-like. But Bog was chuckling as well, and somehow the tension between them had lifted. So much for a formal meeting between two rulers, now all she could picture was Griselda in the high peaked caps and sapphire gowns of her people's magic wielders.

(Elsewhere, Roland felt the stutter of his hold over her, hardened his resolve, and set his solution in motion.)

"So choosing a new castle is no easy task." She finally said, glad to see the melancholy look gone from Bog's face.

He shook his head and sighed. "No. Not for one of my unique heritage."

"It must not have been easy, growing up between two worlds."

He snorted. "I heard every insult in the book, if that's what you mean. Not pretty enough for a goblin, not ugly enough for a fairy was my personal favorite."

"And your father didn't do anything to stop it?" She remembered King Desmond once exploding on a room of courtiers for making Dawn cry, for the first time in history chiding someone for insulting an elf.

"Stop it? He encouraged it!" Bog tried a sip of the tea and tried not to grimace. Marianne tried not to giggle at the mix of expressions on his face. Apparently goblins didn't like sweet things. At least, this goblin. Then he became serious again. "Whatever Cycla says, my people are not the kindest or wisest in the world. They need strong leaders who are not afraid to bash a few heads when the occasion demands. Its the only thing they can respect."

"Hmpf. I wish my councils could be solved so easily." Marianne said, thinking back on the endless battles of words she seemed to be fighting every day.

"And why shouldn't they be?" Bog asked. "As far as ah can tell, those old flutterers could use a few knocks to get them thinking again."

"Ah, but that is not ladylike." Marianne quoted, mimicking Lady Holly's nasal voice. "A Queen must be refined and cultured, not a boor with a bloody sword." She shook her head. "Much as I would like to, my people would never accept a Queen like that."

"Who says they have any right to choose?" Bog growled. "You are Queen, by birth and training. If they cannot accept you as you are, then let them take up the sword themselves." His eyes flashed, and she realized that he fully meant his words. Goblins were more physical in all things, and of course would challenge their leader with fists rather than cutting words. Once again she felt a pang of envy. Bog wouldn't need to endlessly primp and preen before handmaidens just to be treated seriously. He could yell and scream if it pleased him, and roar at any who would dare make comments behind his back.

For a brief moment she wondered what would happen if she did act on her instincts and tell the council what she thought. Surely they would be horrified. Worse, Roland would be disappointed, and she couldn't bear the thought of that. 'I thought we agreed that you needn't do that, honey' He would say. 'Don't you trust me? Don't you think I could protect you? Leave that mean old council to me and don't worry your pretty little head about it.'

The thought made her shiver. If needed, Roland said he would take her place at council. He would hate it, but he would do it for her, to save her from the pain and frustration. Half the council preferred him anyways...

"This tea really is hideous."

Bog's voice pulled her from a daze, in which she subconsciously had been stroking Roland's bracelet. She looked up, and found him trying not to gag. He looked comical, the exact opposite of the poised fly on the balcony, nose wrinkled and tongue between his teeth. He must have gotten the dregs of the pot; his tongue was coated in honey and tea-leaves in equal measure.

"Have some more blueberry instead." She suggested, giggling.

"Then ah'll have blue lips for the rest of the day!" He complained.

She set her own mug down. "Was that the real reason you didn't eat much?"

He sent a mock-affronted look her direction as he stood. "Now who isn't thinking of royal image? Canna come to a meeting looking like ah just ate a bug, can I?"

She laughed again, worry easing, and took his arm when he offered it. "I'm sure they would have been too terrified to comment. They might have agreed to anything, just to get you out of the kingdom..."

"Well, we still have a day left, Princess. I might still terrify them into submission."

She lead him through the double doors, considering giving him a tour of the castle, despite the unhappy looks of her guards. "Mmm, perhaps I could give you some suggestions on things I'd like to fix as well..."

"Heh." He laughed and squeezed her hand, and for a moment Roland was erased completely from her mind.

Then the scream came.

----------------------------------

Bog was gone almost before Marianne heard the sound, sprinting back to the dining room, gaining speed, scepter somehow back in his hand, and from there out across the balcony, buzzing through the stunned crowds on iridescent wings.

The scream was high and wavery, pure terror from a frail body, and the crash that followed forced Marianne into motion as well. Her hand fell to her hip, feeling the loss of her sword, even as she followed Bog out and into the courtyard.

White flashed before her eyes, the moth-woman in flight, screaming again. Fairies scattered, Buttonbush one way, Holly another, while Gaillard and the guards were slow, too slow.

Crash, and the dragon lizard roared, eyes tracking the fluttering moth, and leapt, teeth snapping. Once, the woman dodged. Twice, a wing was caught. Thrice, and the lizard caught its prey beneath its teeth.

Bog was a moment too late, or just in time, hitting the lizard just as the jaws began to crush the poor woman. With that impossible strength he hit the lizard square on the side of its face, sending the beast tumbling until it crashed against one courtyard wall, loosing its prey along with two teeth.

It righted itself, eyes red and angry, focusing on its enemy. Bog didn't give it time to think, hurling himself towards it. His scepter flashed, and the lizard fell again, but this time regained its footing instantly and leapt. Eyes narrowed, Bog shifted his scepter, bladed ends catching light, ready to revenge himself on the scourge -

"LIZZY!"

The lizard's head snapped around, and Bog shifted his blow at the last instant, sending the lizard flying once again. This time it didn't get up, merely whining miserably and turning itself over to show its belly to its master, the tiny elf Sunny.

Which was the exact minute when Roland rounded the corner with the rest of the guards, armed to the teeth and far too late.

Suspicion snapped into fact, and Bog hurled himself at the bastard who was surely responsible for his subject's death.

"YOU!"

Roland stumbled backward, never having seen such rage on a creature's face before. Bog had been angry when he'd taken Dawn, furious even, but this...blood shot eyes, hackles raised, suddenly every edge sharp and violent...

He barely got his sword up in time to deflect the first blow, even as his mind scrambled to find a distraction, any mind that would give him the power he needed...

"Sunny, what did you do?!" Dawn's voice rang around the court, followed by a slap which she could not have given, as her hands immediately went to her mouth, horrified at what she had just said.

But the damage was done, and the distraction was all Roland needed to turn the tides. He pushed Bog out of the way and strode towards the elf, his every movement bringing more eyes onto the scene.

"Sunny! How could you let this happen?" He demanded, towering over the fallen lizard and its master. "Look what you've done!"

"I didn't - " Sunny began, eyes wide.

"You brought this beast here! You said it was safe! And now - " Roland pointed at the pathetic white and blue bundle lying on the flagstones.

Tears welled up in the elf's eyes, and he stumbled away towards the fallen goblin. "Oh no. No no no. I'm sorry. I - "

"It's too late, elf." Roland said.

"No, its not." Heads turned to find Dr. Ibis flying behind Marianne, medical bag in hand and stretcher not far behind.

"You, help me get her onto the stretcher. Don't touch her wings, I think I can salvage them. Let me hold the head. You, all of you, get out of the way!" Easily the older woman took over, hands flashing as she applied pressure and untangled limbs, ignoring the further screams from the moth. "Hold here, no press, find me another cloth, why are you still in the way? Get out of here, I need to get her to medical now." Fairies fell over themselves in their effort to move, and Ibis flew alongside the stretcher, still yelling out orders and fighting everyone who would get between her and her medical wing.

Barely thirty seconds after she arrived the doctor was gone, leaving stunned silence in her wake. It was enough time for Roland to hide his anger and disappointment that the hideous woman wasn't dead and fake a look of appropriate worry.

"Bog, I'm so sorry - " began Dawn, tears glistening on her cheeks. Her sister was standing with Roland's hand tight around her wrist, preventing her from salvaging the situation.

"Don't be." Bog snapped, the growl rumbling through his whole form. "It wasn't your fault." Red-tinged eyes snapped towards Roland and his grip tightened on his scepter. But no, he couldn't. Not in front of the court. "It was his." He jabbed a finger at Sunny, and there was a general relaxation among the court fairies. Roland smiled to himself. An elf was to blame. That made things so much easier...and everything was right in the world.

Bog turned and picked up Sunny by his collar, ignoring Dawn's protests and Roland's smirk. "You. Twice now, you have wronged me."

"I - I - I - " Sunny stuttered, looking straight into the eyes of the man just hours ago he thought he respected. "I didn't."

"You did. And thus, by the laws of my people, I claim your life as mine until my subject is returned safe to me." And then he threw Sunny aside, apparently not caring at the crack of him hitting the wall. "Now, I will go see her, and hell be it upon any who gets in my way."

Finally Marianne pulled away from Roland, running after the Bog King as he stalked away in the direction the stretcher had gone. Could things have gone worse?

---------------

Could things have gone better? Roland asked himself. The moth-monster as good as dead (assuming he could sneak into the infirmary and finish the job), Bog in a rage and surely ready to start a war, and everything pinned on the younger princess' hated suitor.

And all it had taken was a few locked doors, a cut bridle and a gentle push on a stable-boy's mind. And he had even arrived on the scene in time for a heroic entrance! True, Bog's inexplicable assumption that he was to blame soured things a bit, but even now his people were talking of the irrational violence of goblins, of their clear weaknesses and lack of fighting prowess, and how idiotic and foolish they were, fluttering food in front of a rampaging beast.

The negotiations were as good as wrecked, and Roland couldn't be more pleased. Soon the errant councilors would return to the fold, the beast would be killed, Sunny exiled, and maybe he might even be promoted to general!

Wonderful indeed.

------------------------

"So, what's the protocol on assassination attempts while at peace talks?" Bog asked, watching the Tiger's slow, shallow breathing.

Cycla tried to laugh, but only managed a choked gasp. She was sitting alongside Cabby, hands over one of her lover's few un-splinted limbs. "Would you know, there are actually rules for this? Supposedly, it gives us the advantage, as the injured parties who have proven triumphant..." Her voice died and she rubbed her two forelegs together, trying not to burst into tears. "...w-we can m-make demands now, and they m-must listen..." It was too much, and tears started dribbling down her insectoid face. "They just stood there, Bog! Stood there and did nothing, while she was on the ground! And I couldn't - I couldn't reach her in time and - "

The fly devolved into wracking sobs.

"Cycla, I'm sorry." Bog said, truly meaning his words. "I never should have - "

"Its not your fault! I never knew...they think of us like...like animals. They can't even tell the difference! And I was talking to them, right before, and they were pretending to be nice, but none of them, none of them raised a finger to help. And if that's all they see of us, how is this ever going to work, King? If they invade they'll slaughter us like animals, elders and babes alike, protocol be damned, and they wouldn't even know. And they'll think all the while that they are making the world a better place."

Bog sighed, and knelt to push the fly back down onto her seat. "Not all of them, Cycla. Not all of them are pretty fools. You've met their doctors, you saw how that boy ran to her, you know that there are some worth saving. But we canna let them keep seeing us like this. We canna have them at their borders, killing any goblin that sets foot over the line, while still abandoning their unwanteds on our soil. We have to make them see us as we are, not what they want us to be. You did that, when all those young idiots listened, if just for a moment. And Cabby did too, playing to their greed and avarice to make them take her seriously. We need to be here, doing this, lest all of that...that indifference will lead them to an even worse evil."

"They think we eat children, Bog." Cycla whispered, one hand on her womb, the real reason she and Cabby had come to Plum. "They think we eat children, and they don't even know what ours look like."

-------------------------------

Chapter Text

It didn't take long for Cycla to fall into an exhausted sleep, especially after Ibis pushed a drugged tea-cup into her trembling hands. The doctor spent a few minutes explaining to Bog what she had done, and he conceded that the drugging was likely the only way for Cycla to sleep at all. Whatever her personal feelings on goblins, Dr. Ibis had done everything she could to save Cabby. Four hours in surgery had striped the color from the Doctor's face, but she was confident the moth could recover, and returned to her own rooms to get some needed rest, leaving the goblins alone.

Bog watched the rise and fall of the breathing of two of his best servants, Cycla's wings thrown across Cabby's, their faces close on the sheets, exhaustion and worry writ large across both features. Looking at them, so frail and helpless, set his blood burning. He had brought them here. He should have protected them. He'd underestimated the wasp, and it was his friends who had paid the price.

And now Cycla was out, not there to remind him to remain civilized in front of these oh-so-proper fairies.

Bog's wings twitched, and his vision narrowed. It was damn tempting to forget the plan and give the bastards what they wanted, a war. All it would take would be a few crushing blows, and the royal family and the wasp threat would be gone, and his people would be revenged a hundredfold.

Or maybe he could merely kill Roland and his idiot followers. That armor would be tricky, but oh did Bog want a fight right now, rather than standing guard over his injured subjects. He could do nothing for them, and the feeling of powerlessness scratched like a briar, taunting him with his failure. Kill the future king, revenge his subjects, conquer the fairy kingdom, and perhaps take their Queen for his own...the poisonous thoughts chased themselves in his mind, his hands clenched on his crossed arms, talons leaving furrows in his exoskeleton.

He was completely oblivious until Dawn touched his arm.

"Boggy?"

He moved so fast she yelped and shrunk away. There was murder in his eyes, the same overwhelming violence she had seen when he'd attacked Lizzy.

Then his eyes softened. "Dawn." He answered gruffly, drawing away.

"Boggy. I - I came to say I'm sorry. That your friend was hurt. Will she be alright?" Big blue eyes gazed up at him, sincerely sorry.

"Aye. She'll live. That doctor of your's did amazing work. She might even salvage the wings."

"That's wonderful!" Dawn searched for a seat and finally settled on the doctor's chair. Bog had been standing. "Sunny...Sunny's sorry too. But it wasn't him that set Lizzy free! I promise! He would have never done something so irresponsible! P-please, don't hurt him!" Her voice broke, and her eyes widened to pitiful gnat-dog level.

"Child, I know your suitor isn't to blame. Anyone with half a mind can see that." Bog responded, rolling his eyes. "Roland let the beast free, or saw to it that it happened. But I couldn't accuse him, not when he arrived with half an army."

Dawn's mouth dropped into an "o". "So...you aren't going to kill Sunny?"

A half-laugh escaped from his mouth. "Kill him? You've been listening to too many of Roland's fantasies, Princess. Your lover is far more useful to me alive. But Desmond would have exiled him on the spot for endangering our negotiations, had I na stepped in." A pretty story, and mostly true, except for the part where Bog had chosen Sunny partly because elves were almost as sturdy as goblins and likely wouldn't die from being a victim of the Bog King's anger.

Speaking of...

"Dawn, would you be able to watch Cabby and Cycla for a bit? Dinna let any but your sister or the doctors near."

Dawn's brow wrinkled. "Do you think they're still in danger? Who would - oh." Roland was the sort to try and finish the job, if he was to blame for Lizzy's rampage. "I'll make sure they're safe, I promise." she said. "But where are you going?"

"Ta find your practice rooms. If I dinna attack something, that bastard's head is coming off next time ay see 'im."

Dawn looked up into Bog's eyes and shivered. That feral rage was back, tinting his eyes red and rippling his scales. But she couldn't really blame him for his anger, and imagined her sister would have done much the same if she was in her right mind.

"Take the main hallway all the way down, then turn right at the end. That's the palace's private gymnasium. No one but Marianne uses it. So its been empty for months. Don't worry about destroying anything" She added. "My sister isn't easy on the mats either. Go wild."

Bog nodded once, and grabbed his scepter from against the wall. There had best not be any fairies getting in his way, not in the mood he was in.

-------------

Marianne knelt in the stable, examining Lizzy's bridle. The sturdy chain had been cut in two, the links sliced through rather than shattered as by a rampaging beast. The heavy lock Sunny had put on her stall was open as well, proof enough for the guards that the boy was to blame. But the cut chains weighted on Marianne's mind, and she picked up the broken links just in case.

If only she could have talked to the stable boy. But he had been fired on the spot by her fiance, with not a soul standing up for the boy. The child, barely old enough to have grown his wings, had crumpled to the ground as Roland made a show of his kindness in not banishing the boy on the spot. After all, we know what the Dark Forest would do to someone like you... As if Bog was just a moment away from killing the child, rather than pacing the corridors outside the surgery.

The boy left sobbing, and no one stood in his defense. That thought rankled in Marianne's mind, as everything she knew of the boy indicated he was a good worker and well liked, if a bit slow. And normally they would have an elf guarding the stronger beasts, but they had all been called off before the incident to act as added muscle for the palace guards. Surely this situation was an accident, hardly the stable boy or even Sunny’s, fault.

And Sunny...he was always beyond careful with Lizzy, a fact which the rest of the staff seemed to have forgotten as they muttered for the beast to be put down. Sunny would never leave the locks off. And those two heavy chain links tugged at her pockets...

"Marianne, what are you doing in the dirt?" Roland leaned over the stall wall. "That ain't a place for a Princess. You'll get your face dirty."

"I was looking for clues as to why -"

"Aww, honey-bun, don’t cha worry about that! I've got it all handled. That kid's out where he belongs, and those goblins will be on their way by morning, taking that traitor Sunny along with them."

Marianne stood and dusted off her dress. Amazing how white showed the dirt so much more. What she wouldn't give for one of her old outfits...

"I thought Gaillard declared it an accident."

"Then you don't need to be looking for clues now, do you sweetums?"

He smiled, perfect from his toes to his golden locks, and her heart melted.

"Of course, Roland. I just wanted to be sure."

"Marianne, doll, don't worry about it. Its my job to keep you safe. and neither goblins nor lizards nor fate itself could get in my way." He pulled her against him and kissed her, only enough space between them to keep his armor un-damaged by her grubby appearance. "Now, why don't you get yourself cleaned up, and leave the monster wrangling to me?"

She pulled back, light headed as always from Roland's kisses, and nodded. "Alright. But I'll see you at dinner tonight?"

His eyes flickered as he consulted his mental list of responsibilities. "Sure, love, I'll be there for a bit. Can't stay long, though gotta -uh- inspect the border and deal with some stuff."

"A bit is enough, Roland."

He beamed.

"We need to present a solid front before the goblins when we give our condolences."

His face froze.

"Now, sweat pea - "

"Don't 'sweet-pea' me, Roland." She returned. "Bog attacked you. We can't have that kind of animosity during these meetings. It would ruin all we've worked for, and put you in more danger."

"I can take care of myself - "

"But you shouldn't have to! After everything you've said, how I cannot put the monarchy at risk by going off alone, or fighting too many battles, how I can rely on you to protect me...let me do the same for you, Roland. Our people need a king, and we cannot have their favorite hurt because of an illogical goblin animosity."

Roland opened his mouth to protest, then closed it again. All his pressure on Marianne the last few months had worked wonderfully. And now it backfired? How was that fair? She needed to be kept safe at home, away from her people and surrounded by his friends. And now she expected him to do the same?! That wasn't how it was supposed to work!

"Do this for me, please?" She squeezed his hand, and he tried not to flinch at the dirt. "I couldn't bear to lose you."

He gritted his teeth and wished goodbye to one of his more profitable sources of affection. Suzy could wait a few hours later. "Of course, love. I'll be there."

--------------------

Marianne watched Roland fly off towards the army barracks. He even flew gracefully, floating on air currents and never accidentally hitting flowers as Marianne was prone to do.

She looked down and sighed. Roland was right; she looked like a mess. Her dress hadn't fared well on her frantic flight through the castle for medical help. The lacy petals had ripped, torn and bruised, leaving yellow lines beneath the mud of the stable dust.

She really couldn't be seen like this. It would tarnish Roland's image, and he needed her to be beautiful or else...

Her hand tensed on the bracelet and she shook her mind from the image of disgust on her perfect fiance's face. No matter what she did, it never seemed enough to match up to Roland. He could train for hours, handily beating any opponent, and yet still look perfect. She got dirty and ruined dresses and leaves in her hair and caused the palace staff to twitter to themselves about their hopeless princess.

So back to the royal wing, to find another outfit and turn herself over to her handmaidens for a few hours to fix the damages. And then a round of apologies to Bog and the goblins, followed by a short council session that surely would last late into the evening, with all the councilors blaming her for the disaster that the peace talks had become...

A crash brought her out of her brooding, and she realized she'd paused before the royal gymnasium. She used to spend hours in here, but Roland and responsibilities had left the room unused for months.

There was another bang and she eased the door open, wondering if perhaps a staff member was clearing her things out to make the room back into a ball room. Roland had been bothering her about it for a week, and it was like him to order the change while she was busy with other things. It made his changes more permanent as well, as proprietary stopped her from ordering things put to rights. It wasn't as if she could hire staff back without looking as if she disagreed with him, for example. If they wished to provide a united front, she had to bite her tongue and accept such frustrations.

An amber blur flashed, and one of her old wooden training dummies hurled across the room, making another crash. The blur resolved itself into Bog, scepter whirling in a complicated pattern, and she relaxed. Dawn must have told the other monarch of the training rooms. She couldn't blame him for wanting to work out some aggression; if it weren't for her royal image she would be on the floor herself.

The fingers of her right hand twitched, yearning for her sword as Bog righted the dummy. The scepter wasn't a close-combat weapon, but it didn't matter when Bog was all spikes and elbows. He spun, landing three hits in quick succession against the dummy, sending it spinning, its wings and weapons raised and libel to to give stinging whacks if one wasn't careful. But Bog was trained, coming to a stop just outside the machine's reach. Scepter in hand, the dummy's wings were no match, and let him block easily while still allowing him to land hits with fists and knees.

Attack, retreat. Attack, retreat. Marianne couldn't help but watch, and couldn't help but wish she still had a sword so she could join in. Unthinkingly Bog favored his left side, and it would be so easy to slip beneath one of those long arms and go for the underbelly... Fingers twitched, and she stepped into the room, eyes fixed on his form, temptation rising.

The door slammed behind her, and she yelped, wings flaring. Bog spun, scepter turning from a lethal weapon into a security blanket in the moment he realized it was her.

"Ah, M - Princess." He guiltily stepped away from the dummy, clutching his scepter awkwardly in his hands. "Your sister - "

She raised a hand. "You're welcome to use the gym, Bog. Someone needs to blow the dust off."

His shoulders relaxed and a smirk grew on his face. "Care to join me, Princess?"

She bit her lip. "I don't have a sword..."

Bog glanced around and found a discarded practice sword, wooden but well taken care of. He tossed it her way and Marianne caught it instinctively. Similar instinct led her stance to shift, no longer uncertain, and Bog's breath caught in his throat. There was his Marianne, sizing up the weight of the prop and temptation flaring in her eyes. Just a bit more...

"Ah don't suppose you've forgotten how to use it?"

And there was the fire again, sparking in her eyes and widening into a mischievous grin. Her grip shifted, ready to attack, and he swung the scepter into a defensive crouch. They locked eyes, adrenaline starting to pound, waiting for the moment when she would attack and the battle they had both longed for could begin...

"Marianne!" The future queen blinked and had anyone but Roland appeared before her Bog would have taken that instant as a perfect opening.

But no, the bastard was there, pulling the sword from his beloved's hands and glaring daggers at Bog. The boy was out of breath, surely because he had run to Marianne the instant he felt his control waver.

Not that Marianne noticed the sweat on his brow or the shake in his hands.

"Marianne! What are you doing? You can't put yourself in danger! And by attacking a goblin! Think of everything you've been working for!" Roland chided, throwing the sword away with a clang.

"It was just a spar - "

"And you!" Roland ignored her and turned to Bog. "You might not care about your subject's lives, but if you think you can attack the future Queen in her own castle, you've got some respect to learn!"

Bog's eyes narrowed. "What da ya mean, ya loon - " Then his face went white. Roland had regained his composure and was now smirking, as if he knew something that neither ruler did...and he had just come from the direction of the medical wing.

Bog was in the air a moment later, buzzing past the royal couple as fast as his wings could take him, not knowing what Roland had done but certain that he had to get back to the medical wing as fast as possible.

Roland relaxed and turned back to Marianne. "Cowards, goblins, all of them. He knew he'd never be able to match me. Especially when I was defending you, hunny-bun."

Marianne pulled her hand from Roland's. Adrenaline was still rushing through her system, fighting against the surge of frustration and sadness that Roland's arrival had brought - had always brought part of her mind observed.

"I could have handled myself. Honestly, Roland, its my gym."

"But you don't need a practice room, and I can always use the ones at the barracks. Marianne, what if someone saw you while you were in there? They'd think you didn't believe in the guards, didn't believe that I could keep you safe! Think of what that would do to moral!"

Marianne listened with half an ear as Roland prattled on, the same tired arguments he always brought out whenever he caught her doing something the least bit strenuous or dangerous. With a sigh she closed the gymnasium doors behind her and began to walk in the direction Bog had headed.

Unfortunately, Roland immediately noticed and cut short his lecture. "Marianne, sweets, where ya headed?"

"Medical. That's where Bog went."

Roland swallowed. "Now why should you - "

But she was ready for this argument. "I have yet to pay my respects to the injured woman. It's high time - "

"Well that's fine and all, but why don't you fix your face first? Poor thing will be scared half to death if she sees you like that."

"Roland, she's a goblin. A little dirt won't - "

Another crash echoed down the corridor, this one not muffled by heavy stone walls, and Marianne was flying before Roland could reach up and stop her and assure her that surely it was nothing....

Nothing was the exact opposite of what she found when she burst into the medical ward.The tableau seemed frozen just for her benefit; The fly woman bristling in defense of her wife, arms outstretched and wings vibrating angrily; Dawn half-standing, hands over her mouth in horror; And Bog with one knee atop Dr. Ericson's chest, hand on the fairy's wrist, which still held a shattered syringe.

The poisonous scent of insecticide filled the room, enough to make Marianne balk.

"Just a vitamin." Ericson mumbled, face turning blue.

"That vitamin would have killed Cabby." Bog hissed.

Dawn burst into tears and threw herself against Bog. "Boggy, I'm so sorry! I didn't know. I thought - he's been a doctor as long as I've been alive! I...I...I trusted him!"

The impact dislodged Bog enough that Ericson could gasp for breath. "She's just a goblin." The man hissed. His eyes turned to Roland and widened. "Sire, you - "

Roland's face froze. "Get this criminal out of here!" His voice summoned the oddly absent palace guards and they dragged Ericson away. "See to it that his fanaticism endangers no other guests! Don’t let him speak to a soul until I interrogate him!"

Then he turned to Bog. "King, I'm sorry to say that our castle doesn't appear to be safe for your people."

Bog stood, eyes narrowed. "Clearly."

"Perhaps it would be best if - "

"No!" Dawn and Marianne burst out at once.

But Dawn was the one who continued speaking. "You have to stay, Boggy. Dr. Ibis said Cabby can't move for a week."

"Cabby won't last a week, if this keeps up." Bog growled.

Dawn bit her lip, trying to find any excuse to keep the peace. "I...I could come with you, back to the Dark Forest. No one would dare hurt Cabby if that meant you could hurt me - just like last time."

Bog and Marianne developed identical horrified expressions and spoke over each other.

"That's the stupidest- "
"Do you want a repeat of that-"

But Roland's voice cut over everyone's. "Really, Dawn? Why don't we let the goblins go back to their...goblin forest, and everything will be better. I'm sure a strong goblin thing could survive a little trip. And we wouldn't want it to be in danger, would we?" He smirked at Bog.

The King ground his teeth. "Right. We'll be gone by moonrise."

Roland beamed, and turned to order his men to find suitable transportation for the goblin woman and to form an escort for the Bog King. Meanwhile, Dawn tried not to cry and Dr. Ibis stormed back into her clinic with enough rage in her eyes to force everyone else to scatter.

"Ericson did what to my patient?" It was clear she would have rampaged all the way to the dungeons herself, had not preparations for the move needed to be made, and damn Roland’s order of silence.

Preparations whirled, Roland making orders and Bog glaring daggers at him, examining every command as if he expected Roland to 'accidentally' lapse in caution at any moment. But then he eventually disappeared, back to the practice room or to find somewhere better to beat out his frustrations, Marianne wasn’t sure. When both men were gone to their various tasks she sighed with relief, trying not to be glad to see the backs of both of them. Bog she understood looking as if he would snap at any moment but Roland's under-the-breath comments and rolling eyes were not making things any easier.

Marianne found a quiet spot away from the crowds and buried her head in her hands. Nothing seemed to have gone right today. Every time she made progress either a disaster or Roland stepped in to ruin everything. What she had hoped to be a positive step in fairy-goblin relations had turned into a cause for war.

See, this is why you should leave things to me. Her inner Roland whispered, and she nearly screamed. Roland wouldn't have tried to make peace. He wouldn't have cared. How dare he lecture her on - but no, he did have more experience. Perhaps she should have trusted his judgement more...

There was a cough, and she looked up to find Sunny of all people. He was wearing his most hardy overalls and had a pack slung over his shoulder. It looked as if he was ready to leave, but that didn't explain why he had stopped by this half-abandoned linen closet.

"Oh. Hi."

He looked just as distraught as she felt, with a sad, tired expression and grim lines around his normally happy face. His little form thumped down beside hers, sending dust up from unused bed-sheets and winter coats.

"This is a mess."

She laughed bitterly. "Tell me about it. I won't be hearing the end of it for weeks."

"And now I've got to go to the Dark Forest."

Damn, she had nearly forgotten that. "Sunny, I'm sorry."

The little elf sighed, breath puffing his cheeks. "Don't be. None of this was your fault."

"But the court..."

"The court is stupid, and can't smell shit if they step on it."

That startled another laugh out of her. Sunny was not normally one to swear, and the genuine frustration in his voice was unusual too.

"I'm sure Bog will let you come back as soon as Cabby is healed."

"I'm not really worried about Bog." Sunny admitted. He had just been to see him, on Dawn's insistence, and the other monarch had done much to quell his fears. But, "I'm not sure the border guards will let me back in."

Marianne's eyes narrowed. "They'll have to answer to me if they don't."

"But everyone's been saying how much easier it'll be if I'm gone..."

"Then they're stupid." She said firmly. "You're part of this castle, Sunny. It will always be your home, no matter what. No one and nothing will stop that."

Sunny was silent for a moment. Then - "You know that applies to you too, right?"

She blinked, and realized that her friend really didn't seem scared of the prospect before him. Perhaps Sunny had gained some courage in the last few months...or knew something that he wasn't telling her. He had that crafty look in his eye, which he got when teasing some logic out of his fluttery girlfriend. To have that same wry wisdom turned on her was a surprise.

"Of course people want their Queen - "

"I mean that people want you, Marianne. Your father, your sister and me, we all know what you're capable of. We'll make this your home, no matter how miserable Roland is making you."

"Roland's not - " She paused. Had she ever been really happy since getting back together with Roland? No, not really. It was simply what she had to do to keep the kingdom safe and stable. "It doesn't matter how that makes me feel. It’s what's best for the kingdom."

"That's what you keep saying." Sunny said. "But what's best for you? You've been running yourself ragged and without me and Dawn to back you up people are going to start seeing it."

"I'll just have to hide it better. Roland says..."

"Roland has no right to say anything. He doesn't work nearly as hard as you do." His vehemence surprised her. Sunny used to idolize Roland, back when he was the shining soldier from the border and Roland could play him like a fiddle even now. To here genuine dislike in the normally easy-going Sunny's voice was odd.

"That's not - " Well, she had no proof either way. Parades were work, weren't they? And leading the army and the palace guard, even if most of the actual running was left to Gaillard and the various lieutenants. But Roland had to be out among the people. He told her that all the time, when he left her at the castle and went off where ever it was in the evenings.

"He doesn't. I know. I talk to the house elves, and when he sleeps at the castle, he's in bed at ten and up at nine. When's the last time you've gotten eight hours of sleep, much less ten?"

"He's simply better at his job." She insisted, ignoring Sunny's hints at Roland's sleeping habits. She didn't want to think of that now, not about empty bed-chambers or the light on his face when he returned, well rested and glowing while she felt her energy drain away.

"Is that you speaking, or him? Because I've only ever heard him or his friends say things like that. The council and the elves and your father all think different.They wanted you to be Queen long before they wanted Roland to be King."

"Not after today's mess they won't." Marianne pressed her head back against the cool stone of the castle walls and tried not to let a waiver enter her voice. Such an opportunity wasted. And now the council and Roland would be on her back again...

"That sounds like Roland talking again.” He chided, sounding eerily like Dawn from a few weeks ago. “You've now prevented a war three times, and the council can see that. They may be greedy, Marianne, but they aren't stupid. A war is as much a danger to them as it is to the kingdom, and all Roland's war-mongering can't change that."

"Sunny, why are you telling me this?" Even if it was all true, it wouldn't change anything. The council would still side with Roland if he pressured them with public support and army control, and there was little she could do to stop it.

Sunny looked her square in the eye. "Because it'll take some time for my replacement to get settled, and I don't want you giving up while I'm gone."

"...replacement? What replacement?"

A grin worked at the corners of Sunny's mouth. It had been Dawn's idea, but the rest of the small 'save Marianne' band had loved it too much to resist. A firefly had winged off into the forest the moment Dawn had caught Bog alone, and now their plan was well in place.

"Well, technically I'm a hostage, right? And Bog wants to use me instead of Cabby to get trade going between our kingdoms. He's talking to the council about it now. But apparently you need a hostage in return. Cycla was very clear about that."

Sunny grinned, and Marianne had a sinking suspicion of who Bog would 'sacrifice'. Given his sense of humor...there was really only one option.

"He's sending you his mother."

----------------------

Chapter Text

Because of Sunny's warning, Marianne was unsurprised when she found the entire council standing on the steps to the courtyard, deep in discussion with the finally aware Cabby. Buttonbush especially was speaking animatedly, begging her to return to their kingdom as soon as she healed, promising his own servants as guards to protect her from 'fanatics and fools who cannot imagine progress'. Cabby was nodding along, setting the dragonfly-carried chariot rocking softly against its restraints. Cycla hovered beside her wife, interpreting and offering suggestions of her own. The sight brought a smile to Marianne's face, something positive despite all this failure, and she started to hope again.

Dogwood appeared at her side and slapped her on the back, hard. She was braced for it, knowing the man loved to catch fools unaware, and so barely stumbled. And of course he grinned, laughing at his little joke.

He was genuinely impressed, though, with 'her' suggestion. "Sending Sunny as an ambassador? Brilliant, my girl! Never would have thought of an elf for that, but if he's going to be there anyways, might as well put him to use! An' that goblin-girl ain't all that bad herself. Said she'd buy my entire excess berry stock, if I kept up communication, which the elf can provide. Wonderful!"

Even Commander Gaillard admitted that having eyes inside the Dark Forest for a bit could be tactically useful. "Not that they'll show him anything dangerous, knowing that he'll be coming back home, but still. I've sent him with a map, so he can give us all the access points." Sunny was even now packing the map into his bag, listening with half an ear to a lecture from Gaillard's lead secretary.

So two of the most stringent opponents of the goblins were cautiously supporting her. That alone was a great leap forward. And somehow the idea had turned Sunny from just ‘an elf’ to an asset. In one moment taking a step forward for fairy-goblin relations and helping to make the fairies see elves as people.

Her smile was tight, but couldn’t be contained, even with Roland glowering at her side any moment when he wasn’t making a scene of ordering the honor guard around.

"I'll travel with you to the forest's edge." She said, earning a choked yelp from Roland. "Its the least I can do."

"Marianne!" hissed Roland between his teeth, his arm snaking around her waist and pulling her close enough to whisper. "You can't do this, you'll be a perfect target!"

"What, you can't protect me?" She smiled back, and his eyes glinted dangerously, even while he kept his smile ever-bright.

"Its not that, honey-bun. I just don't want you around those - "

"Those goblins are our guests." She hissed back, playing the part of the perfect Queen, nodding to various questions from the council, hanging on Roland's arm for the crowd, but standing firm on her decision.

Roland's gauntlet-ed hand tightened on her waist, almost hard enough to bruise. "That wasn't the plan - "

"Plans change, Roland. Shouldn't the people see that I have confidence in the army?" She could feel him squirm as she used his words against him. It wasn't nice, but she was sick of being stuck in the castle, and really, what kind of Queen couldn't inspect her borders? She said as much and Roland grudgingly agreed.

But his arm remained around her waist, tightening further when Bog gave his thanks for her sympathies and help.

Even when they flew off, to general fan-fair and a cheer from the court, Roland stayed close by her side, despite the fact that he preferred to lead missions from the front, where everyone could get a good look at him and be impressed by his bravery. Now he stayed close, listening in on her and Bog's conversations and interrupting with suggestions of his own.

"Dr. Ibis wishes to visit her patient in a few weeks." She began when they were airborne and away from the crowds. Despite the serious nature of the conversation, it was good to finally be able to stretch her wings and get away from the castle. How long had it been since she'd been on a good flight? A week? Two? Had she even left the castle in the last month?

"We'll have to provide an honor guard for her." Roland insisted, before Bog even had a chance to respond. "Wouldn't want any goblins hurting one of our best doctors."

"I assure you, we will take far better care of your subjects than you have off ours." Bog said wryly and Marianne winced.

"Now King, that was just an accident - "

Bog narrowed his eyes. "The first time, perhaps. But the second?"

"A fanatic." Roland said, lying through his teeth and smiling back at his enemy. If only Marianne hadn't come along, they would have been able to engineer another 'accident' and see to it that all three of the goblins never made it back to their forest. Damn the woman for always being difficult.

"Of course we will do anything we can to make amends." Marianne insisted, and Roland tried not to groan. "Only more so now that one of your citizens has been harmed on our soil."

"I'd feel better if we could be certain my citizens wouldn't be harmed on their own soil as well." Bog said, causing Marianne's brows to go up. "I've been getting reports ever since our...skirmish that fairies have been stalking our border close enough to steal primroses."

"Just a few more patrols to insure no one from either side ends up where they shouldn't be." Roland insisted, once again speaking before Marianne.

"Aye? Those patrols have been hassling my goblins as they go about their business. And they seem to be hassling the elves just as much." Bog jerked his chin towards the berry field they were flying over, and Marianne's eyes widened. The slender, fragile strawberry vines had been trampled as if by dozens of heavy boots. Much further towards the border an army station had been hacked out of the grass, but there was no reason for a field so far away to have been harmed by the winged army fairies.

She turned towards Roland. "Why - "

"Goblins go on foot, so the army needs to as well." He answered smoothly.

Bog snorted. "And that gives you the right to trample your own people's crops? Hah. If I did the same I'd have a rebellion on my hands." It was true, too. In the often barren Dark Forest touching another's hunting grounds could be seen as an act of violence.

Roland shrugged. "There's always some sacrifices in made for safety. The elves appreciate the necessity of what we're doing." The goblins would do worse was his unspoken message. The elves should be thanking us for helping at all. Around him the guards agreed.

Marianne glanced back at Sunny, who was sitting beside Cabby on the lily flower dragonfly chariot. He looked a bit sick at the devastation before him. The loss of a few strawberries might seem trivial to a fairy with huge fields and half a hundred elf workers, but this close to the border fields were small and tended by single elf families. The loss of even a single plant was a huge blow. And all around them were fields with similar levels of damage, as if the army had simply loosed their animals to forage as they wished without thinking of the consequences.

Or, if a man like Dogwood was in charge, it could be that the fields that had escaped the carnage were due to bribes out of already poor pockets.

This was why Marianne needed to be out in her kingdom. Had she known, she could have spoken to Gaillard and prevented some of this waste. But instead she had been in the castle, stuck in useless meetings, rather than making sure her people were safe!

Roland's hand found hers, and he squeezed her, drawing her eyes back to his face. "I'll have a word with the lieutenant in charge." He promised, his voice ringing with certainty. "He'll be punished for letting this happen!"

He struck a pose, and Marianne's heart softened. It was hard to stay angry when Roland was so eager to fix the problem. And he did look at home, out in the fields, light catching on his armor and hair, the perfect prince protecting his kingdom even against its own faults. Perfect, perfect Roland knew best, and could be trusted to do whatever was necessary to make his people happy...they should just trust him and obey his orders and everything would be better...

Bog hissed and drew back, feeling as Roland's glamour pushed against him. Around them the honor guard smiled at their dashing leader, feeding his power with their unthinking loyalty. Even Cycla and Sunny were struggling against the glamour, being tempted by the pretty picture before them. Like a warm, golden wave the magic expanded and pushed against any resistance, urging any who felt it to submit, submit to the simple story, to pretty fairies and strong elves and evil goblins, to light and dark in opposition and feelings superseding good sense and the truth before one's eyes...

Bog caught the reins just as a star-struck fairy knight loosed his grip and nearly let the chariot fall. The dragonflies buzzed grumpily and leveled off again, tugging Sunny and the goblin women out of their daze enough to realize how close they had fallen to the flower-tops. Cycla yelped and veered up, narrowly missing a dandelion and shattering the spell on the rest.

"Stuart, watch where you're flying!" Roland called out, sounding as if he was the indulgent commander rather than the man responsible for nearly causing another accident.

The knight jerked awake and went pale and pulled the reins back from Bog. "S-sorry, King Bog. I - I don't know what came over me there."

The face beneath the armor was young enough still to have a dusting of acne mixed with bright freckles, so Bog bit back his desire to yell at the boy. It wasn't his fault he'd nearly gotten Cabby killed. He'd felt the sleep command mixed with Roland's more general glamour, and someone who idolized their commander would have no defense against it.

"See to it that it doesn't happen again." He growled and turned back to Roland and Marianne.

The future Queen could not have looked more different. Where barely a minute ago she had been flushed with anger over the mistreatment of her people, now she looked pale as a ghost. Her wing-beats had lost their strength, and Roland appeared to be half-pulling her along. She smiled vaguely, as if unsure of where she was, and within him Bog's heart shuttered. How much power was Roland using on her, if it drained her so each time he exercised it? How could her people not see, when he tugged her into an embrace and she came back appearing as if she had aged ten years?

He knew the answer, and everything within him screamed out to simply take her then and there and fly as far away as possible, until that monster no longer had a hold on her. Until she was away from the cheering crowds and dazzled army that Roland drained to control her. Until she came to her senses and could fight back against him. Until she was back to his fiery Marianne, not this washed out half-shell of the woman he loved.

But there was the forest, looming close, and he was once again going to have to turn his back on her and leave her in the wasp's hands. He couldn't go to war with the entire fairy kingdom over one woman, no matter how much he loved her. He couldn't cause the deaths of thousands just to save her pain...but oh he was tempted. It would be so easy, with her as weak as she was now, with Roland drunk on the power the fairies had given him over the flight...but then their two peoples would go to war, and Marianne would never forgive him for of the horror that would bring.

"So here we are." Roland said, landing in the shadows of the gate. "We'll take the dragonflies and leave you here."

"No." Marianne's voice was small, but Bog had been listening for it for the whole flight, and his heart skipped as he heard it so frail.

She tried again, this time stronger, somehow pushing through the exhaustion. "No, Roland. The dragonflies and chariot go with them." She smiled at Bog, the deep circles beneath her eyes all the more apparent against her sallow skin. But she was still there, in spite of it all. "I heard from Dawn that you lost your stable. The army can spare a few fliers to build it up again."

His heart caught in his throat, but he somehow managed to say, "Thank you, Princess."

That done, there was no way for Roland to publicly take back the gift, even if he looked as if he was tempted. Surely, on the way back, he would try his glamor again, and strip any remaining independence from Marianne's soul -

"Well, it took you long enough! I was worried that you'd died. Or worse, gotten lost."

Roland's mouth fell open, and he turned and looked down. Out of nowhere a short, incredibly ugly goblin woman appeared, grinning a huge toothy grin. Around her other goblins popped out of the undergrowth, appearing as if from nowhere. The guards gasped and reached for their weapons, terrified as more goblins eased out of the shadows until the small band was completely surrounded.

Some were even wearing clothing, stitched together out of ratty leather or thick leaves, and it only made it easier for them to slip in and out of darkness, leaving Roland and his guards uncertain of how many their enemy had brought to greet them.

None of the army scouts had reported any goblin activity at all on the border today. They had assured Roland that it would be possible to get halfway to the goblin castle before raising the alarm. But here was half an army, comfortable as they could be, grinning as if this hand-off was completely normal.

The froggy goblin woman pinched him on the thigh and Roland yelped.

"Wotcha, you are a looker, ain't cha. Couldn't make better time, though? What, are those pretty fairy wings just for show?"

Cycla coughed and stepped forward, ignoring the look of complete horror on the future king's face. "This is Lady Griselda, the Queen Mother of Bog King. In exchange for this elf - " She laid a hand on Sunny's shoulder, "We give you a hostage of equal value, so that our kingdoms have no unbalance of power and you need not fear the safety of your citizen."

"Griselda?" Marianne peaked out from behind Roland, where she had been shoved immediately after the appearance of the goblins. "Is that you?"

"Marianne! Wow, you look horrible! Come here, honey!"

Marianne knelt, and was immediately enveloped in a froggy hug, which somehow still managed to be warm and loving. Cool beneath the trees, she leaned in and smelled earth and mist on the goblin's skin and for a second, she remembered her own mother's arms, strong and safe, and felt her exhaustion lift a tiny bit.

"And your hair!" Griselda kept babbling, "What kind of fairy fashion have they forced you in?" She turned to her son. "Bog, get that subject of your's back to the castle. I'll deal with the pleasantries."

"Mother - " Bog began, looking pitifully at Marianne, enough that she nearly laughed. Perhaps he was regretting his decision to force the feisty woman on an unsuspecting kingdom; surely there was some code of war that declared the malicious use of aunts and grandmothers illegal.

"No Butts!" Griselda smirked and nudged Roland in the knee. "See, I said 'butts' with two 't's. It's a joke, see?"

Roland looked utterly baffled and she shrugged dramatically. "So, who's going to carry me? Unless you expect me to walk the whole way to the palace? At my age?"

"I'll carry you." Marianne volunteered, trying to imagine any of the fairy guards holding the flailing Queen Mother.

"But Marianne, you can barely fly- " Roland started.

"Nonsense! Look at those wings!" Griselda immediately said. "Prettiest things for miles around, and got no use if ya can't fly. Pick me up, girl."

Marianne obliged, grin still on her face. Watching Griselda work when she was acting as an ally was great fun, though poor Roland seemed to be the target of the goblin woman's new fascination. Suddenly, another week stuck in the castle sounded like fun. Perhaps she could invite the woman to council, and unleash her on the unsuspecting councilors. Oh, the look on the their faces.

She lifted up, and was surprised to find the woman no heavier than an acorn. The guards were clearly surprised, both with their queen's easy acceptance of the goblin and her apparent strength. Several shot confused glances at Roland, and at the back of her mind Marianne wondered what Roland had told them of her.

"Looks good, don't it?" Griselda whispered close to her ear. "I hope you don't mind me helping a bit."

Marianne blinked, and remembered suddenly what Bog had said back in the castle. The only sorceress strong enough to keep me alive...

"You're a - "

"Shhh! Don't want to embarrass the boy by flaunting it."

And Bog did look a bit mortified, but Marianne guessed it had less to do with his mother's apparent power and more at the idea of Marianne and his mother together for any period of time. Roland, at least, didn't know well enough to be afraid, and had recovered quickly.

"Marianne, let Fitz carry the - uh - lady."

"Well, if you insist." Griselda said, and let herself be handed over to the boy...who she promptly dropped her whole weight onto. Sweat broke out on the boy's brow and he struggled to stay upright. "Oooh, are all fairy boys so pretty? I could just eat you up~" Fitz gulped and tried not to flinch away from Griselda's overly descriptive slurp.

"Fine." Roland interrupted. "We have your...Queen, and you have your elf and our dragonflies. So we're done here, right? ‘Cus I'm sure you've got important gobliny business to get to," there was condescension in his voice, dripping with the implication that nothing could be as important as fairy work. " And I need to get my fiance back home. My Marianne has wasted enough of her time on this farce, I think."

Marianne pressed her lips together, Roland speaking for her as always, but inclined her head. "I wish you safe journeys, Bog King. Please keep Sunny safe."

Bog returned the bow. "Aye. You need na fear for your friend, Princess. And your commander can have his map and your council their trade deal, should the next meeting have fewer interruptions."

Roland froze, his jaw clenching at the easy way Bog admitted to knowing what Gaillard and the councilors wanted...and at the easy way Bog once again threw a wrench in his plans. The last thing the Fairy Kingdom needed was more frequent contact with the goblins. They had already infected the castle with their hideous thinking and radical ideas, demanding goblins and elves alike be treated like people. What would happen if there was more trade and exchange? The Elves were hard enough to control already; if Sunny came back and had less than horrific accounts of the Dark Forest his and Dogwoods control could crumble.

The thought was unbearable, but Marianne was already accepting, unknowingly lent strength by the goblin woman.

“Next month, then? To exchange hostages and let Dr. Ibis check on Cabby?” she offered as Roland sputtered.

Bog nodded. “Perhaps we could meet on the border. There are several open areas that would be safe for both our peoples…”

“Why not in the clearing around that hawthorn?” Marianne offered. “Its easily defensible and not much farther a flight than the border gate.”

Bog paused a moment, eyeing the tree just a few minutes flight south. Its open branches reached far into both forest and field, making it a true joining of the two kingdoms. Of course Marianne would pick it out at once, for the same reason his mother had picked it all those years ago. Sturdy, strong and unyielding, covered with both thorns and the last lingering may flowers, it was at once beautiful and deadly.

But it wouldn’t do to mention before Roland that the tree had personal significance to the King, so he merely nodded again. “Very well. A month from now, under the hawthorn.”

------------------------------

As the guard reared and flashed away across the fairy fields Marianne found herself flying beside Fitz and Griselda. Once again Roland was at the front, leading the team at a grueling pace that had even the best fliers sweating. Of course Roland accomplished it easily, flying as if he was buoyed up by the admiring glances from his soldiers.

Marianne had no idea how accurate her thought was, but with Griselda beside her it seemed easier to fly and less difficult to breath. Fitz remained quiet, but seemed content to fly slowly as Marianne selfishly lagged behind to spend as much time away from the castle as possible.The feeling of sun on her wings was worth all the condescending looks from the guards.

“You know, that Hawthorn is Bog’s tree.” Griselda mentioned from the back of the flying soldier. “Planted from the same seed and all.”

Marianne considered this unexpected information, and abruptly realized she had no intention of revealing the fact to Roland. That was not something that her war-eager fiance needed to know.

“That seems rather close to the border for a dryad’s tree.” She said, thinking of how quickly her fiance might burn the tree should their peoples come to war.

“Oh, Bog isn’t as connected as a full dryad. Too much goblin in him. But his mother...ah, she was always hopeful, that one. Wanted a city built there, right on the edge of the kingdom, to bring everyone together. Dragon and I, well, we thought her foolish, and told her as much, but after she passed I couldn’t help but see to it that her last seed grew.” Griselda sighed, remembering the slight creature that had been her husband’s first wife. Such a beautiful creature, too frail and kind for the Dark Forest. The Dragonfly King had not been the same after she passed, and made sure his son showed none of her weaknesses - for better or worse.

“A city to join the two kingdoms.” Marianne said, as if to herself. “That was right in the middle of the war, too.”

“Yes. Not the most sensible creature, our Diane. Good thing Bog takes after his father and I.”

But Marianne was still thinking of the Hawthorn and imagining a world where that city could exist. She could almost see it; elves and goblins alike, fairies and dryads living among the leaves and other, stranger fae burrowed beneath the roots. And everywhere the sound of voices and song…

She swerved, suddenly, barely missing a daisy, so caught up in her own hopes that she forgot the reality of the world around her. She was just as naive as that long-dead dryad if she thought such a city could exist now, after generations of animosity. The best she could hope for would be a trade deal and staving off a war. A joint city...how idiotic!

But Griselda was watching her from the corner of her large eyes, and smiling to herself at the tiny flash of hope she had seen in the future Queen’s eyes. Once, long ago, she had seen that same flash in her son, before his father had ruthlessly driven it away. And if anyone could rekindle the hope of their two kingdoms, it would be her son and this girl.

She just had to get the ponce out of the way first.

--------------------------------

Bog and Sunny watched the fairy guards wing away.

“Do you really think she’ll come to another meeting?” Cycla asked, wings buzzing.

“Tha’ depends on that King of ‘ers.” Bog said, “But if I know my mother, she’ll make sure no one forgets about it.”

There was a general relaxation among the clearing, as all the goblins silently gave a sigh of relief to see the back of the Queen Mother for a month. Even with the threat of war on the horizon the woman had been up to her old tricks, empowered by her rekindled friendship with Sugar Plum. Now, even if the Bog King was no longer ripe for matchmaking, there were dozens of other goblins and Dark Forest denizens who had been the focus of the two’s crazed plans and love frenzy.

Stuff and Thang were especially happy to see her go. Things had been progressing on that front just fine, and neither wanted the Queen or Plum to suddenly decide that they were going too slow and take things into their own hands. Really, the rumors of war were a relief when the alternative was a love-obsessed granny with time on her hands.

“Cycla, take Cabby back to the palace.” Bog instructed. “The staff have been told to expect you.”

“You’re not coming with us, Sire?” The fly asked.

He shook his head. “I need to walk the Forest. I will return later and check on your progress.”

A nod, and Sunny felt left out of whatever extra understanding was conveyed in Bog’s words. But he hopped down from the lily and decided to tag along, eager to get to work, and dreading the flight through the Dark Forest. If Bog was the biggest, baddest thing in the whole forest then Sunny would prefer to stay right next to him the whole way back to the castle, even if it meant walking the entire way.

Bog made a shooing gesture with his hands, and around them the gathered goblins faded back into the underbrush. The goblin guard was more concerned with cutting down primroses and keeping an eye on the borders than making a show of force, but with the sheer size of some of them it was easy to feel intimidated. Sunny wasn’t sorry to see them go, even if he knew they weren’t actually going to eat him.

Well, he thought they wouldn’t eat him, assuming he consistently proved his intelligence. That couldn’t be that hard, could it, given what he was comparing himself to? Sunny swallowed, suddenly not so certain, and looked quickly around for his protector.

Bog was halfway down the path, scepter swung over his shoulders, when Sunny realized the other man had disappeared and hurried to keep up. The ruler had a look of odd concentration on his face, and his eyes had deeped into indigo blue.

“Um, Mr. King?” Sunny’s voice drew the king out of his trace.

“Bog King. No ‘mister’ needed.”

“Ah. Um. King, then. Back on our way over...did Roland use his power on us?”

Bog shot a surprised glance down at the elf. “Aye. You felt that?”

Sunny nodded. “I think, yes. It was like...a wave of warmth. Like the sun on a hot day when you’ve got nothing to do but laze around and not think much. It made everything...simpler. But…” He paused for a moment, thinking over his words and remembering the hazy, sleepy feeling that he had felt invading him even as the chariot nearly capsized. “When you stay out in the sun too much, you get burned. It felt like that, too. Like everything inside me was saying to stay, but part of me knew that if I didn’t move, if I didn’t do something, I’d be hurt in the end.”

Bog regarded him levelly, “Not many can notice when someone is using a glamour, nor remember it after. You’ve got a talent for magic, elf.”

“If magic is like that, I don’t want it.” he answered, ducking out of the way of a buzzing insect and trying not to flinch at the snap of a fly-trap closing on the bug behind him.

“Not all magic is like tha’. “ Bog said. “Most is like your's or Dawn’s. Subtle and kind, making the world a better place in a small way.”

“And yours? What is yours like? Because I remember feeling as if Roland could do anything, be anything, and none of us could compare to his excellence…”

“The magic of protection t’aint as clear as that. I canna turn it on and off, only focus it for a time. And I dinna like to do tha’, lest I do something like that poncy bastard and make someone go against their nature.”

“But I...if I was prepared, I’d be able to tell, right? So could you show me?”

Bog stopped, staring at Sunny, brows raised. For someone who insisted he was a coward, the boy showed remarkable will. And he could use a demonstration of what power used properly was supposed to do, especially if Sugar Plum had her way and took the boy for an apprentice. Bog mulled over it in his head, but knew he’d already decided the instant he realized that Sunny knew only of grand Pixie and Wasp magic. It wasn’t as if a demonstration would use much extra power, with his source and strength right beneath his feet, yearning to be reminded of the King’s presence.

He swung his scepter off his shoulders and leaned it against a shard of rotted log. “Very well. Watch, elf.”

Sunny looked up at him expectantly, then was disappointed when nothing obvious was happening. Bog just...stood there, hands loose at his side, feet apart and toes buried in the dirt taking slow, even breaths and staring at Sunny with those piercing blue eyes.

Silence descended around them, and Sunny felt himself drawn back to the eyes. Usually he never met eyes with anyone, if just because he was so much shorter than most, but now he found that he didn’t want to look away. He could, if there had been a noise or a touch to distract him, but those blue eyes seemed to fill the world and swallow him up until the rest of the forest faded around him.

Tension built in his chest, the same tension he had felt vaguely when Roland focused his power. But now there was nothing trying to hide it. Was that the feeling of overt magic? The tension of something about to happen, without knowing quite what?

And then...the world snapped, and he felt the power crash down upon him like a freezing wave.

With Roland he had felt relaxed, warm and muddled, as if there was a filter between him and the world. And with it had come the knowledge that Roland was perfect, better than all of them, and worth his adulation.

Bog’s power felt nothing like that. It was a slap in the face, being thrown into an icy stream, waking up to a scream. It threw the world into focus, and suddenly he felt everything around him, the forest, the trees, the moss and the insects, all clear in his mind as if echoed back from a bell tone.

And the man before him...he was just like the forest, rendered in unflinching detail, nothing soft or kind or cajoling about him. He was tall and gangling and hideous in a way neither goblins nor fairy could love. Sunny could remember the screams of horror at the man’s appearance, at the utter terror he’d felt when Dawn was taken away, at the casual cruelty he’d seen when sneaking through the old palace’s dungeons.

But at the same moment, Sunny felt with absolute certainty that Bog, for all his faults, would do his damnedest to keep him safe.

After all, Sunny was his. Just like the forest and all that was in it was Bog’s domain, so too was Sunny. His elf, his servant, his friend. His. And Bog protected what he claimed, no matter what race or creed. He would fight and die for them, no matter what they thought of him, no matter if victory was certain or hopeless. As part of his kingdom, Sunny had earned a right to that protection, but it was up to him to choose if he wanted it. Bog didn’t care; he would fight anyways.

And, Sunny realized, he would fight alongside such a man. Not because it was glorious or honorable or worthy of tales. But because fighting for the forest meant protecting the weak and powerless, and that was enough. Bog would do anything to keep the forest safe, and Sunny couldn’t help but want to do the same, if that ugly, marvelous chaos was what Bog wanted to save.

The tension in his chest eased, and Sunny felt the certainty of Bog’s protection fade along with the feeling of the forest around them. He didn’t miss the sensation; the clarity offered too much knowledge, too much truth, when life was lived in a comfortable half-truth haze. But the knowledge that Bog was there remained, and Sunny couldn’t help but return to his prior conviction that the King was worthy of respect and, maybe, friendship.

“Is that...is that what the goblins feel all the time?” He asked, wonderingly. All his life he had thought of protection as something soft and warm, whether held in a parent’s arms or beneath the king’s watchful eyes, something that allowed for one to forget dangers and live at peace. To be reminded eternally of the faults of the world didn’t seem like an easy way to live, and he couldn’t imagine the rather buffoonish goblins being able to handle the knowledge.

“Atch, no. I am na’ tha’ powerful, elf. Sugar Plum might be able to have watched out for all of her hive, your Wasp will be able to keep hold of all his drones in a similar way, but I need not lead my people through will alone. Though - “ He admitted “ Ay’ve been tol’ tis a great boon on the battlefield. My father and your King could lead armies with that might, and pull their soldiers through any defeat. Tis amazing to behold, and army embolden by love for their kingdom, unable to be cut down as they fight with will more than strength, held up by the love of their brethren…”

Bog’s voice died off, eyes remembering something long ago, but shook himself barely a moment later and continued walking on the path. “A terrible power, that can be. I’d rather use it ta’ feel the forest, and to end any danger before it begins.”

“How do you do that?” Sunny struggled to keep up with the King’s long strides, despite the fact that the other man was moving relatively slowly.

A glance downward, and Sunny got the impression that he had impressed the King by remaining at his side.

“Tis simple enough. Remember wha’ Plum said? Magic and skill go hand in hand. If you know yer craft, the magic will simply make the work easier. So I walk the forest, renewing mah knowledge of every inch, reminding it that I am here.” Bog patted the trunk of an ancient, gnarled hemlock as if it was an old friend. “And thus tis easier to notice when something is amiss.”

He pointed to a notch cut into the trunk of the hemlock, healed over now, but looking as if once a lance had dragged against the bark.

“This was from your army, a month ago. Had ah been less...distracted, the forest would have warned me of the army, just as the mushrooms tried to. But something small like you…” Sunny’s shoulders hunched. “That can get beneath my notice, hence the guards on the border. Even then, unless I patrol them regularly they can be tempted by a new elf or fairy babe left at the border. But we haven’t lost one that I know of in years.”

Sunny clambered over a tree root, trying to fully understand what the Bog King was saying.

“Any good King or Queen will know their land, every inch of it, as best they can. If one doesn’t become lax with age, the knowledge only deepens, until one can feel the mood from deep within one’s bones, and can sense when danger approaches without needing to leave one’s castle.” A pause. "Ay'm na there yet. But some days...aye almost feel it, the forest there, just out of reach, calling back."

Bog smiled fondly at his forest, feeling the pulsing energy of it all around them. Growth was not easy in a bog, but over the centuries the kings of the Dark Forest had reclaimed more and more from the fen, pulling trees and ferns from the stagnant decay. Now sturdy maple and birch stood on hillocks, untwisted by treacherous foundations, leaving their stunted cousins in shadow. Orchids bloomed, but so too did irises and thistle, and songbirds and woodpeckers flitted through the shadows in search of the ever-present insectoid multitude. The Dark Forest, his forest, was old and ugly, just like its ruler. But it stood strong, stagnant pools and dry hillocks, canopy and cave, elf cities and goblin burrows alike.

But Sunny was still chewing over the King’s earlier statement. “You said...you said that elves and fairy babies are left at the border? I thought goblins didn’t steal children anymore.”

Stony silence came from Bog, and Sunny glanced up to find his jaw clenched and his eyes cemented to the path.

“We dinna steal children. Na since mah grandfather’s time. Why would we need to? Silly fairies and foolish elves do the work for us. We’ve always taken what the light kingdom discards, from food to children. Every babe that’s too ugly to love, every child who runs away beaten into submission, every girl tha’ cannot imagine another day in the light...we take them all, and get called monsters by those who need someone to blame.” Bog slashed out in anger, kicking an inoffensive fern out of the way. “But o’course you dinna know of that. No little elflings sent for cranberries from the palace.”

But Sunny had heard that story. Everyone had. Of a mother with too many babies, who sent the eldest daughter into the Dark Forest for food, then cut the string that was supposed to lead her back. It wasn’t a story you told to pretty fairies like Dawn, of course. But Sunny remembered his mother warning him of it, lest he throw his blueberries again.

Years later, fairies like Dogwood used the tale as reason why elves were not fit to rule themselves. How they would waste even their most precious resources and needed the strong arm of fairy to see to it that such practical horrors never repeated themselves. No little elves had disappeared in years, and the fairy congratulated themselves on their success, and the elves...

"The elves stopped having children after the ban on Primroses. Was that your intention?"

Bog stopped at a fork in the path and his wings buzzed. But at the same time he looked uncomfortable. "Well...no. That was pure selfishness, as I'm sure Plum will tell you at great length. But I am not sorry for the ban, nor for what it did to your villages. Elves still can have children, but without primrose powder ye canna have broods."

Sunny opened his mouth, ready to argue, then shut it again. He was barely ten when the ban had gone up, and had remembered an odd relief in his mother and her sisters’ eyes, even as his father raged at the insult given to the Light Kingdom. For once the fairy landlords and the elf men had been in agreement on something; without primroses there could be no love, and with no love there would be no more little elves for the fields, nor would there be boys enough to grow an elf patriarch's clan.

"Primroses...what do they do, exactly?" Sunny finally asked, after chewing his memories and experiences over for a few minutes. "They seem to be for more than just love potions..."

A blue blur materialized in front of him with a pop and he screamed and fell back.

"Primroses? Did someone ask about primroses?"

Bog groaned. "Plum. Why aren't you in the castle?"

The pixie swirled, her form a shocking neon blue against the muted browns and greens of the forest. "Because I was worried, stupid! About my little Sunny-bunny, having to deal with that terrible, horrible wasp that you've let run around!"

She wrapped her arms around Sunny and gave him a big hug. "But look, he's still alive, no thanks to you, Bog. And he's asking good questions, like 'why haven't you regrown the primrose border like Plum told you to'?"

"That's not what I said at all - "

"Shush, you, Aunty Plum is talking."

"The elf has a point, Plum. If you want to lecture me, do it in your own voice, not one of a boy who has no idea what a primrose is."

The pixie sighed dramatically and turned back to Sunny. "Fine. What everyone but, apparently, the royal goblin family has forgotten is that Primroses hold some of the most ancient magic in all the world. The magic of 'love'." She sighed happily.

"Aye, if by 'love' you mean fertility." Snorted Bog. "Put all the pretty words you like around it, Sugar Plum, but we both know why goblins exist, and it t'aint love."

"Goblins use primroses too?"

Bog rolled his eyes and started walking again, towards the next fork. "I am not explaining the bees and the roses to someone who should be old enough to know better. Now if you'll excuse me, I have real work to do." And he disappeared behind a rather impressive stand of ferns which obligingly unrolled to shield him from the embarrassment of listening to Sugar Plum explain goblin history to an elf. Within half a moment he was gone, disappearing so fast one could almost think he was avoiding the pixie.

Sugar Plum and Sunny watched him go, Sunny only stopped from running after the King by Plum's firm hand.

"Don't worry about him, Sunny. He was taking the long way around to see more of the forest. I'll take you the short way, and we'll be back at the castle before you know it."

Sunny gulped and watched Bog's retreating back before following Plum down the opposite fork of the path.

"Alright. What are Primroses, and why are they so important to goblins?"

Plum hovered beside him, debating what kind of fireworks would go best with her explanation. She did want to tempt Sunny into spending his time in the forest with her, not running off on errands all the time with Bog. So perhaps a boring answer would be best, even though her dramatic flair cried out for a full spectacle.

"Well, to start with, goblins only exist because of Primroses."

-----------------------

“And so Gawain, King of Fen and Fields, split his kingdom in two and his elder son planted primroses to stop the seeping corruption and to protect his beloved younger brother...”

Plum was true to her word and took them straight back to the palace, not that Sunny realized it as the scenery had changed completely in the month and a half since he had last seen the Forest. Now moss carpeted everything that once had been bare earth. Elsewhere downed trees were covered in mushrooms and spindly little ferns. There was the scent of cooking in the air as they passed the trees, both rotted stumps and towering ash alike. It was hard to listen to the droning Plum rather than investigate the sounds coming from the hidden villages, and Sunny did end up licking his lips. At this point he didn't care if the goblins would eat him rather than feed him; he wanted to learn how to cook whatever it was that made that rich, spicy aroma.

"Ugh. Bog was right about you." Plum complained, interrupting her lecture on the history of primroses within the fairy kingdom. "He said once you got a whiff of elf cooking the only thing that could drag you away from the Dark Forest would be your lady love."

"That's an elf town?" Sunny asked, looking at the forest of fungus hanging above them from a half-rotted tree. The smells wafted down from above and his stomach growled.

"Of course. Nasty little fellows. They've run me out each time I've visited! No, you don't want to go there. Dark Elves aren't like your Light Elves. They hate magic and they really hate love."

Sunny turned his attention back to Sugar Plum regretfully. "But from what you're saying, Primroses are used in far more than love potions."

Plum preened under Sunny's renewed attention. She had nearly lost him there. Perhaps Bog had a point, taking the boy the long way around, away from the temptations of his own people.

"Well, by itself a primrose is a potent fertility herb. Just dust a bit of pollen in your lover's eyes and you'll be expecting little elflings within a few months. Better than love magic for big families, primroses. And who wouldn't want dozens of little elflings? Babies are just so cute!"

"Right..."Sunny remembered vividly being the one to care for his youngest sister, cleaning diapers and making sure she was fed despite her protests while his mother ran after his other siblings. Drizzle had been a monster, from the age of two to fifteen, and anyone who considered her 'cute' had something wrong with their head.

"So of course that's why most elves and fairies are born in the winter months, following the blooming of the primroses in spring. And then Bog had to go and ruin it all, leaving nature to work things rather than primrose blossoms. What a spoilsport. Just because he has rotten luck with love, he had to go and kill the spring mating season in one fell swoop!" The pixie tisked. "You aren't going to be like that, are you Sunny? You'll use my potions when you're ready to have little fairy-elves?"

"Uh..." NO! Sunny wanted to scream, but tried to remain polite. He drew his focus back from the smells of the elf city that was retreating behind them and tried to find another question. "So primroses are the reason the fields have a mating season, and all of these love-obsessed people in the spring. But what does that have to do with goblins?" Despite Plum professing to answer his first question, she’d lead him on a merry chase for an explanation as to how goblins and primroses were connected.

"Well..." Plum shrugged. "Primrose petals, even unprocessed, can occasionally force those beneath them to fall in love. Eventually, of course, the effects wear off - one of the benefits of my potion is that it's much harder to break - and one is left with, well, with children that one might not particularly care for. Not that it was common, of course, until everyone realized how useful primrose petals could be. But...well, a frog and a fairy do not always have the prettiest baby, you understand? And Primroses have always grown on the border between the two Kingdoms, no matter what the old tales say. After a few thousand years of disappointments left beneath the primroses, the goblins were the most numerous people in the forest."

Sunny swallowed heavily, the picture coming clear in his mind. "So...what Bog said was true? That the fairies and elves left unwanted babies at the edge of the forest?"

"Of course! Love has its consequences, after all, but there's no need to live with those consequences forever, is there?" Plum smiled benignly while Sunny choked back horror. "I'm sure when you get married your mother would have told you all of this. No one wants an ugly baby after all!"

"I think..." Sunny started. "...I think I understand why Bog doesn't like primroses."

"Ooof, I know. No one should ever be too ugly to love, he says, and won't listen when I say that it's impossible! Why, isn't that what goblins are, a whole species that has found its way despite the rest of the fae finding them hideous? But noooo, he has to go and cut down our best defense, and then acts surprised when a wasp sneaks past the border and steals his girl!"

"Wait, primroses are a defense?" Sunny paused at the steep, treacherous steps down into the ravine that held the Winter Palace...and had once held the Summer Palace as well. But he still felt pangs of guilt when he looked at the empty cliff face, so focused his mind on Plum’s words and on not slipping on the slick stone steps.

"Of course! Wasps hate them; they offer magic that cannot be overthrown by simple glamour. Love is the most powerful magic there is, after all. Plus, the other neighboring countries are downright terrified of the power of primroses, and avoided our border like the plague. Fairies are much more sensible."

Sunny was really beginning to doubt that. Maybe Plum was a little too love-obsessed. After seeing what the potion did to Dawn, and hearing what even magic-less petals and pollen could do, he was in the mood to cut down some primroses of his own. But there was a more pressing question on his mind.

"But...Roland used the potion against Marianne. How is that possible, if wasps can't stand it. And you and Dawn and Griselda all seem to think that Marianne was in love with Bog - how is the marriage possible if the potion shouldn't have worked?"

Plum sighed and placed a fist beneath her chin. "The first bit is my fault, I'm afraid. I'm the only one who can make containers for a full potent Love potion. Before, one was in danger of contaminating oneself with the potion merely by carrying it. But the bottle insulates the effects, enough that the Wasp might not even have known how dangerous it was to his kind before he used it.

"As for the second part, Bog won't believe me, but the potion did not work. It did nothing to your Queen but get dust in her eyes. Everything, and I mean everything, that happened was because of Roland's glamour."

"So Marianne...."

"She loves Bog. I know she does. I can feel when my potions work, or don't. So whatever is keeping her under Roland, it has nothing to do with love."

--------------------------------

Chapter Text

King Desmond heard the trumpets announce the return of the royal couple, and went down to greet them, only to find neither his daughter nor her fiance in attendance. Marianne sneaking off to find some time to fly was unsurprising, but Roland not grandstanding? The thought was hard to conceive. But Fitz, the last fairy to see the future Queen, explained hastily that Marianne had disappeared off to her room on some business or other, and Desmond felt significantly better knowing his daughter was somewhere about, even if injured. Roland, apparently, had also left before the King had arrived to congratulate him.

Children these days, though the older man ruefully as he slipped away towards his office. Always eager to find a new adventure, never interested in waiting up for old dad. At least he still had Dawn, and as long as her paramour was stuck in the Dark Forest he had no real reason to worry. Thank goodness she had stopped being so boy crazy!

Though for a royal princess to marry an elf...Desmond sighed as he slipped down a corridor reserved for royal staff. It would never have been accepted in his day, but it was hard to deny the sheer joy Sunny and Dawn exuded when they were together. The council might not approve, but Marianne certainly did and supported her sister wholeheartedly. The councilors could do nothing more than talk behind the Princesses backs when it came to opposing what Marianne had decided was acceptable and without reproach. Her black looks when someone so much as mentioned elf in a disparaging tone were becoming legendary. When Roland wasn’t around Marianne was a complete terror, and allowed no prejudice to grace her halls.

It was things like that which had prompted Desmond to step down as ruler. He had grown up in a very different time than his eldest daughter, but this world and all its chaos and change were hers. He felt privileged that he would be around to see what she made of it, and only wished his Juniper was with him now to see it. His wife would have been so proud of her daughters, both of them, and all they had done for advancing the kingdom.

A giggle startled Desmond out of his musings, but the smile remained on his face when he recognized Roland's voice.

"See, all safe and in one piece, sugar-pea."

Young love. He and June had skipped out on their fair share of royal duties to find secluded spots as well...

"Oh, was the Dark Forest as horrid as they say?"

Abruptly the smile faded off of Desmond's face. That was not his daughter's voice, and the following breathy moan stole any doubt from his mind that perhaps the conversation had been acceptable.

"Ahem." He coughed, giving the two the least amount of warning for decency sake, and pushed open the door to the future Queen’s office.

The sight that greeted him was Roland, casual as could be, with a blond fairy with her arms wrapped around him. There was not a shred of guilt in the knight, despite the lipstick smeared on his face and his hand still beneath the girl's bodice.

"Oh! King Desmond!" The girl bounded up and gave a courtesy that was aesthetically perfect, despite its owner’s state of dishabille. “We were just finishing up, Sire.” And she giggled again, “Isn’t that right, Roland?”

Roland smirked and kissed the girl on the nose, apparently oblivious to the king before him who was beginning to boil red. “O’course sweet-pea. Now why don’t you run along and tell Rosebud it's her turn tomorrow.”

The girl beamed, kissed Roland on the cheek, and flounced out of the door, her skirts swirling into a semblance of modesty with a flap of her pale pink wings.

Roland watched her go, appreciation on his face. “Pretty little thing, ain’t she?” And he turned his smile on Desmond.

The King had gone from red-faced anger to white hot rage, all color draining from his face and his eyes hardening to stones. He could barely speak, and his whole form vibrated in time with his wings.

“You - “

“Now, Desmond.” Roland raised his hand. “I understand how this looks but - “

“You were - with a - in my daughter’s study!” Desmond sputtered, hands searching in vain for the sword he had long ago given to Marianne.

“I know, I know. And that’s impossible, ain’t it?” And Roland smiled, confident as ever, and pushed with his mind, just enough to quiet the raging man. If Marianne could fall to him, her father would be no match. Especially after the flight back which had left him brimming with the adulation of both the army and every village they flew across on the long way round.

Desmond paused and forced his hands down. “You have ten seconds, boy.”

Ten seconds? Roland mused. With as much power as I have now, you'll be regretting it, old man.

He stood, hand casually running through his hair, confidence exuding from every pore.

“I expected something like this, King." He'd planned his tryst very carefully, after all, to catch King Desmond when he was at his strongest. "Y’see, you’re used to the old world, where love means something. But Marianne and I, we don’t need that to be perfect together.” Smile, smile, push, and Desmond’s breathing relaxed. But there was still a core of steel in the man, the same that Roland couldn’t crack in Marianne. No matter how much power he pooled into the King and his daughter, he couldn't touch that inner well. If only he knew its source...

“You are saying that my daughter knows about your...indiscretions?” The steel sparked weakly, but didn’t bend. But no matter, Roland didn’t need his strange power to overwhelm the man. Words worked so much better.

“O’course! Ever since that unfortunate time she left me at the alter. But after we found each other in the forest, through all those terrible mishaps, well, she finally understood why we had to be together.”

“Explain.” Desmond said through his teeth.

“Y’see...I have to be with the girls, just like I have to be out with the army. I have to be their Perfect King ‘cus...well, ‘cus Marianne can’t be a perfect Queen. No one will ever accept her. She’s too different.”

Desmond opened his mouth, but the words stuck, and Roland knew he had won.

“Marianne’s a lovely lady and all, but who wants a Queen that will run off when there’s a crisis? No, a Fairy Queen should be like your Lady Juniper; perfect and poised and lovely. Everything that Marianne is not. The people...well, they just don’t like her very much. You saw that, way back at the Spring Ball, when she tried deny our attachment.”

Desmond couldn’t help it, the traitorous thought of his daughter smiling at a completely horrified ballroom wormed its way into his mind. How Roland had tried so hard, and yet she had been so cruel. How the other fairies had shook their heads and worried about the future of the kingdom, if that was to be their leader.

He hadn’t known what to say then, and he was just as speechless now.

Roland went on. “But me? People love me. And I’ve got an army, and every girl in the castle, and most of the councilors...all of 'em love me. What’s she got? A sword? A goblin? No one wants that. So. We came to an agreement. I stop the kingdom from revolting against her, and she lets me be King. Its a fair agreement, right? O’course, I have to spend time with that.” He jerked his chin towards the door the court lady had left through, “But Marianne understands, and knows she can’t be enough for me.” Smile, as if he wasn’t saying something that Desmond’s mind could barely fathom, much less accept. “And you’ll have grandkids soon enough, and the monarchy won’t fall. Its best for everyone like this. For Marianne, for you, and for the Kingdom. Everybody’s happy!”

“And...and my daughter knows this?” Desmond said weakly.

“O’course. You can ask her yourself - she’s back in her room, I think. But I gotta get back to the main hall; can’t have the people missing their future king for long!” He grinned, wide and honest, and Desmond felt something crack within him at the thought of his daughter with this charming, soulless man.

Was this his daughter’s future? Was this what he had wanted for her?

“I will ask her. And if she says a word against you -”

“You can do whatever you like.” Roland promised, raising his hands in a shrug. “But we both know that this is what’s best. She’ll say the same.”

He smiled, knowing his words were true. After all, he had arrived at the palace in front of a guard of perfect soldiers, triumphant after getting rid of the goblin scourge. She had returned speaking with a hideously ugly goblin woman. He had barely needed to push the crowd; they flinched back in horror from the sight of the latter all on their own, and turned their begging hopes to him, desperate for anything that would let them escape the specter of their imperfect Queen.

She only had to see their eyes, and feel the crowd’s hatred for the future she held in her hands, and he had her all over again. It was so, so easy, and he had watched her wilt before the people who were supposed to be hers but could never love her when he held their hearts. And he had drunk in that power and poured it out in kind, against her and against her father, and they could do nothing to resist.

It had been just the same, a month ago, when the fairy army had seen the look on her face when she saw that Bog was still alive. They’d seen their mud-spattered Queen, and their most hated enemy the Bog King, and seen the light in their eyes when they had smiled...and the overwhelming horror and desire for anything, anything to make it not so had given Roland all the power he had needed to erase that possibility from the universe itself.

Roland turned a corner and was back in the center of the castle, the center of the crowd, and breathed in the power and love. Oh this was perfect; he had an army and a kingdom and a thousand people who would do whatever he wanted, just as long as he prevented the impossible from happening. Every face loved him, every face needed him, and not a soul could oppose him. How had he lived before this moment?

------------------------------------

How had she lived before this moment? Marianne asked herself, curled up on her bed and trying not to cry. She had sent Griselda away, off in the footsteps of an elf matron, to outfit the guest rooms. It had been all she could do not to burst into tears right there in the courtyard, and even the sympathetic pat of support from the goblin woman had not been enough to stem the crash of emotions.

She had felt the crowd’s reaction as she touched down. Half a hundred eyes, taking in her windblown hair and slow flight, and felt nothing but crushing disappointment and disgust. This was their future queen? all eyes had said. This is the woman who will lead us?

And Roland, perfect Roland, had smiled and assured everyone that the outing had been a success, that the Bog King was gone and that they had nothing more to fear, and every eye had turned with relief to him.

No one wants you, he had told her, barely a minute later. But that’s alright. I’m here for you, baby. Together, we can save this kingdom. Just leave everything to me.

And coward that she was, she let him go and flew here, to hide away from the crowds and the disappointed eyes. Roland was right. Roland was always right, and perhaps the sooner she accepted it the better.

A knock drew her from her bed, and she listlessly walked over to find her father at the door. He looked as shaken as she felt, so she helped him to his chair.

“Marianne, I - “ He looked at his daughter and found he didn’t have the heart to tell what he had seen. She looked pale and broken, as broken as he felt. “I just spoke with Roland - “

She tried to remember what her fiance was planning for the evening.

“Oh, he was with one of his contacts, wasn’t he?”

Desmond balked. Was that what the girl was? Perhaps things weren't as bad as he assumed. “I...suppose?”

Marianne sighed and leaned back, massaging her eyes. “Its amazing what he learns from them. He has eyes all over the palace, and everywhere else in the kingdom too. The luck of having girls throw themselves at his feet, I suppose.”

Desmond bit his lip. “He - Roland - he said something that I could not believe was true.” Looking at his daughter, he hesitated. But kings were supposed to rule with courage, and he needed to know. “He said you didn’t love each other.”

Marianne froze, the words sinking into her mind. Love? She hadn’t thought about love since that fateful night in the Dark Forest. She had been too busy with other things. But...she had known that Roland didn’t want her for her. Part of her had known it since the moment she met him. But she had never wanted her father to find out.

Still, Queens were supposed to be honest, and he deserved to have an answer.

“That...isn’t something we’ve talked of much. The court loves him, and that’s enough.”

“But you. Do you love him?” Desmond pushed.

Marianne looked away. “Does it matter? Its what is best for the kingdom. You said that, remember? That I would be better with a king at my side?”

The words hit Desmond like a blow, and part of him screamed no! that’s not what I meant! I just...I just wanted for you what I had with your mother. Not this. Never this.

But he said. “Roland said that as well, that this was best for the kingdom. I don’t see it.”

The future Queen shook her head. “Isn’t it obvious? He has the support of the court and the council. People love him, and as long as I am by his side, the kingdom will prosper. Love has nothing to do with it.”

“So this...is just a political marriage?”

Marianne shrugged. “Its hardly the first in this kingdom's history. But he’s nice enough, I suppose. Pretty, too.” I can look at him and almost remember how I felt when it was real... “And I promise you’ll have heirs after the wedding. A few jars of primrose pollen will solve that quickly, and I’m sure the goblins will oblige if it was part of our trade deal. Roland need not keep my company for much longer than the wedding night, and then he can go back to girls who can satisfy him.”

Desmond’s mouth dried as he heard his daughter speak of her wedding night as a distasteful necessity, her brow knitting and her mouth in a grim, stubborn line. What’s best for the kingdom she seemed to repeat without words, but in every shift of her stance.

“I didn’t....I didn’t want this for you.” He said, heart heavy, and he reached out to touch her hand. “I swear, I never knew…”

Marianne patted her father’s hand. “I know, Papa. But it’s what’s best. It has to be.”

------------------------------------

Desmond closed the door behind himself and turned to find a smirking Roland.

“Well?” The bastard asked.

“She agreed with you.” Desmond said, quiet despair in his voice. “She agreed with everything.”

Roland clapped him on the back. “See? I told you. Anyways, you should be thanking me!”

Desmond gritted his teeth, but if this is what his daughter thought was necessary, who was he to argue? This was her world...but all the excitement he had felt when imagining the wonders she would do had blown away, replaced with dull sadness at the knowledge that Roland would be choosing the kingdom’s fate, not his fierce, courageous daughter.

“Thanking you? For what?”

“Well, you could have had a goblin for a son-in-law!”

------------------------------

Griselda found herself with the most unlikely ally that day. Halfway through unpacking (its amazing what one can get into a bag, if part of the intention is to weigh down a poncy fairy boy as much as possible) there was a tentative knock on her door. She had expected Dawn or another one of those irritatingly humble elves.

What she had not expected was the King of the Fairy Kingdom, looking grim and angry and determined all in one, appearing without so much as a guard or a warning and demanding -

“Is it true that your son loves my daughter?”

Anyone else would have balked. But Griselda wasn’t just any goblin, she was the former Queen goblin.

She grinned. “Yes, he does. Whatcha gonna do about it, King?”

Desmond drew himself up to his full height, fury in his eyes...and he felt ten generations of his ancestors screaming at him at his next words. Goblins were the enemy, the ones that had killed his fair Juniper. But it was his beloved wife that he heard behind his words, not the hatred of generations.

“I’m going to give him a chance.”

--------------------------------

Chapter Text

It was another week before Dawn received a letter from her Sunny-Bunny. Things in the palace had been...tense since the goblin visit. Marianne seemed exhausted, and Roland had started attending councils, arguing hard against all the progress that Marianne and the goblins had made in changing the council's opinion. He still paraded around with Marianne or the army before adoring crowds, but more and more he had been appearing at the side of councilors and merchants, leaving them all with that strange glazed look that her sister wore so often and parroting his words back to the most influential fairies of the kingdom.

Had it not been for the completely unexpected friendship that had developed between Griselda and King Desmond, Dawn would have been tempted to give up hope. Even then, hearing from her boyfriend was the definite highlight of the whole week. He has sent a firefly, for one, and it danced for her before dropping off the bark-wrapped parcel.

Soon she was chuckling at her love's mishaps and the good-natured revenge Bog had enacted on the poor elf.

"Dear Dawn" the grass parchment began.

"I take back everything I said about the Dark Forest. Not the terrifying part or the part about everything trying to kill me. But all the things I thought were scary are actually pretty good. And a lot of the things I thought I didn't need to fear are completely terrifying.

Goblins, for example. In general they're kind of dumb, but apparently they are terrified of Dark Forest Elves, so they don't even joke about eating me. And you were right about Bog; he's not nearly so scary if you stay on his good side and don't mind the yelling. He even said he'd take me to the Dark Elf city soon!

But he's got a wicked sense of humor. I figured I'd be either spending my time as hostage locked up in the dungeon or running around as his secretary. Well the dungeons are buried under a massive amount of mud and that fly-goblin is a much better secretary than I could ever be. So it turns out he had a better plan to punish me for being involved in the potion fiasco.

He's given me to Plum.

Remember what I said about things that shouldn't be scary turning terrifying? Yeah, that's Plum. The woman is a demon. She's decided to turn me into some kind of apprentice, and won't hear a word against it. She's running me ragged dashing around the forest to get materials for her and giving the most confusing, nonsensical explanations about magic all the while. I don't even have time to sleep, much less be scared.

And Bog knew she would do it! I think he planned this, just so he could get away from the woman for awhile, and give her another victim to hassle. Not that she's stopped bothering him either. Whenever she sees him all she asks about is Griselda and 'how could you send your mother into that monster's nest'. (She really is worried about Griselda, so if you could write back and reassure her that the queen mother is still alive and not turned into a mindless drone that would be really nice.)

I think Plum has given up on the Fairy Kingdom, though. She's completely convinced that by the time Roland's done, there won't be a single soul left who's not under his sway. And no matter how much I tell her to trust you and Bog and Griselda, she's still convinced the only thing the Dark Forest can do is close its borders and wait until there's no one left alive.

Did I mention she gets kind of hysterical? Yeah. Hysterical and terrifying. That's been my week. But I've learned to dance bumblebees and fireflies into doing what I request, and there's all sorts of magic she thinks she can teach me. But I really can't wait until Bog takes me to the Dark Elf city two days from now. I've read and heard so much about it in the last week, it's all I want to see.

Other than you. I gotta admit, after listening to Plum all last week, I'd much rather you come and stay here with me than be around Roland and his goons. (What a change, huh?) I know you can take care of yourself, but some of the stuff she says...just be careful, okay? I love you so much, and I'm not sure what I'd do if that wasp got to you. So keep me updated, and send Flicker back as soon as you can. I'll be waiting for your letter.

Lots of love
- Sunny

Dawn read, then reread the letter, grinning all the while. Leave it to Bog to find the least dangerous horrible thing for Sunny to do, while still managing to encourage his talents. And he sent her a pet firefly! One that would dance when she hummed, and seemed to understand enough to wing back with a letter later.

But first, she hurried off to the War Room to share the letter with Griselda.

Not that it was actually a War Room. That was an ugly red chamber deep within the heart of the castle that hadn't been used for twenty years, ever since the truce following the deaths of the Dragonfly King and Queen Juniper. Dawn could barely stand that room, with its dust and blood-splattered battle-flags.

No, she far preferred Griselda's take on the matter, questionable goblin decorating tastes aside. The woman had somehow finagled the house staff into giving her a whole suit of rooms with a bedroom, private bath and even a once-elegant sitting room. The whole set of chambers were deliciously cool, deep as they were into the hard stone of the castle rock. There were no windows, and Dawn was relatively certain they were deep enough to be underground in a largely unused wing of the palace, but for a goblin without flight it was perfect.

The goblin woman had happily settled in, seemingly oblivious to the looks of disgust and exasperation shot over her head by the servant elves. Gone were the light, spindly fairy furniture, replaced with pools of pillows and low couches covered with blankets despite the summer heat. Dawn knew that Griselda had no way of knowing how terribly out of style the old furniture had been, and yet the woman had treated it with the same disgust that the highest born lady would have, insisting that it be removed immediately...though in her case she replaced it with something 'practical and not poofy!'

So now the barren rooms that had once been opulent to the point of overwhelming had been reduced to a dark, yet immensely comfortable hole.

Dawn loved it. She loved bounding into Griselda's rooms and sinking down into the half-nests of pillows. She loved the eternal pot of tea the older woman had, and the crumbly seed-cakes that Griselda decided were the only thing worth eating in the Fairy Kingdom, and thus insisted upon having a constant supply. And she loved the toothy smile the woman gave whenever Dawn knocked on the door.

She had been young when her mother died, barely old enough to toddle, much less remember the Queen that everyone else had adored. But she wondered if this was what it was like to have a mother - no, a grandmother or a great aunt. Someone you could sneak away to and trade gossip and secrets, and get a giggle and a snort and good advice.

Well, mostly good advice. Griselda was still a goblin, and her way of advice usually involved suggestions of 'bash their heads in'.

"Are those floppy twits still at your heels?" Griselda called out the instant Dawn announced herself.

"No, Griselda."

"Did ya do like I said, and poison their wine?"

Dawn rolled her eyes as the goblin woman appeared out of her bedroom, adjusting the newest outfit the royal tailors had made for her. Dawn had designed it, so of course the older woman had to wear it when she visited. Though how she knew Dawn was coming when Dawn herself hadn't known until after receiving the letter...

"No, Griselda, I didn't poison their wine. That would be dangerous!"

"Only a bit. Ya gotta be sneaky, girl. Put in just enough yew to give 'em the worst headache they've ever had, an' they'll think twice about wasting time in their cups, with no thought of you to blame. Its a perfect plan!"

"I hope you're not encouraging my daughter to poison her own subjects." A voice came around the door, followed by the King.

That was perhaps the strangest part of the whole affair, at least to Dawn. Somehow, her father had been shaken enough to seek out Griselda on his own, and thus been invited into their strange little alliance.

Dawn would have never expected it from her beloved but old fashioned father. But over the last week he had changed, listening close to his elder daughter's words and spending most of his free time in the library, reading book after book of the same tombs that Marianne had consulted when first considering sending an envoy to the Dark Forest. And whatever he learned there, or what ever had prompted him to change his views on Roland, it had lead him to be more vocal in his support of his daughter, though he never explicitly went against what Roland or the councilors said.

But the biggest change was his opinion of both Griselda and Sunny. When Dawn presented her letter, he actually smiled.

"I'm glad your boy is doing well." No mild disapproval, his smile was genuine, and he immediately turned to Griselda to ask more about the Dark Elves.

It was terribly, terribly strange, and Dawn still didn't completely trust him - they still hadn't explained about the deeper meaning of the 'wasp' label they'd applied to Roland, nor of the wider conspiracy - but having the support of her father did much to ease Dawn's worries about the correctness of her actions. Especially as more and more of the castle seemed to agree with Roland, that the goblins were a scourge or a threat, not a potential ally. If all those people who were older, wiser, and more experienced than Dawn had begun to believe in the threat, who was she to be suspicious?

But if King Desmond felt the same wrongness that she did, and wished just as much to see Marianne happy, then their little group couldn't be completely wrong.

"It says that Sunny is learning magic, Papa! Good magic, that helps people!"

King Desmond bit back his immediate thought of elves can't do magic and instead said "Really? What can he do?" only to be dragged out to see the dancing firefly. It was hard not to smile at Dawn's proud excitement, and he realized that he was far happier knowing that at least one of his daughters had found love, no matter to who.

Griselda let the two go, preferring to stay away from the temptation of a flying snack after a week of vegetarian fare. She examined Sunny's letter, reading between the lines about Plum and her son's actions, knowing the preparations they must be making, and her face deepened into an uncharacteristic frown. Why would her son be going to Alder Town? He needed to be here, combating Roland head on, if they ever hoped to make any progress in pulling Marianne away from the bastard. The man had his fiance cooped up all day now, sequestered away from her sister and friends, all on pretenses of extra work necessary for festivals and trade negotiations, running the girl hard on things that should have been left to secretaries and advisers.

But the old men had been sent to the border to spy on the goblin preparations for the monthly meeting, Griselda knew from her own gnat-message, and Roland was finding every excuse to get rid of the older, more experienced advisers and replace them with new ones that were more excited by the prospect of war and glory than sense and stability. And he monopolized the remaining secretaries for himself, replacing those who wouldn’t be missed with pretty fairy girls who were more looks than sense and sending the others on constant quests for useless information that kept them tied up, unable to help Marianne with her ‘unimportant’ work. And somehow Roland spun it all as if he was the heroic one, learning to live with such a foolish woman, while doing all the real work. And Marianne shouldered the scorn and rolled eyes with slumped shoulders and weary belligerence.

If only Griselda could find a way to be allowed around the girl more often, then she could lend her strength, just as she had all those years ago with Bog. It wouldn't be much, and likely would give the Wasp more fodder to turn the easily swayed against her, but it would keep her going until a miracle or a revolt appeared.

Dawn waltzed back into the room, just in time for Griselda to smile.

"Dawn, dear. Could you invite me to council tomorrow?"

--------------------

Sunny read over Dawn and Griselda’s return letters, finding warm encouragement and love from Dawn, reassurances and badgering from Griselda. But reading between the lines there was worry and tension from the women, and Sunny couldn’t help but echo Dawn’s worry for her sister. He, too, had grown up hanging to the skirts of the eldest Princess, and it was hard to hear of the battle she was fighting alone.

But all he could do, this far from home and in a totally new world, was as the councilors and Marianne had asked; follow Bog’s orders but find out as much about the Dark Forest as possible.

It was significantly easier than he expected, with Bog’s usual brusque manner working to both their advantages. Bog explained shortly after they arrived back in the Dark Forest that he knew Sunny was expected to be spying, in fact he would be disappointed if the fairies hadn’t specifically instructed him to do so. As such, it would be immensely easier to simply give Sunny the information the fairies thought they wanted, and get on with touring and magic and other more important things.

As a result, Sunny found himself, a week and a half after being sent into the Dark Forest, back in the library and standing over a table full of maps along with lists of cities and towns and the various peoples that lived in them.

He swallowed heavily, trying to take as much of the information in as possible. After all Plum had taught him, his head felt as if it was going to burst. The images and letters all seemed to blur, and he sat down with a thump.

“The Dark Forest is huge!” He complained, holding onto the pathetically small map that councilor Gaillard had pressed into his hands. The army commander had clearly only ever considered the lands immediately bordering the Fairy Kingdom, and might not have even realized the sheer extent of Forest that stretched on from that point.

Bog chuckled. “Aye. But it's na all inhabited, unlike your Fairy Kingdom. Here, for example, are the deep bogs.” He pointed a claw to one of the larger maps which detailed the whole of the kingdom. Right in the center and stretching east was a huge empty space in which only winged gnat herders and herb-hunters foraged. “Na much can live there ‘cept flies and bog-lilies.”

“Even then...it's only a week’s flight from one end of the Fairy Kingdom to the other. The bogs alone have to be twice that, at least, and the Forest larger...”

The monarch shrugged. “Aye am lucky in my subjects; they dinna need the constant supervision of mayors or landlords. They come to me when they need help, and keep to themselves otherwise, so I dinna need to be haring all over creation every day.”

“But your castle...it's far from the center of your kingdom.”

“Atch, well, the castle is near our most troublesome border. The great river is a rather effective barrier to the east, and the Deep Woods to the south keep to themselves under their bear-king. And after Plum’s kingdom fell, the northern orchards hold fealty to no-one, and nae wish to claim them. Before then we’d had good relations with the pixies for generations. So its only the fairies who’ve been a consistent trouble.”

Sunny looked at the big map, tracing the various kingdoms the Bog King mentioned. He spoke of each as of old friends, and Sunny once again wondered how Bog could speak so confidently of bears and river waters. Before he had been dragged into Roland’s schemes, he’d never been far from the castle, much less to the borders of a kingdom past his own. Now Lady Holly and Buttonbush expected him to be able to make trade negotiations between two lands it seemed he knew nearly nothing about.

He looked at his little map, pathetic in comparison to the giant one on the table, and sighed.

“It's all so...big.”

Bog looked down, and saw the miserable expression on the boy’s face. Awkwardly he patted him on the shoulder. “Its not the size of the kingdom that counts, as Plum always says. And your councilors dinna need to know all of this. Here.”

Dipping one finger into an ink pot, Bog began to sketch free-hand on an empty piece of of foolscap. “So the borders are here, here and here. But nae one but Roland will care about that. Your commanders care only about the border with the fairy kingdom, aye?” Sunny nodded, and Bog began to fill in the border with trees and strands of foliage. “They want to know the cities, the roads and the places where it is free to fly. And the positions of my troops, but I’m nae gon tell ya that.”

Sunny flushed and ducked his head at that. He wasn’t oblivious to the fact that Bog had left him with Plum partially to keep him away from the reorganization of the goblin army and the restructuring of defenses. Bog hadn’t been particularly subtle about it, but without fairy commanders breathing down his neck Sunny felt no need to push, especially when it meant bringing back honest information that was still leagues more than they knew before.

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that.” He said honestly. “But Dogwood and Buttonbush wanted to know where the closest village was…”

Bog nodded and made a few more marks on the map, leaving behind dots that were half ink, half incision from his sharp claws. “There. Ye passed by the elf villages of Mush’ub and Fern Fen. And the moths have a trading outpost high in that first ash from the border. But the main city near the border is Alder Town, barely ten minutes from that hawthorn your Queen picked for our meeting.”

A few more moments and Bog leaned back, eyeing the new map with critical eyes. All the major features along the border were accounted for; streams and swampy areas, safe roads and dangerous areas where spiders or birds nested. He had drawn it mostly from memory, ignoring the maps on the table to create something far more useful to a trader...and completely useless to an invader. Perhaps Sunny didn’t recognize that, or was too polite to ask for further clarification. But any invader planning to attack the cities listed on the map would be sorely surprised by the opposition they would face. And if they were as idiotic as the soldiers he had seen guarding the border, they would likely pass by the rest of the villages without even realizing there were people there to terrify.

At least, that was his hope. He wasn’t so naive as Sunny’s Princess; he knew it was more luck than planning that could save their two kingdoms from war and that if the real fairy commanders went to war there would be devastation on both sides the like of which hadn’t been seen since his grandfather’s time. That was the last thing either of their kingdoms needed, but it was just as likely as Marianne coming to her senses and somehow managing to rally her people against the false king.

Still, there were some tricks that he still had up his metaphorical sleeve, and he might have just the thing to give them back the advantage and win back the heart of the future fairy Queen.

“So...Alder Town is an elf city?” Sunny asked.

Bog smiled and picked up the bundle he had placed beneath the table. “Aye. And its where we’re heading today. Its time to meet your people, Sunny.”

--------------------------------------

Griselda was barely big enough to see above the council table, but she had anticipated and brought cushions along to raise her up so she could glare at her former enemies. She sat with her stumpy form balanced on the cushions, bony elbows on the table, hands crossed expression varying from glare (the standard goblin resting face) to the all-too mischievous leer that had councilors ducking away in horror.

None of them looked happy at the prospect of a goblin sharing in the meeting, but it was only Roland who had the courage to protest.

"Dawn, honey, if you need some help understanding what the adults are talking about, I can find you someone more suitable..."

The younger princess crossed her arms and floated elegantly down to sit on her own chair next to Griselda’s. "That's not why I brought her, Roland. She wanted to come."

The ponce shot a glare towards the goblin that managed to be at once hateful and condescending. Griselda was impressed. She hadn't thought it was possible to fit such a look on a face while still remaining handsome. So she winked broadly at him and was rewarded with a flinch. When the ponce wasn’t trying to be actively duplicitous he was far too easy to bait.

"Roland has a point, dear girl." Dogwood said, jumping at the chance to defend his master and put down the upstart girl. Roland had been badgering him near non-stop since his perceived slight at the goblin meeting, and it was nice to have an opportunity to redeem himself in the man’s eyes. "This is a fairy council. There's nothing we'll talk of that will hold any interest to her goblin-ness."

"You know, I can hear you, right?" Griselda said, making most of the councilors jerk in surprise at her froggy voice. "And I can choose for myself what I do or do not find boring. I did rule at my husband's side, you know. This is hardly the first tedious council I've attended, and it won't be the last."

Roland looked very tempted to take his sword out right there and belie that last point, but Dogwood merely shrugged. "Suit yourself." The councilor said. "But these are formal proceedings. We wouldn't want any...unpleasantness to happen."

"Like someone being attacked right out in the open?" Griselda smiled huge and Buttonbush, at least, had the decency to look embarrassed. Most of the other councilors looked affronted at her audacity to bring up a sensitive topic so bluntly.

"That was just an accident - "

"Aye, so we best get a better start now, right?" Griselda's smile should have looked innocent and helpful, but there were too many teeth in it, making the creature look half-predatory, and several of the councilors shifted uncomfortably and hoped that their own Queen would arrive soon and they could have a short meeting for once, and be able to get out from under the goblin’s gaze as fast as possible.

"Honey Buns!" Roland called as Marianne swept in on her father's arm. The prince immediately went to his fiance's side, swinging her away from her father and into his arms. "Your sister has caused a bit of a problem." He hissed as they embraced.

Marianne's eyes scanned the room and fell on Griselda even as she felt her strength sapping at the thought of another useless council full of veiled condescension and arrogant ignorance. She couldn't help but smile at the tiny goblin, even as Roland squeezed her so hard as to drive the breath from her lungs.

"Grisel - ooof, let go for a moment, dear - Griselda, how good of you to join us!" Around the table the more stagnant councilors groaned as they saw their last hope of ridding themselves of the goblin woman for the day evaporate. Buttonbush and Holly, though, smirked at their opponents, pleased that they had an ally in the Queen, though their trade desires were still outnumbered by Roland's war-mongering allies and the isolationist traditionalists alike. Poor Gaillard was caught between the two sides, and debating strongly on retirement to get himself away from the farce.

"Couldn't keep me away, duckling, not when Dawn here said you might be discussing trade with the Dark Forest today." She pulled herself forward to the edge of her leaning tower of cushions and waved her hands in a parody of elegance. "Who knows, you might even learn something useful!" And she winked and Dogwood tried not to shudder.

"Thank you for your help." Marianne said sincerely, and Roland had to hide his own shudder. The queen, his queen, was being gracious to a monster. Disgusting!

Worse, when Roland eyed the table, he found that Griselda had placed her chair directly across from Marianne's, as if she was expecting the respect due to a ruler, rather than being brushed off and ignored as Roland planned to do. Now he if he wanted to sit by Marianne he would have to look at the creature for the whole council, and its ugliness might be contagious. The thought made him wince. Not his beautiful looks! He would try not to breath too much, just in case. No one would take an ugly creature seriously, surely. Not when someone as magnificent as himself was in the room. So he had to protect his magnificence, and make sure it wasn't polluted by hideousness for too long.

A pity he couldn't seem to enact the same ire against her that had helped him to drive Dr. Ericson against the moth. If the former goblin queen died in the Fairy Kingdom it certainly would spark a war, but the woman was too often with either Dawn or the King, and he couldn't risk hurting either of them until Marianne was officially on the throne and tied to him in marriage. Once he had yearned for an army, now he needed a crown to satisfy his needs. First a crown and then...well, there was no point in an army if you didn't use it, right? And the Dark Forest was right there, clamoring to be purged...

"Otch, you don't need an army to defend the meeting point, silly! That's what the thorns are for. No one can fly beneath that tree unless they really know where they're going. See, that's what makes it fair." The goblin woman was saying in response to some question from Gaillard. "Your fairies don't get to use your wings, and we goblins don't have cover."

Gaillard conceded that it was, indeed fair. "But there are no buildings beneath the tree, no way to protect ourselves from predators..."

The goblin clucked. "Well, perhaps not on your side, but my son sent his goblins to clear the ground for tents as soon as the meeting date was set. He'll be a bit miffed if you haven't been doing the same. I'm sure he sent a note to your soldiers about it, so you wouldn't mistake goblin building for aggression."

Heads turned to Gaillard and Roland and they both shrugged, Gaillard because he honestly had heard no such report from the border, and Roland to keep up the lie that he hadn't instructed his lieutenants to destroy any messages emanating from the Dark Forest. Now he wished he had least read over them before burning the lot.

"Well, we'll have our tents and protections ready by the end of the month. Be a bit embarrassing if you didn't do the same, what with all your fancy fairy building. O'course we'd be happy to shelter you on our side of the border." Another smile, and three separate councilors promised to see to the arrangements out of insulted pride immediately.

Roland ground his teeth. The woman was good at playing the council. Nearly as good as he was, giving him all the more reason to want her out as fast as possible. If only there was a way to shame her out of the room...

“And your ambassador has promised to inspect the area personally on a bi-weekly basis, so even if your side’s accommodations aren’t ready in time, at least ours will be fitting for fairy and elf-folk.” Griselda continued.

Roland balked. “Now, we never said the elf was - “

Around him other councilors shifted uncomfortably. They had wanted Sunny to feed them information, but being given the abilities of an ambassador sounded too much like respect for an elf.

“So you wish to send a fairy instead?” Griselda smiled.

“Of course not! A fairy in the Dark Forest?”

“But we never agreed to empower that… “ Dogwood started, then quickly corrected himself at Marianne’s raised brows. “Sunny to act as ambassador. He’s just a servant boy. He has none of the education necessary for the careful -ah- considerations of politics.”

“Aw, goblins don’t need fancy education to get stuff done. But my son’s taking him round the elf cities over the next few weeks, and it’d be great if he could set up some exchange…”

“Absolutely not!” Dogwood exclaimed. “That is something that should be left until the official meeting! We cannot expect and elf to appreciate the delicate subjects of commerce. Why, he might cut out the manor lords completely, and leave the exchanges completely to his brethren!”

Griselda cocked her head. “And that would be bad because…?”

Dogwood’s mouth dropped. How could this woman be so stupid. “Because of taxes, ma’am! The elves must have their trade taxed, lest they get greedy!”

Griselda’s mouth popped open. “That’s the stupidest - “ But Lady Holly stopped her.

“That’s the way it’s always been done, Lady Griselda. Elves work in the fields and as craftsmen, and fairies oversee all trade and collect taxes for the Lords. If elves were left to themselves, who knows what would happen!”

Around them the councilors nodded, as if this was the most logical thing possible. But Dawn looked at Griselda’s unbelieving expression, and for the first time really wondered about the system. All of the councilors were Lords, after all. They were the ones who collected the taxes and sent a small portion on to the crown. In truth, some of them, like Dogwood, were materially far richer than the monarchy. And what did they give back?

Griselda asked as much. “So...you collect food as tax, and control all trade at the markets...and what do the elves get in return for this privilege?”

“Protection, of course! And being managed by wiser heads!” Dogwood said. “The Fairy Kingdom has survived for generations on such principles. I doubt the goblin kingdom could compare to our productivity or output. Why, just look at you!”

Griselda didn’t look down, as Marianne or Dawn might have been tempted to do, and Dogwood was shocked to see her simply raise a brow.

“Really. Have you seen an elf city?”

--------------------------------

Chapter Text

Alder Town was affixed to a giant half-dead hickory tree a bare ten minutes walk from the border to the fairy lands. It towered, covered in fungus and mushrooms and the smell of cooking fires. Insects buzzed in swarms around it, herded by damselflies painted in bright black and white checkerboard. There was the sound of birdsong from the remaining living branches, and the vague iridescence of bug-folk and perhaps even winged goblin flitting among the branches.

On the other trunk houses built out onto fungal platforms climbed up and over themselves, woven round with wide streets and dark alleys. Smoke and voices echoed, along with muffled ringing of bells and the clang of metal workers. Fireflies roosted beneath awnings, lending an eerie glow to the darkest areas, while elsewhere grubs had been coaxed into releasing strands of glowing pearls which hung from the lowest fungus all the way to the top, mirrored by the last remaining strings of Alder flowers hanging from the living trunk

Seen from far away Alder Town was a beautiful cacophony. The dead trunk was housed in shadow, as all around it younger, stronger trees had grown up and covered it with their shade. But the living trunk forced the rest away from its ancient canopy, leaving its half of the clearing bathed in cool green light which needed no extra illumination.

Bog had chosen to walk from the palace to the city, and he only needed to look down at Sunny’s awe-struck expression to know that he had made the right decision. The boy had grown up in the Fairy Palace’s attached village, the largest single grouping of elves in the entire fairy kingdom. But Alder Town was easily fifteen times the size, and a million times more varied. The eye simply couldn’t take it all in at once, and Bog let them pause on the edge of the clearing around the city to let his ’hostage’ take it all in.

The elf’s eyes had grown huge, catching the same scents that had him drooling on his way into the Forest, hearing the ring of voices of every pitch, feeling the tension of little magics performed over and over again by hundreds of fae until they built into a bubble of life that surrounded the tree and shouted to the heavens that here was a place to be taken seriously.

And it was barely ten minutes away from the border and Roland and all of the chaos that fairy could reign down.

Bog caught the look of worry on Sunny’s face and clapped him on the back. “Dinna worry about this place. There’s a reason it's on your war map, elf.”

He set off, heading towards the main entrance at the tree’s base. Sunny hurried to catch up, shifting his pack and easily falling back into the half-jog that he had developed to keep up with the King.

“But I don’t sense anything like attack magic coming from the city…” He began, concentrating on catching the feel of the place. It was hard; Plum had him only sensing the palace staff and small enclaves that surrounded the palace. Alder Town was so huge as to be overwhelming; a good half of its inhabitants seemed to be using benign magic at any given time. He felt the tang of metal-magic, and the ever-present calm of growth magic, even something that tasted almost like Wasp magic, but of the lesser sort used in equal numbers by merchants and musicians. It all bleed together into a shifting mass of sensation that nearly deafened his magic-sense. But there was nothing like Bog’s magic of protection, except, perhaps, hidden somewhere far above the bulk of the town, bleeding green growth and warm affection down into the city in equal measures.

“It doesn’t need it.” Bog said. “Which is one of the reasons we’re approaching on foot. Its easier to deal with the gate-guards that way. And I dinna need you passing out again and embarrassing yourself in front of the your brethren, so be warned."

It was another minute before they reached the gate, as they walked down into the hollow that held the tree. When Sunny could draw his eyes away he recognized goblin burrows hidden in the underbrush all around them. Most were empty, only obvious if one knew how to look for the woven mats of greenery hidden among the natural foliage. There were birds in the meadow that made their nests in much the same way, but with none of the seemingly inherent ability to be invisible. Sunny was sure he had walked by at least half of the burrows, and only tagging after Bog whenever he could escape Plum had given him the skills to recognize them at all.

He was about to ask where all the goblins were when they ran across a goblin matron sunning herself by the road, a full dozen goblin children playing around her. She raised herself onto her haunches when she saw the king, and called to the children to bow low...which only a handful did, the rest showing typical goblin slowness.

"King. We dinna expect you on this part of the border until - " She began, looking worried.

Bog held up a hand. "The schedule still stands. Today I'm visiting Alder Town, not the border guards."

The woman sagged in relief, and wiped her froggy brow. "Tha's good. We're not nearly done with the pac- pave-" a pause as she tried to remember the word "- pavilion yet. An' we wouldn't want to ruin the surprise!"

There was a twitch in Bog's cheek, and Sunny gulped.

"Surprise?"

"Aye, all the goblins have been working extra hard to - "

The woman froze.

"Ah. I mean - "

Her green skin began going white.

Bog towered above her. "What, exactly, have you been doing?"

Despite her huge form, the woman cowered. "Ah, ah, Sir, its nothing, really. Was supposed to be a surprise - "

"I. Dinna. Like. Surprises." He hissed. "What have you done?"

The woman yelped and gave up. "We started the city project! Griselda gave us the plans! She said it was a shame to do all that work to clear the forest and not get anything but space for a few tents...and the elves have been wanting to move and everyone knows Alder's coming down eventually and it just seemed a good idea to mention the possibility and then they agreed to help and - "

Bog's wings buzzed as the woman kept blubbering, his jaw tight and hand clenching on his scepter, enough so that Sunny was worried he was about to club the woman in front of all those kids...

But instead he sighed, long and exasperated. "Just get the pavilion ready first, y'hear? Then we can deal with this foolishness later."

The huge woman peeked out from between her hands and looked at her king with relief. "So, I didn't ruin the surprise?"

The King threw his hands up. "Fine! You dinna ruin the surprise. Just see to it that you don't work on it while I'm not there!"

She stood up and snapped a salute. "Right-o, Boss. We will not work on your surprise without your express approval!"

Bog rolled his eyes and tugged Sunny back onto the path, muttering something about idiot goblins and interfering mothers.

"Um. King?"

The tone in Sunny's voice drew him out of his grumbling. "What, elf?"

"Were all those kids hers? Only I thought that you had banned love in the forest..."

Bog blinked, and glanced back at the woman and her rough-housing children. "Them? No, those are the guard children. This whole valley has the burrows for the Goblin Watch. Tree back there is the lieutenant commander; it must be her day to care for the children and watch the town."

"Oh. So that's what you meant when you said that Alder Town had protection. Half the goblin army is here..." Sunny said thoughtfully.

"Eh? No, Alder's protection has nothing to do with the army. They've got something better."

"What could be better than half an army?"

---------------------------

"We need to grow our army." Councilman Gaillard began, after the council had moved on to more important topics.

"Exactly!" Roland chimed in. "Just think of all those hideous goblins, just waiting to cross the border, and us here defenseless against their strength!"

Sixteen pairs of eyes swung to look accusingly at the representative of said goblin hordes. But it was difficult to be truly terrified of a dumpy woman who needed cushions to reach the table, broken horns and blunt teeth aside.

At the moment Griselda was halfway through her cup of tea and made sure to give a giant slurp to break the uncomfortable silence. "I couldn't agree more, Fairy-boy. Hard to trade with people who can't even keep guests safe. But, as I was always telling to old Dragon, it ain't the size that counts, but the way ya use what ya got." She winked hugely, and Lady Holly covered her mouth in disgust. There was absolutely no subtlety in the goblin's tone, and perhaps not a shread in her entire being. Dogwood shuddered at the image of goblin anatomy that popped into his mind.

"I agree with Griselda." Marianne spoke up, cutting through the gathered embarrassment, unexpected certainty in her voice. "Its clear that the army could be performing better, but given that the increase of the border guard did nothing to prevent Bog and his goblins from flying to the castle twice without being noticed, perhaps it is not an issue of size, but of training."

Dogwood sucked in a breath at her blatant challenge, and felt Roland stiffen beside him. The knight's hand clenched on the arm of his chair, hard enough to scratch the opulent carvings. Across the table Griselda hid a smile and redoubled her efforts to send strength and support to to the to the besieged future queen while also hiding her efforts from the fuming Roland.

But the man’s voice was light when he spoke. "Now, Marianne, ya can't go around saying things like that! Think what it'll do to moral! If you're scared I'll just - "

"I am not scared Roland. I am irritated. What, exactly, is all that parading doing if we cannot protect our own people, or our guests?"

Dogwood shot a look at Gaillard, calling on him for support, but found the commander biting his lip, looking as if he was hiding a smile. Behind the closed doors of the barracks, the commander had been known to whisper much the same complaint, spoken far away from Roland’s delicate pride, bemoaning the useless marching when there were far better uses of army time. But at Dogwood's glare the man stiffened and took on the bland smile that every army attache grew when dealing with idiot commanders like the royal family.

"What are you suggesting, your majesty?" he asked politely.

"A smarter army." She responded immediately, placing a sheaf of papers on the table. "Have the elf soldiers dispersed around the border, using the villages as basis for shorter, more frequent patrols. Incorporate the army into the local constabulary, so that they can be warned by the people who already live in the areas if something is wrong, and in turn provide muscle for any local disturbances. If we do this we can expand the area of the patrols to include portions of the northern and southern borders as well, and prevent - "

Her hands flew over the map she had unfurled, and Gaillard leaned forward, watching closely as she sketched the routes. Her intel was good; he himself would be happy to implement shorter patrols, assuming the difficulty with communication and calling for support could be solved. Despite all the rumors to the contrary, the girl had a good eye for tactics, and with a bit of experience might make a fine commander...

Then Roland snorted, and Gaillard remembered where his alliances were supposed to lay. It was barely necessary for the future King to prompt his ally with images of the damage idiot royals had wrought by leading the army into disastrous battles against the goblins. The man’s cynicism acted against him, and surely a man such as Roland who rose up the ranks of the army would be a better leader than an untried Queen, no matter how sensible her suggestions. Yet...

“We cannot trust the elves alone, nor in such small numbers.” He said, and he saw his Queen’s wings flick in irritation, the act of putting his own respect of his most loyal soldiers aside leaving an ashy taste in his mouth. “And without the fairies as a constant presence, how are the villages supposed to feel safe? They would think the king had abandoned them!” The same tried and true lines he had heard from Roland and the other army commanders for years upon years, until he could recite them in his sleep.

“How are they supposed to feel safe when the army has failed even its most basic duties?” She retorted, and half the council gasped at her bluntness, Gaillard recoiled as if from a blow, and Roland’s eyes narrowed further.

“What happens when we meet a foe we have not prepared for? Something more than just a few errant goblins or bumbling bees? What would we do then?”

----------------------

Despite Bog's warning, Sunny screamed and fainted upon meeting the gate-guards. Gertrude and Stump, two of the biggest, meanest, and smartest goblins around exchanged glances, then looked up guiltily at their king. They weren’t the ones to blame for terrifying their guest, so they couldn’t be punished...right?

"I do not sssseee what all the trouble is." Their Guardian complained, staring down with slitted eyes at the terrified elf. "Ssssurly no one will misss thissss one."

Bog hid a smile. So Plum hadn't taught everything to the boy yet. At least not enough to notice the scent or feel of predators. And really, simple observation should have warned him of the snake, dappled scales or not. Nero was huge, wrapped twice around the thick trunk of Alder town, and they had needed to skirt his tail to reach the gate. His sheer size hid him from view, the eye unwilling to look at the grey coils as anything but some strange kind of root, rather than the unholy terror that haunted the dreams of Forest and Meadow citizens alike.

Bog nudged Sunny with his foot. "Up, Elf. Ye dinna want te present yerself to the gate guardian?"

Sunny became a blur that resolved itself on the other side of Bog, cowering behind the monarch, as if that would be enough to protect him if the towering snake decided it was hungry.

"Forgive me for not wanting to 'present' myself as a tasty little morsel!" He squeaked.

The snake obliged its showman's nature and flicked its tongue in the elf's general direction, the corners of its mouth twitching up. Oh, it loved to see cowering creatures almost as much as Bog did. It made the job of guarding the lower reaches of Alder Town that much sweeter. But business came before pleasure, and it was not wise to delay the Bog King, even if they both were amused at the squirming elf.

Nero levered himself up. “The King is right, elfling. I cannot allow a foreigner into my city unquestioned. So have courage and I might not eat you today.” He grinned wider.

Fear radiated off the elf, but Sunny forced himself forward, away from the King and into the light, surprising Nero with his courage. The snake cocked its head peering through slitted eyes at his King’s newest ally.

Sunny gulped and forced himself to look up into the hypnotizing eyes. Everything inside him was telling him to turn tail and flee as fast as he could. No wonder Bog considered Alder Town safe from the fairies. It would take an army to bring down a snake this huge, and dozens if not more soldiers would go to feed the beast’s hunger before it could be subdued. And that was for dumb snakes; this one’s eyes held a cruel, piercing wit about them that suggested the normal tactics of hassling the creature until it left to find easier targets would not work.

“For a small elf, you have large courage.” The snake finally concluded, and the hypnotizing eyes dropped, releasing Sunny from their grip. “I will allow you into my city.”

Sunny gasped and felt his knees go weak. But somehow he felt as if he had passed some kind of test, if the quiet smile on Bog’s face was any indication.

The snake eased back down, its coils twitching and constricting around the trunk, until it finally returned to resting its head upon one large twist of its tail.

“Ssso, King, what brings you to Alder Town?” It asked as it settled, its hiss returning to its voice as it relaxed. “Sssurly it was not just to introduce me to this morsel, tasty though it may be.”

“Merely to visit some craftspeople, Nero.” Bog said, shouldering his staff again and beginning to walk towards the gate behind the snake’s head. Sunny tried not to shiver as he followed. He suspected the snake could smell fear, no matter that it seemed to believe him courageous for the moment.

“Really. This has nothing to do with the rumors of a war against fairy?”

Bog paused, choosing his words carefully. “Only insomuch as an effort to prevent such a war.”

Nero flicked his tongue. “Boring, King. It has been too long since I’ve had fairy flesh. Not since your father’s time...” But then it paused, as if considering. “But I have grown fond of the eggs here.”

There was a flash of meaning in his words that Sunny couldn’t quite catch, and Bog’s shoulders relaxed. The King placed a clawed hand against the snake’s side, right beneath the ugly wedge of its giant head and gently scratched his claws against the skin there. “Thank you, Nero.”

The snake responded by shifting, leaning into the ministrations of the Bog King. A less cruel smile grew on its face. “Ah…” For a few seconds there was silence between the two creatures, both terrible in their own ways, yet caught in a moment that was almost...kind. Then the snake regretfully pulled away. “Thank you, Bog. I have missed your visits.”

“And I have missed your conversation, Nero. I should visit more often.”

The snake blinked its eyes slowly. “Do not make promises you cannot keep, King.”

“Then I will make no promises.” Bog said and the snake nodded its head in acceptance.

“One last thing, before you go.” It said, right before Bog turned towards the stairs again.

“Yes?”

"Old man Alder's been asking for you. He wants to know of this new town you're planning."

Bog grimaced. “Ergh. My subjects have too much hope on their minds. We’re just clearing a pavilion now. Nothing more, until the fairy problem is dealt with.”

“Ah. Well, if you need protection, Buteo and I are willing to serve.”

“Noted. But dinna get your hopes up yet.”

Nero chuckled, sending shivers down Sunny’s spine. “Snakes do not hope, King. We watch, and are rewarded for our patience. Call me when your new city needs its guardians.”

Bog nodded and the snake turned away and closed its eyes, returning to its utterly motionless apparent slumber. Sunny wasn’t fooled, though. Not with the half-smile on the monster’s mouth, nor the way the goblin guards tagged along back to the official gate with nary a thought about their abandoned posts. Nero merely looked asleep. Anyone trying to get into the city without officially asking the guards...Sunny shivered again. He pitied anyone who was desperate enough to chance running past the snake. They would be in for a deadly surprise.

----------------

“I kind of wish we had flown in.” Sunny complained when they were far enough away that he could pretend the snake could no longer hear them.

Bog snorted as he walked towards the stairs. Far above an elevator rattled, pulled aloft by songbird wings. But waiting for it to return would take too long. “Then we would deal with Buteo and her brethren on the sky watch. And I canna have you passing out half a minute above the ground; Dawn would never forgive me if I dinna catch you when you fell!”

They reached the gated stairs and the guards pulled the iron wrought door open, then took up position on either side.

“Buteo is a…” Sunny prompted, stepping through the gate after Bog.

“A hawk. She guards the upper reaches of the tree.”

Sunny swallowed and imagined what he would have done had he seen a hawk swooping down to interrogate them. Falling off his mount would have only been the first of terrible things that could have happened. He could have been caught between those razor sharp talons and ripped apart and...it didn’t bare thinking about. It was hard to feel grateful about being given to a snake, though. Both options were completely terrifying.

“So Alder Town has two of the biggest, scariest, most terrifying predators in the entire woods guarding it? How do you control them?” He asked.

Bog glanced down, eyebrows up. “You just met Nero. Do you think any of us could control him if he dinna accept it?”

Sunny shivered and shook his head.

“We feed them.” Bog explained. “Mice, birds’ eggs, dragonflies past their flying days, convicted criminals...and any predator that steps beyond its bounds and threatens forest stability. The system works rather well. Nero and Buteo have protected this tree since my father's time and the population has come to appreciate it. With them as guards no one even thinks of attacking the city, and few are willing to break rules if the consequence is being fed to the guardians. Nero, especially, loves to make a show of it. He comes up to the amphitheater and eats half a dozen criminals at once. I think one of the moth families sell tickets to it, and they always sell out…”

Sunny whimpered and Bog stopped, berating himself for continuing to tease the boy with the barbaric tendencies of the Dark Forest.

"But that is just for show. Nero and Buteo love this city as much as any of their kind can. It's a good deal for them, with no need to hunt nor waste time away from their nests. Plus, the citizens respect and seek them out for council, even more than old Alder himself. Not many snakes or hawks can claim to have something so close to friends or family."

The elf cautiously agreed, mostly because he was struggling even more, now, to keep up. The stairs were tall and heavily shaded by bark awnings and even a tunnel through the decaying trunk, so that he not only had to clamber over each step, but also could get no view of the city they were approaching, even as the din and smells increased with every step he took. There was no other foot-traffic, and the stairs were covered in lichen and wood rot, looking completely abandoned, giving the pathway an eerie, dead feeling, that belied the sounds that came up from above. It seemed that no one ever used this path.

He was about to ask why when Bog unbolted a second gate and suddenly, with no warning or time to prepare himself, Sunny was in the center of the city.

----

“Well, that went well.”

Marianne smiled at her father and sister, pleased with bullying the army into at least thinking of her plans. But Dawn and Desmond exchanged glances. The tension in the air of the council chamber had been palpable. Some of the councilors, mostly those least involved with either Roland or the army, had been amused by the sudden fire in their future Queen’s speech. But others, like Dogwood and his cronies, had been shooting her death glares as she grilled Commander Gaillard first on their defenses against predators, and then on their woeful lack of preparation for outside attack; not just from goblins, but also from the denizens of the Deep Forest to the south, the Northern Orchard, and the western ponds.

No one had even considered attack from those areas in years, and everyone from Dogwood to Buttonbush had been taken aback by her insistence that if they were to fortify one border unnecessarily, then they should fortify all equally.

The Royal family left the council chambers with the King and Princess worrying about Marianne’s reputation and wondering if she could survive until the coronation if she did as she had threatened to do and bring that same fire to the afternoon’s council on taxes and village affairs. Dawn could already imagine her sister tearing into Dogwood the same way she had interrogated Gaillard.

Gaillard who...was now speaking quietly to the future Queen, half-smile on his face and apparently oblivious to Roland and Dogwood’s glares. The commander’s eyes were bright, and his wings flicked animatedly as listened to more of Marianne’s suggestions.

Dawn’s mouth popped open.

“Interesting, ain’t it?” Griselda said at her elbow. “Girl has a talent, that’s for sure.”

Dawn glanced down, and was shocked to see the small goblin woman leaning heavily against the wall. Griselda’s normally pale skin had lightened considerably, and her eyes seemed grey and listless. Even her hair seemed pale and limp. But there was a slight quirk of a smile on her lips, and she looked satisfied despite her exhaustion.

“Griselda!” Dawn hissed, kneeling down to look at her. “What happened?”

The older woman gratefully took the Princess’s arm. “I helped your sister, that’s what. She’s a firecracker, that’s for sure. But…” her limbs were shaking with fatigue. “I dinna think I can do that again. Spirits, girl, that wasp is strong.” And with that, she collapsed into Dawn's arms, and the girl felt the full weight of the sorceress fall against her, right in the center of half a hundred boring eyes.

---------------------------

Well, not perhaps the center, Sunny reconsidered. They were in the first of many wide squares affixed to the top of huge white table fungus that circled the tree like a climbing staircase.

If Sunny had thought the sight from afar was chaos, it was nothing compared to what it felt to be in the middle of it. The fungus was surrounded on all sides with shops and houses, or some crazed combination of the two. The oldest were built into the tree itself, carved from the rotting wood, while newer stalls were bored into the fungus or hung perilously close to the edge. There was no obvious order to the buildings; booksellers were beside metalworkers and only the logic of the crowd dictated any minor order; herders claimed the stalls on the edge, using them to hang nets full of their buzzing food stock; food stalls selling everything from live grubs to steamed herbs clustered around the main thoroughfare; quieter shops selling less common goods tucked into nooks and crannies everywhere. The building materials were just as varied; Sunny saw mushroom-top roofs next to bark siding that would not look out of place in his own village.

And the people. Goblins everywhere, of course, coming in millions of different combinations, from the huge frog-like goblins of the border watch to the tiny half-fish creatures like Thang, intelligent insects of every sort and even pale horned creatures like the Queen Mother. Between them scampered fuzz-folk, mice and muzzled frogs and other forest animals, with no telling which were sentient traders and which were pack mules for their goblin owners. Sunny even saw stranger creatures in the mix; the flash of a brightly colored newt slipping around a corner, something that looked half-bird half-fey, a stand of mushrooms passing around a pipe, even some evil-looking fellows with red hoods screwed down over their heads.

But far more numerous than any others were the elves and that was what made him stop short. He’d never been in a place with so many elves in it, and he knew this wasn’t even one of the busiest markets; far above them were wider shelves that dwarfed this one in size and crowds. But even then, Sunny was overwhelmed. Everywhere he looked there were more elves; elves behind stalls, elves arguing with vendors, elves standing and chatting or eating or leading pack-animals though the street and alleys. All had the same pointed ears of his folk and the same slightly stocky frames, but beyond that they were more varied than his wildest dreams. There were some as big as Pare, others barely taller than himself, and none of them seemed constrained by their size to one job or another; he saw an elf that looked half pixie with bright blue hair and huge protective glasses hammering on a cherry red iron bar, while elsewhere a huge elf was thumbing his way through a book of what appeared to be recipies. Cloths and hair were just as varied as their frames; some wore overalls similar to his own but made of what looked like goblin leather, while others wore garments made from leaves and had tiny flowers braided in kinky hair, and still others appeared to be wearing nothing but paint and belts.

Sunny hid his eyes from the last bunch, flushing furiously at the brazen display. There were children here! Though admittedly not many; while in his village any woman without a child at the breast was in the fields or hard at work, thus leaving homemakers uniformly carrying children, here there was no such order. A stocky elf man had a babe barely out of its pod slung over his shoulder in a sling, while down the street a girl still in diapers tagged after what must be her mother, dragging a grubby stuffed frog behind her. Elsewhere a lanky teenage girl inspected a bark shop’s wares while one hand held the ear of what looked to be a younger brother, and there were quite a few unattended children flitting around the edge of the market, all huge eyes and twitching ears. But for all that he could pick out a child here or there, only one in twenty elves appeared to have a child with them, and none seemed to be proudly showing off their progeny, even the father with two healthy boys. At the same time no-one seemed particularly disgusted with the children, as fairies tended to be. When a babe began screaming its voice was lost in the crowd and ignored, whereas at home an elf child would be silenced immediately, with a warm hug or a worried shush if there were fairies nearby. Here there was no such order, with children being ignored more than given overt affection.

“Well, what d'ya think?” Bog prompted, an amused smile on his face. Sunny’s eyes had widened the instant he walked into the square, and hadn’t stopped moving since, trying to take everything possible in.

“There’s...there’s so many of them! And no fairies or guards at all! And they’re all so different - I didn’t know there could be so many colors of elf at once - do you think they would teach me their music? Or, no, could they teach me to cook? Everything smells so good! And - “

He chattered on, eyes still flashing around them as Bog guided them around the periphery of the market. He was tempted to leave Sunny here, in the lower tradesman’s market, though he doubted a palace elf could appreciate the tools and supplies offered here. Even Cabby didn’t often visit this low on the tree, and Bog couldn’t help but wonder what the elf would have done if they had landed in one of the more impressive high tree markets. Of course, there were fewer dangers to the unwary this low...

“Wait - you even have fairies that live here!”

Bog froze, and looked along Sunny’s pointing arm. His charge’s wide eyes had picked up on a tall woman with bark-brown wings, talking to a gnat-herder across the market. Normally, she would have never noticed the two in the bustling market.

But at Sunny’s words, silence hit, and Bog quickly faded into the background to observe.

Sunny realized something was wrong a bare moment later, as he suddenly felt a dozen eyes on him and silence beginning to pool. One second, he had been talking to Bog, the next there was a widening circle before the gate, with him right in the center of it.

And, walking towards him, was the fairy woman.

She was tall, just as he had suspected, with skin the darkest he’d ever seen on a fairy and bobbed brown hair. She walked like Marianne, all lean grace and with an air that parted the crowds before her.

But what he hadn’t seen from behind was her long, fuzzy rabbits ears and a scar that ran across her entire face.

She stopped before him, in the widening pool of silence, and asked loud enough to be heard by the whole square;

“What did you call me, elf?”

Sunny’s pulse raced, even as his mind took in all the details of the woman; her furry skin, dark wings and half-dozen daggers stashed openly on her cloths.

“S-s-sorry! I just - uh - I was surprised to see a fairy here, that’s all!”

There was an intake of breath from the watching elves, and a few stepped back.

The woman’s eyes flashed and her hand moved fast to grab Sunny’s collar.

“Do I look like a fairy to you?” Her voice hissed.

Confusion quirked his brows as he tried to understand. “Well, yes? You’ve got the wings - “

But she was turning to the watching masses, hoisting Sunny easily as she stood. “Is that so? Does anyone else think I look like a fairy? Anyone else want to say that to my face?”

The circle grew a step wider as more elves shuffled backward from the frozen-faced woman. There were murmurs of ‘no ma’am’ partnered with what appeared to be an impromptu betting pool set up between an ugly goblin and several uglier hobs all smirking at the woman's victim.

The woman turned back to Sunny and held him at arm's length, not a waver in her grip. “So, elf. Do you want to re-think your words? Or shall I go find your clan leader and make you repeat what you just said to me?”

Sense still seemed to have abandoned him and he stuttered. “I - I don’t have a clan. What do I need to repeat? I don’t understand!”

“You don’t understand?” The woman hissed. “You insult me and my clan, and you claim to not understand? How dare you!” And there was a knife in her hand and Sunny felt his life start to flash.

-------------------------------

Marianne broke off her conversation with Gaillard to hurry over to Dawn and Griselda the instant she saw the goblin had fainted. After that no complaints from anyone would dissuade her from gathering the woman up in her own arms and taking her back to her rooms, leaving behind the whole council and the royal family staring after her, the worst of the councilors branding the image in their minds of the future Queen carrying a goblin like a child in her arms.

Most shuddered to themselves, Lady Holly and Buttonbush included, but Gaillard watched her from beside King Desmond with a strange expression on his face and sharp clarity in his eyes.

“I had never thought anyone could make a goblin into an ally.” He said to himself. “But that woman…”

Roland stiffened, and turned to him. With the disgust from the councilors there was plenty of power at his disposal; it should be easy to take control of Gaillard again. But when he pushed out, flooding the man with images and memories of disastrous battles and horrific goblins...the power snapped back to him like a slap in the face. And Gaillard looked at him mildly, eyebrows raised.

“Is something the matter my lord?”

His look was polite, but there was something lurking in his eyes, and Roland realized with dawning horror that the worst had come to past.

He was gone from Roland’s power. Ringed around him was an invisible shield, just like the one that he could barely overcome in Marianne and her father by using all his power. And it was powered by…

Respect. All this time, Roland had been controlling Gaillard by the man's distaste for interfering royal families and idealistic nonsense that would get his men killed. Now...now that distaste had turned to loyalty, as Marianne had proved herself as untried but the opposite of pampered nobility. She had seen weaknesses in the army, and would not accept anything but the best from her men, and offered solid suggestions as to how to improve. Her words had cut through all of Roland’s glamour, and now nothing would turn the man back to him.

And all it had taken was an hour free from his control.

Damn the girl. This could not be tolerated.

----------------------------

“Tha’s enough o’ tha, Flyer.”

Bog was suddenly at Sunny's side, and the elf belatedly realized that some kind of magic must have been at work, for Bog had never left, merely been completely ignored by the fray and the crowd.

But now that was impossible, as the King stood to his full height, towering over any but the half-fairy woman. His voice had boomed across the market, silencing the remaining voices and drawing every eye to him.

Sunny felt his presence like a blow, just as he had on the night of the Spring Dance. Suddenly there was the taste of power in the air, a force that demanded attention if not fealty, snapping out and freezing the population to wakefulness. Others clearly felt it too; the hobs disappeared under their caps and the woman took one look at Bog, swore and dropped Sunny at his feet.

"Sire." She she hissed through her teeth, clearly still furious but unwilling to attack an elf before her king.

"What seems to be the problem?"

The woman gulped, but still jabbed an accusing finger at Sunny. "He called me a fairy, sire."

"I see." Bog glanced down at Sunny, as if he hadn't been standing in the shadows watching the whole time, and Sunny saw a wry glint in his eyes, as if the man was enjoying the act.

"That gives me the right to - " The woman began, but Bog held up a hand.

"Normally, yes. But Sunny here is a visitor from The Light Kingdom."

Eyes widened around the market, and the pool of silence shrunk as curious elves inched forward to see the Light Elf. Murmurs began again at the back, whispers running fast around the circle. Smaller elves bounced on their toes to get a new look at the visitor, and even some shop-keepers were abandoning their wares to edge closer. A fight might be an interesting distraction, but a visitor from Fairy was totally new, and tension rose in the air as fast as the unasked questions.

The woman looked no happier, though. She glared at Sunny. "Is that true, Elf?"

He got to his feet and nodded. "Yes. I'm a - uh - hostage. To - um - make up for the ambassador being hurt."

"So I cannot kill him without starting a war." She said bitterly and sheathed her knife.

“Well, I’d prefer if you didn’t, aye.” Bog answered. “There would be a very angry princess if he does na’ come back in one piece.”

The not-fairy woman sniffed but raised her hands in defeat. “Fine. But if he so much as breathes the word ‘fairy’ again - “

“I’m sorry!” Sunny burst in. “I never would have - I didn’t know it was an insult!”

The woman stopped short. “What else would it be, elf? A complement?”

“Well...yeah! I mean...fairies are pretty, and smart, and can fly. Who wouldn’t want to be a fairy?”

Stunned silence answered him, and the mutters turned dark. But the not-fairy woman’s sneer shifted into a look of...pity?

“Is that what they say? That fairies are everything good in the world? And where does that leave elves and goblins?”

“Um…” Sunny chewed his lip. What would Dawn or Marianne do in this situation? They were the ones trained to be diplomats, not him! But...he couldn’t lie, not with Bog still watching with hooded eyes. “They say goblins are ugly and evil, and elves are stupid, I guess. And small and unimportant and, well, disposable.”

The elves exchanged looks, and one woman stepped forward. “You’re not joking?”

He gulped, but shook his head, feeling the old rhetoric from his school days come back. “That’s why elves work and fairies rule. Because we’re not important.” He sunk into himself, remembering the elf matron repeating the words over and over again. Elves are small. Elves are weak. Elves are unimportant. But some elves were more important than others, and people like Sunny were destined to be ignored by life.

“That’s horrible!” The elf woman, who on closer inspection was wearing a tight-fitting garment much like that of the not-fairy, burst out. “What filthy, ugly lies!” And then she stepped across the space and pulled him forward and into the crowd. “I’m glad you’ve come home!”

And just like that, the crowd softened, and dozens of questions burst out from all over, and the elves pushed in, their curiosity finally overwhelming them. Sunny was jostled and poked at and examined at far too close a distance before the elf woman shoved the hands away.

“Oi, he’s our guest! We get to grill him first!”

“Gale…” the not-fairy began, but was drowned out by groans and complaints shouted at both the elf woman and the King in equal measure.

“Hush, Beau.” The woman returned, then turned to Bog, whose eyes had widened at the sight of the woman then narrowed in contemplation. “He’s insulted the Songbird Clan, and as such we deserve some compensation.” She said. “I think a day’s worth of his time would be good payment, don’t you?”

There were grumbles from the crowd, but everyone seemed to agree that the ‘exchange’ was fair, despite Sunny being at a complete loss as to why the Gale-woman wanted to claim him.

The not-fairy threw up her hands again, but turned as well to Bog. “Well, Sire? May we steal your hostage for a day? Assuming we don’t get fed up and kill him?”

Bog grinned. “If you wish. I have other matters to attend to. See that he returns in one piece, and you can have him.”

“King!” Sunny complained.

“Ah, sorry, elf. The Songbirds are right; you gave them a deadly insult and thus they can demand compensation. You should be glad they only wish to take your time, not your life.”

“But - “

“I’ll meet you in the treetop at sundown. Enjoy your day, Sunny.” And with that Bog buzzed off, abandoning Sunny once again to the dangerous women of the Dark Forest.

-----------------

“Oh, it's you.”

Marianne felt a shift in her arms, and the Queen Mother of the goblins blinked up at her. She was still looking a bit grey around the edges, but the light was back in her smile.

“I thought Dawn was helping me back?”

Marianne felt her own smile. “I’m sure the future Queen can take some time to help her own guests.”

Griselda squirmed out of her arms and landed on the floor with a surprisingly graceful thump. “Aye, I suppose so.”

“Especially with you helping me all throughout the council.”

Griselda froze. “....oh?”

“Ah - I mean…” Marianne flushed. “Back there...I thought I felt you helping me. You know, like you did when we flew back to the castle…”

The Queen Mother could see embarrassment chasing itself around the girl’s head, as she heard how foolish her words sounded and the wasp’s indulgent chiding came back to haunt her and to doubt her own intuition.

Well, she hadn’t intended on informing the girl of her help, but if thanks was being given…

She patted Marianne’s hand. “Aye, I thought you could use a bit of support. Goodness knows my Bog needed it during his early councils, what with all those old reprobates intend on getting all they could out of him.” She winked. “Seems like you have plenty reprobates of your own.”

Marianne stood back up. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. But please, if this ‘support’ exhausts you, I don’t need it. Especially if it would mean informing the Bog King that his mother was harmed under my care.”

Grisleda gave a sigh and pushed herself forward. Despite the joy it brought her to see Marianne giving the council of fools hell, she was right. Things would have been so much easier if she was strong enough to stand against Roland and protect Marianne, but her days as sorceress supreme were long behind her, and that wasp-boy was far stronger than she had expected. She had overstepped her abilities, and was paying the price for it now, with every quavery step and blurry vision.

“Very well. But before that, I need some food! And not any of that fairy silliness either. I mean protein!”

Marianne laughed. “Alright, alright. Why don’t we stop by the kitchens?”

------------

Sunny watched the King of the Dark Forest go with a fair amount of trepidation, feeling completely alone even while swallowed up by a crowd. But even a week and a half with Bog had lead him to trust the older man, and he knew Bog would not leave him in the hands of anyone truly dangerous. Maybe unpleasant or ugly, yes, but never anyone who would permanently harm him.

So he swallowed again and turned to the two women who had 'claimed' him.

Gale was still pushing the crowds away, but the not-fairy Beau was having more luck with her mere presence. She towered over the elves, just like a fairy would, and seemed to get the same mix of respect and nervousness that unexpected fairies received in Elf Villages. Though in her case, Sunny suspected it was because of her knives and scowl, not from the fear of her suddenly doubling the tithe.

He scooched closer, into the circle of quiet around her, for the first time since he was a child wishing he were small and ignored, rather than the center of this jostling, shouting crowd, and grateful for the silence Beau wreathed around herself.

"I really am sorry for the insult. I guess I just wasn't thinking how different things must be here."

Beau snorted. "Light and Dark. I suppose it's no surprise you're both just as stupid."

"What does - "

"Ooof! Beau, we're getting out of here! And you, boy! No disappearing, now." And Gale was back, catching Sunny's hand and boldly dragging them through the still clamoring crowd. Something in her voice snapped him out of his embarrassed slouch, even as she shouted out around them, "No more questions, y'hear? Boy's our guest! You can have him after we get done with him!"

"Aww, c’mon, Gale. I just want to know - " Started one of the vendors, a beefy elf that somehow still managed to look like Dogwood despite the switch in species. He had the same piggy look to his eye, and the same greedy lips.

"I said no, Nort!" Gale snapped, and shoved him away with such rudeness that Sunny winced...and yet the elves all seemed to take it as normal. "You'll get him later, if you can convince the Bog King to give him back."

The gathered elves shuddered but relented, and let them through with minimal further shoving. Curious eyes and shouted questions followed them from stalls and new crowds, but Gale continued to tug Sunny along behind her, up the wide stairs to the next fungal platform, and then down an alley between the store-fronts and the tree bark that Sunny would have never noticed without outside help. Beau had to duck to fit, and she grumbled as her wings scraped against the filthy backs of the stores and the rotting trunk alike. Gale simply ignored her, and pulled Sunny along at a grueling pace which he only realized later was to lose any remaining eyes. Certainly once they had left the first platform most of the watchers had given up and returned to their wares and haggling, while by the time they reached the warren of alleys even the curious children had faded back to the brighter areas of the city and any new eyes simply saw him as another elf.

Sunny had assumed that the alley was some kind of shortcut through the shops of the second market, given its tiny size and the stairs and alleys that branched off of it. He was only half right. As the light dimmed and he found himself panting for breath he realized that they had bypassed the whole of the second market, and had walked into the shadow of the third platform.

Now they were underneath it, in a warren of homes and warehouses he had only glimpsed from outside the tree. The alley they were in went through a tunneled gate next to the trunk, and then turned into carved stairs...but without any of the handrails from his trip up to the first level. Firefly lights and glowing lanterns took the place of natural light, making the path treacherous, but he couldn't concentrate on his feet when the underside of the city was opening up before him.

The houses hung. Sure, some were carved into the tree, or affixed to a multitude of personal mushrooms, but those clearly were owned by the affluent and influential. Everyone else lived dangling from the upper fungi, some in reverse towers twelve houses high, made from curls of bark with their own spiraling stairs matching the cut and bolted to the ceiling with screws large enough to be seen even from far below. Others hung alone, or in disorganized masses that looked like swallows nests, doors and windows appearing without rhyme or reason in every possible surface.

And they were all strung with lights, enough to send the whole undercity twinkling like a constellation, swaying just a bit in the breeze. Lanterns on doorways, strands of lights woven around the ever-present rope bridges, buzzing fireflies constantly fluttering from one perch to another...

It was beautiful. So beautiful that Sunny stumbled to a stop, and nearly didn't notice the precarious swaying of the rope bridge under his feet or think about the two-minute plunge directly beneath him.

But then he screamed and shoved himself flat against the tree, not caring if the bark-bugs ate him whole, eyes widening in total terror as he looked up, and up, at the entire city strung beneath a single fungus.

Gale stopped, and Beau nearly ran into him.

"What's wrong, elf?" She said, stretching up with a sigh and cracking her back. She hated taking the alleys, and would have much rather flown back to the pub.

"This - all of this - is attached to the platforms?"

"Well, yeah." said Gale, turning back to send a confused look at Beau.

"Fungus isn't known for its durability!" He yelped, his voice alone setting the bridge swaying. "This all could collapse at any time!"

Gale considered. "Well, I suppose. But it hasn't happened yet..."

"That doesn't make me feel any better!"

-------------------------

In general, Griselda had been remarkably unimpressed with the palace as she had seen it thus far. True, it was an impenetrable fortress. But it was well lit and airy, even while being cocooned in several hands worth of stone. Everywhere there was light and spindly furniture and wispy draperies to hide the good stone it was built within. Dawn had shown her all around, tittering about the fine fabrics and ancient paintings, and Griselda had done her best not to yawn or look for a good old-fashioned burrow. Everything was too bright, and felt oddly empty.

Of course, her castle had been empty as well, what with most of the goblins at any given time out scavenging in the forest. But the fairy palace seemed full of souls but empty of meaning; fairies flitted around, idly wasting their time on fripperies and looking supremely bored. At least back in the Dark Forest everyone had something to do.

Her opinions changed, though, as Marianne lead her down a well-swept corridor towards the bustling sounds of the kitchen. Each step they took brought them deeper into the under-croft, and closer to a feeling of home. Warm scents wafted from the kitchen, and elf maids bustled about carrying baskets of linens and clothing, while upper servants lounged in corners smoking and chattering, and little boot-boys and messenger girls scurried under foot.

Here, Griselda didn't look out of place, in her worn leather dress and wide, friendly smile. In fact, most didn't give her a second look, mistaking her horns for some kind of bonnet. The others she hid herself from, using barely any power at all to give out an air of 'just a boring old woman'.

Marianne was doing much the same, and apparently without thinking of it. Griselda smiled. She herself had been taught by Plum to make herself invisible, but apparently Marianne was just like Bog, learning to blend in out of necessity. A royal prince or princess couldn't very easily sneak away to the kitchens, or play tag with the other children if everyone was always remembering who they were and what their fathers could do should a stray blow dent the royal head.Much easier to simply blend into the background, wearing a fixed smile and a busy air, relaxing into the crowd and bustling to get where ever one needed to go.

Of course that could not last once one opened one's mouth, as became abundantly clear when Marianne and Griselda finally reached one of the smaller kitchens and all worked stopped when she opened the door.

"Queen Marianne." Hurriedly all the elves set down their work and bowed or curtsied. Then they caught sight of Griselda, and their careful masks of politeness fell away to reveal either fear or disgust.

In the meanwhile, Marianne patted her pockets and let out a sigh. "Damn, I should have - this isn't an official visit. Lady Griselda merely wished to see the kitchens, and perhaps make some requests."

The tension in the room increased, and a wide elf woman with a chef's hat spoke up. "Oh? Are things not to the goblin's liking?"

---------------------

"Oh come on." Beau rolled her eyes and yanked Sunny forward and back out on to the bridge.

Gale shot her friend a look and said calmingly. "The city's not going to fall. They've got supports and things, and plant-mages always checking out the ties. The landlords know what they're doing."

Beau snorted. "Riiight. And if you believe that, I've got a branch to sell you."

Sunny's brows quirked up and his feet began moving on their own. "A...branch?"

Beau hid a snort, but Gale said nothing because her friend's words were coaxing the Light Elf out. "Right. Big huge branch, out by the bog fields, just came down. Ain't been touched..."

Sunny narrowed his eyes. "Why would I want a branch?"

Beau groaned and complained to Gale. "Man, he can't even understand a joke!"

Sunny huffed, still oblivious to the fact that he was following after them across the swaying bridge to the end hub of the alley. "I recognized the joke. We do it with berry-plants. But why would you want a branch?"

"Good real-estate." Gale explained. "The ground here is poor, so if you want to grow mushroom houses or have a good bark shelter you need to build off of downed trees."

"Oh. That makes a lot of sense! In the Light Fields the fairies mostly claim branches, and have them chopped for firewood and sell off the bark to the elves."

Beau raised a brow. "I can't see a fairy wielding a saw or peeling a branch."

Sunny tried not to glance at her worn, calloused hands, totally unlike a dainty fairy’s. In some ways they were better proof of the woman's insistence that she was no fairy than all of her words combined. "Well...no, they mostly just oversee the elf work-crews. And if you're lucky, they'll let you have your land back once the branch comes down, rather than claiming it in compensation for the work." That had happened to his father’s fields, after a particularly nasty windstorm had brought five thick branches down by his village, and his whole family had toiled for seasons before they’d earned enough to rent the land back.

Gale hissed between her teeth. "Some of the things you say, boy, are damn hard to believe. How'd the fairies stop the elves from making off with their product if they're not doing the work, huh?"

"But that would be stealing!" Sunny complained. "The Fairies have rights to everything on their lands, and we elves only borrow it!"

Gale shook her head. "Don't make any sense to me, boy. Here, who ever gets to something first gets to claim it. No idiocy of owning lands or fealty to a man ya can’t buy. Seems damn silly to me."

"But Bog inherited his castle, and the kingdom..."

Gale paused, and Sunny wondered if he had said something wrong, only to instead realize that the woman had stopped in front of what looked like an inn that dominated most of the end of the alley. Unlike most of the houses they had been passing, this one had wide, tall doors that even Beau could walk through easily.

Gale held the door open for them both. "Kings are different. But he doesn't own the Dark Forest, he just rules it, o'cording to the old pacts the clans made with his great-great-etc grandfather. He’s a mediator first, an’ King second. He doesn’t collect anything like tithe; we pay him for his services as needed; a certain amount from each village an’ clan for the army ifin we want protection, and more for each trade deal or council meeting he oversees. An’ its all written out in the books, services rendered, accounts paid. Some might pay more, and use his services more often, but the elves and moths don’t need his help, ‘cept with negotiations.”

“...and the castle?”

“He got that on his father’s death-bed, and after he fought all the opponents for the throne to prove to the clans that he deserved it. Nasty fight, too. He's still got scars from it, despite twenty odd seasons of molts. But ya see? Bog earned his title, and every one of us can see what he does for his job." Gale’s eyes sparked, and Sunny wondered at her vehemence. She seemed to hate the Fairy Lands just as much as Beau, but with a hatred less focused on the one note of otherness as the not-fairy woman was. Instead Gale seemed lightning fast to defend the elves against the fairies, something not even Sunny’s father would do after half a barrel of beer.

But the fire died in her eyes as he stared at her, eyebrows up and confusion on his face.

“Atch, nevermind. Beau, find us a table.” But the barkeeper was already pulling out chairs for them, grinning broadly.

“Songbirds! What a pleasure to see you this far down-tree!” The heavy elf-woman clapped Gale on the back. The back of her hands were dappled brown and green, and Sunny’s eyes widened as he realized her to be some kind of elf-goblin crossbreed. “And who’s your friend? This the elf everyone’s talking about?”

Gale rolled her eyes and handed over some kind of coin. “Yes, Grubby, but please be quiet about it, would you?”

The woman laughed again. “Aye, anything for an old friend. But I want to see what this elf’s made of before ye leave, hear?”

Gale shrugged and Beau smiled down at Sunny with an all too eager look. He gulped, wondering what horrible thing he would be expected to do to prove himself, and wishing he could fade into the background like Bog did earlier.

“Hey, don’t be running away now.” Gale said, her cool hand on his arm startling him. “Sit down, have a drink, and tell us more about yourself!” She shoved a stool at him. “And ignore Beau glowering over there. She just thinks that everyone in the Light Kingdom is the same.”

“Well, they are!” Snapped Beau, arms crossed and slouching in her chair.

Sunny shifted in his chair, tempted to do the same. But whatever Gale had bribed the barkeeper with, it was keeping his identity secret for the moment. Eyes glanced at the newcomers, then shifted away, only mild interest and a few smiles and nods for the Songbirds. As he shifted again he realized that, despite its rather ratty appearance, the bar was well outfitted for all the various patrons. The stools were tall but comfortable, with rungs that made it easy to climb up to the level of the table, something that no fairy or elf bar he’d ever performed in had offered. Beau’s chair was different from the elves’; smooth and backless to allow for wings, while the chairs the goblins used were stout and sturdy in every way. There were various tables as well, and stools to go with each of the appropriate size. There were even sloped tables with intermittent level areas so all patrons could sit and converse while being equally comfortable. The bar had a similar design, and everyone treated the idea as if it was completely normal, despite this being the first time Sunny had ever been able to sit comfortably sharing a table with someone fairy sized.

The comfort gave him more courage, as did the appearance of Grubby with some kind of hot, spicy beverage that made his mouth water the instant he smelled it. It burned as he sipped it, but he couldn’t taste any alcohol, despite everything he’d assumed when walking into the bar. It was merely hot and spicy, shaking him awake from his worry and prompting him to speak more easily.

“I don’t know if we’re all the same." He said honestly, though he certainly felt more akin to the elves here than the fairies in the Light Kingdom. "But there’s certainly not nearly as much variety where I live. There’s fairies, elves, and fuzz-folk, and that’s about it. Nothing like here!”

“How so?” Gale prompted, sipping her drink without the little winces Sunny kept giving every time he burnt his tongue.

“Well...there’s no mixing between people. If you’re elf, you’re elf. Voles stick with voles, and fairies are above us all. When I started dating Dawn everyone hated it. They still do, I guess.”

“Dawn?” Beau prompted, her eyes narrowing, having heard the name somewhere before.

“Ah - my girlfriend. The second Princess. She’s...well, she’s amazing. Got the prettiest wings and the brightest smile. And she’s so kind and everyone can feel it. She walks into a room and it’s as if - “

He trailed off, looking at the shocked expressions on his companions' faces.

"...as if the sun was breaking through the clouds..."

"You are a suitor to the Princess?!" Beau's mouth was open. "But...a fairy would never...what about all that stuff you said earlier, about elves knowing their place and all?"

But Gale looked like a mouse who'd been given a whole cheese. Her grin was almost predatory, as if she had never expected their windfall to have born fruit so quickly. It was easier to keep talking than deal with the look in her eye.

"Dawn isn't like that.” He said “I grew up with her in the castle, and I don't think she even noticed we were any different until she grew her wings. And Marianne - that's the future Queen - didn't treat me any different than her sister, no matter how much trouble we got her into. And King Desmond...he doesn't approve, but just wants Dawn to be happy, even if that means she'll be with me."

Beau shook her head. "And I wondered how you could be so casual around the Bog King. You're practically royalty!" But the way she said it indicated her words were no compliment and Sunny sunk in his seat.

"What are the king and the queen like?" Prompted Gale, shooting a look at Beau.

"King Desmond...he's old fashioned. He thinks that elves have their place and fairies are above them. But he treats us fair, and works just as hard as Bog for his kingdom." Sunny said honestly. Then he perked up. "Marianne's the same, but there's nothing old fashioned about her! She's the reason I'm here; It was her idea to invite the Bog King to the fairy lands to have talks, and she supported me as being an ambassador rather than just a hostage to make up for Cabby's injury. But even before that... her whole life she's been saying we shouldn't be afraid to talk to the forest. Ever since we were kids. If it wasn't for the w- " He paused, and spoke over his words. "I mean, Sir Roland, her fiance, I think she'd be halfway to opening up the borders and giving the elves their lands back."

"You seem to have a lot of faith in your Queen." Gale said.

"Well, yeah. I've known her my whole life. I grew up hanging on her skirt-tails and running after her and Dawn both. Before the whole Roland thing she was the most sensible fairy I'd ever met, as sensible as an elf, even. I guess that comes from having to be mother and Queen both after her mother died."

Unbidden, the memory of that day returned, flickering at the edges of his mind.

Sunny didn't remember Queen Juniper, but he did remember the first day he and Dawn had spent together, as adults around them were overwhelmed by grief and oblivious to the little eyes watching in complete confusion. Dawn hadn't cried for her mother, still too young to understand that she was gone, but had wailed every time her father or sister had entered the room, feeling the grief that had pulsed around them, earning disgusted looks from the fairies and councilors who expected a royal princess to behave herself in public with the same stony, frozen expressions of the King and Crown Princess. It had been all Sunny could do to distract her, a loss himself as to why everyone had turned cold, making up songs and games until they had both been bundled into his mother's arms and hidden away from the chaos and anger. He and Dawn had been inseparable since then and by the time the King had risen from his grief to notice that his youngest had spent the last year beneath the floors rolling around with elf children there was little he could do about it. Marianne, of course, was happy to see her sister finally with friends that wouldn't push her down and laugh at her tears. She welcomed Sunny wholeheartedly and had defended anyone who dared voice a complaint against Sunny within her earshot.

So it was easy for him to speak and defend her.

"I know that she'll do whatever she can to fight for what is right, even if that means standing up against the council and half the fairy nobility. I just wish it wasn't so hard on her." He said, remembering the first hesitant smile on the eldest princess's face, a full season after the death of her mother. He had hoped never to see that pained, resigned expression she had worn for that first year ever again...but Roland had returned her to it in force. “But I know that if the other elves could just see this place, she would have allies all over.”

“Tch. And why would we want to allow Light Elves into our Forest?” Beau asked. “They’re almost as bad as fairies, right Gale?”

The older woman nodded slowly. “They certainly would have to answer for their actions.” Then she patted Sunny’s hand reassuringly. “But not you, Sunny. You’re too young to have left babes by the border, so most of us canna hate you on sight.”

His brow knotted. “What do you - oh. You don’t like fairies and elves because that’s where goblins come from?”

The women exchanged glances, Beau’s reeking of ‘can you believe this guy’?

“You really don’t understand what this forest is built on, do you?” Gale said more kindly. “No wonder you insulted Beau so.”

“What do you - “

“I’m a goblin!” The not-fairy declared.

“What? But you don’t look anything like a goblin!”

Beau hissed. “Right, because I look like a fairy? Where do you think goblin’s come from?”

“Bog said from unwanted cross-breeds…”

“Aye. And what do you think I am?” Beau snapped, then softened at Sunny’s look of panic, “Go ahead and say it, I won’t hit you this time. Everyone can see it anyways.”

He gulped, but she was right, her parentage was plain to see. “Well...you’re a cross between a fairy and a rabbit, right?”

Gale nodded. “That’s what we think, yes. She was found beneath the primrose gate, just like all of us foundlings.”

For the first time, Beau's shoulders slumped. "My mother must have been so disgusted that she left me on the border, to die or be taken in by goblins. Which - " she brightened, "Makes me a goblin, just like Grub at the bar."

She sounded proud of this fact, and Sunny tried to fit the worn, intelligent woman in with his idea of goblins.

A week ago he could have never understood it, but now he was starting to see the logic.

"So...you were picked up at the border and taken in, just like that?"

"Yes. The border guard found me and sold me to the Songbird Clan. They could see that I would be an asset." She flared her wings, for the first time seeming proud of them.

"Wait, you bought her?" Sunny squeaked, looking accusingly at Gale.

“Well I personally didn’t.” Gale said. “I was still an apprentice then. But now I buy plenty of kids for the Clan. After all, we always need new members, and there were always new babes found at the border, until the King set up the Ban on Love.”

“But what about your parents?” He prompted, and both women snorted.

“Parents? What good are they? The Clan is what matters here. Most people don’t even know their birth parents, whether or not they were left at the border or sold apprenticed from a ‘loving’ home.” Beau explained, sarcasm dripping from the word love. “Its efficient, and the kids find a real family and a good job, assuming they make it to adulthood. It's better than having orphanages full of unwanted babes and empty stomachs.”

“I...guess?” Sunny said. He’d never seen an orphan, only heard fairy stories of them. But if everything Gale and Beau were saying was true, the reason for it wasn’t because the Light Kingdom had no need of them...but because they had been using the whole of the Dark Forest as an orphanage for generations. “But...I can’t imagine growing up without knowing my mother. Or without my brothers and sisters.”

Gale raised a brow at the noted exception of his father but did not mention it. “Oh, clan mentors can act as much the same, and some actually are a kid’s parents; it’s not uncommon to have one’s own children join the same clan. My girls are both Songbirds, and my boy keeps in touch though he’s tied to the Grower Clan. And for those of us without parents, some are tied to those who found us on the border.”

Beau nodded. “My finder visits now and again, and I always take Boris flying in thanks.” She paused. “I suppose...if that’s what like having a father is like, then it wouldn’t be too bad. But I would never accept a 'parent' who would rather leave their child to be eaten than take responsibility for it!”

Sunny gulped. “I...I swear, I didn’t know about that until I came here. My parents - they never would have done something like that.” At least, his mother wouldn’t have. She was a fierce protector of all children who fell into her care. “But...I grew up after the Ban. I think that changed things a lot...but I had never considered that it might be for the better.”

“Trust me, it was.” said Gale. “Used to be there was a kid left on the border each week, some still in eggs or pods. And the patrols didn’t always get to them in time...and you’ve never seen a goblin cry like they do when they lose a little one. T’aint easy having kids in this forest, and even if someone wasn’t born one of us, losing one before they get a chance in the world seems awful unfair.” She shook her head. “I know goblins don’t grieve if an adult dies, but everyone cries over a babe, elf and goblin alike.”

“And now that doesn’t happen anymore, because of Bog King.” Beau said. “So if your Queen thinks trade means letting the primroses grow again, she’s got another thing coming.”

“No, I don’t think Marianne wants anything like the repeat of what happened to Dawn.” Sunny promised. “And the more she hears of what the flowers did to the Dark Forest, the more likely she is to take up the ax herself. We all grew up thinking ‘love’ was the best thing in the world...that’s what all the stories say. I guess...none of us ever thought of the consequences, or saw what happened after the potion wore off.”

“Aye, well you’re looking at two ‘consequences’. “ said Beau. “An every goblin worth their pelt knows that ‘love’ is just a pretty lie told by pretty fairies.” The word ‘pretty’ on her lips was uttered like a curse, and Sunny was beginning to see why, if this was what the Dark Forest thought of the Light.

Yet - “I don’t believe that.” He insisted. “Love...love is strange, I guess. I’ve done some really, really stupid things for it. And people were hurt because of it. But at the same time, before Dawn and I were together, no one had ever thought a fairy and an elf could be happy together. And I think, maybe, that just by loving we’re changing things for the better. Without her, I’d never have had the courage to come here, or to talk to Bog, or to try and change things. I’d still be the littlest elf that was beneath the world’s notice.

“Cutting Love out completely...its just as bad as letting the ideal run rampant, isn’t it? You can’t live in a world without love; there’d be no joy or family or wonder. But just like you said, if you don’t think of the consequences, then people stop looking around them and thinking of the chaos they create.”

“Well said, Light Elf.” Gale said. “There aren’t many who would agree to such words here, “ she jerked a thumb at Beau, who rolled her eyes. “But if there are others like you in the Light Fields who truly believe that, perhaps our two peoples have a chance after all.”

“Hah.” said Beau. “Talk morality all you like, it won’t change the fact that half of us are here because no one wanted us in the Light Fields.”

“Maybe in the past, but it’s different now!” Sunny said. “Marianne - the Queen - thinks that our culture is stagnating without connection to the Dark Forest. We’ve been cut off for too long; its killing all of the elves slowly.”

“How so?” Gale asked.

“Um...well, our birthrate has dropped. Bog said that just meant we weren’t having ‘broods’ any more, but it’s worse than that. When I was a kid every family always had at least four kids; now new couples are lucky if they can have one every few years, and the fairy landlords are mighty angry about it. All of us are smaller, too, supposedly because elves aren’t meant to live only on berries and grain, and as a result we’re weaker and get sick easier. Marianne said that before the border shut down there was a huge trade in grubs and beetles, and some of the council seemed interested in starting that up again.

“But beyond that...we’ve been losing our culture. I always thought it was just the old folk complaining, before I came here. But now - I finally know what they mean. Being and elf is about more than just old traditions and parties; its gotta have something to do with the music and life I’ve seen here. I know I wouldn’t be alone in saying Alder Town felt more like home than my village ever has, and I’ve only been here a few hours. But the music, and the food, and the songs...they all feel so much more real, more vibrant, than anything I’ve ever felt back at home. You have something that we’ve lost, or had beaten out of us by the fairies, and I don’t know how I could go back to living without the knowledge of what could be.”

He paused, embarrassed by his speech and the way that Gale looked at him with an impressed smile. Even Beau’s expression had softened.

He quickly added. “Not that I’d want to live here forever. Home is great too. But somehow we’ve got to be able to combine the two.”

Gale nodded. “You’re more right than you know, boy. the Dark Elves have known for generations that remaining forever in the Dark Forest was not good for elf-folk. We need sun to be healthy, and living in this twilight can do bad things to us. Just look at Whinny over there." Just jerked her head towards a portly elf woman who was chatting animatedly with a fellow trader.

At first, Sunny couldn't see what Gale was referring to. The woman seemed happy enough, her hair cut short and wearing the garments he had already begun to associate with the farmers and fungi growers. The only odd thing was the odd black tattoos that radiated from her mouth, and the way she occasionally interrupted herself to cough into her flagdon. Black powder puffed from her lips every time she did so, and her companion paused awkwardly, looking almost pitying.

Sunny's eyes widened. "What - "

"They call it the black rot. Comes from mold getting in the lungs. T'aint contagious, we think. But once you get it, it's only a matter of time. Spend a month in the sun in the upper trees, and it halts the advance and gives you a few more years. But most can’t leave their work for so long, and so Whinny there is making the most of what time she has left. Ain’t many of us die from age here, but from the rot and other illnesses like it.”

“Don’t you have doctors?” Sunny asked, his eyes scanning the room and finding more elves and goblins with the signature lines of the rot.

“We’ve got healers, yes. But we don’t have sunlight, or anyone with enough knowledge to study it. The Bog King has people working on it, and so do the biggest clans, but they haven’t had a breakthrough in ten years.”

“I heard that the Light Fields have lots of doctors.” Beau added. “But they would never help elves or goblins, would they?”

Sunny set his chin. “Maybe the council wouldn’t see the use in it, but there’s a doctor at the castle, Ibis, that could care less about what fairies think. She’s the one who saved Lady Cabby, and if anyone could discover a cure to the Black Rot, it would be her. She’s coming to the next meeting to check on her patient; I’m sure if someone reached out she would be happy to help.”

“Is she a fairy?” Beau asked, eyes narrowed.

“She’s a doctor first, and fairy second.” He insisted, knowing for certain that Dr. Ibis would never be able to leave behind a whole people suffering when she could perhaps cure them. “But why hasn’t Sugar Plum done anything about it? Surely she could use her magic to - ”

Beau and Gale balked. “Jeeze, I keep forgetting you’re well connected.” Gale remarked, while Beau said. “How can you so casually talk about the Witch? After all she’s done to us, and you think we want her help?”

“But she’s so powerful. Surely if anyone in the Forest could cure the plague, it would be her.”

Gale shrugged. “Perhaps. But she’s shown no desire to do so, even after living here all these years. And for goblins and elves who cannot even afford a month in the upper trees, how do you think they could afford one of Plum’s Potions?”

“I guess I hadn’t thought of that.” He admitted.

"The elves and the goblins have no love for that witch." Beau hissed, crossing her arms and glaring. "Her and her primroses are to blame for all of us who live in the shadows. And she seems to think that love is the only solution! As if love has ever allowed someone back into the light fields, rather than hidden them further in shadow. The ban against her is only fair, given what she's done."

Sunny's eyes went up. "Ban?"

"Aye." Gale answered. "The Primrose Pixie isn't allowed within the borders of any elf town. It wasn't a problem while she was imprisoned, of course, but now that she's free, she might get up to her old tricks again, plying that potion and bringing little goblins and elves to grief, as she did before the ban on Love."

"Wow, I guess that explains why she's had me doing most of her collecting. She's not really welcome anywhere outside the palace."

"And she's not particularly wanted within it, if the rumors are true." added Gale.

"I guess..." Sunny agreed, but went back to sipping his drink before he was tempted into defending the pixie. From everything Gale and Beau had said, it sounded like they had good reason to dislike Plum. But it didn't seem quite fair; even if she was a tad overbearing, the pixie really did have her heart in the right place. She just was easily distracted and overly dramatic about it.

"But enough about that!" Gale said, pulling the table from the silence it had fallen into. "Tell us more about yourself, Sunny! And about this trade that Bog wants to set up."

"Uh - " Sunny considered. "I'm not sure if I'm the best person to ask about that last bit. I don't have connections to anyone in the fairy council, and they're the ones you'd have to talk to about trade, since they tax it all."

"Pssh." Gale said, waving a hand. "Before the border closed, there was plenty of trade between the Fields and Forest, quiet like. There were elves, or goblins close enough that could look elvish, that showed up on market days in half the Light Village hearabouts."

Sunny blinked to himself. Suddenly, the stories he heard as a child of fantastical foods and exotic spices coming from the borderlands made far more sense, as did the fact that after the ban his father let none such ingredients into his house...while at the same time praising any elf that wa clever enough to 'steal back what's rightfully ours'. The older generations must have known the true origin of the foods; and so they ate the costly delicacies and pretended they came from heroes rather than exiles. And they were just as quick to ban and scorn it when politics divided the two people completely.

"I assume the fairies knew about it." Continued Gale. "Because it stopped right up the moment the Ban on Love went up. We always thought it was some way of punishing us, but everyone was so happy that we wouldn't be getting so many babes left on the border that we were willing to deal with a few seasons of hardships. Now though..."

"If there's a cure for the rot out there in the fields, we'll take it, even if it means dealing with those hypocrites again." Beau said. "But it's not as if any of us can leave the Forest with offers, what with the army flashing around, and there hasn't ever been an elf courageous enough to sneak in with an offer..."

"Well.." Sunny swallowed. "I'm here, aren't I? Maybe...maybe I could visit some of the village around the border - if the King allows me, of course - and ask around?"

Gale lit up, her grin nearly splitting her face, and she nudged Beau hard with an elbow. "See, Beau, I told you Sunny here could bring us opportunities. And you were going to simply kill him! Now. Tell me more of the kind of things these border villages might want."

Sunny nibbled at his lip, the predatory look in Gale's eyes reminding him enough of Nero to remind him not to give the whole kingdom away without something in return. After all, these elves expected everything to be done by barter, right?

"Okay, but in return, you've got to explain to me about Alder Town and answer any questions about the Dark Elves. Fair?"

Gale's grin dropped from predatory to proud, as if Sunny had passed some kind of hurdle. "Fair." She said, and thrust out a hand to order more drinks. "Another round of your courage-brew, Grub. Looks like it's working wonders on this boy!"

-------------------------------------

Back in the Light Kingdom, Dawn was searching for her sister. High and low, everywhere within the castle she could think of, but not a sign of the Future Queen ever since she had rushed off escorting the Goblin Diplomat.

There were whispers about that, all around the court, and half-concealed sneers that tempted Dawn to go against her better nature and step on a few toes or wing-tips. Certainly she, too, was pampered, and hadn't the training for negotiations that her older sister had, but couldn't the other fairies see how important it was to treat their guests with respect? Even if they hated the goblins and the Dark Forest, what would happen if word got out that they had treated a fellow Queen poorly? There were other, more important allies that expected to be honored and might look askance at simple courtesy being ignored for even a goblin queen.

Dawn gritted her teeth and resisted the toe-stomping impulse. It wouldn't do to have Roland catch sight of her now. As she and her father had returned to their private wing following the disastrous meeting, Dawn had realized that Roland must have had them under his sway yet again. Bog would have been cheering at the way Marianne stood up to her fiance and the military leaders, but all Dawn had been able to think about until she had left Roland's presence was how un-lady-like and childish Marianne had been.

Childish! Her sister, who had been sketching out charts and attack patterns and arguing eloquently against any who would prefer to waste resources rather than better train the army. In any other meeting, one with her father, for example, the councilors would have listened close and applied their logic, or at least their own need to save their skins, to Marianne's words.

But no, almost every councilor had left shaking their heads at their future Queen's supposed inexperience. Even Dawn, who should have known better! And even then, Roland was clearly unhappy, for he flew off almost immediately and had reappeared, two hours later, a pout on his pretty face despite the mobs of adoring courtiers that fluttered around him.

Dawn slipped out of the main courtyard and back into the shadows, away from his glare. Marianne's courage, fueled by Griselda's supportive magics, had clearly infuriated him. And now he could no more find her than Dawn could, and that was making his closest allies, his Lieutenants, look a tad nervous. Luckily the presence of his fans, and his near-traitorous complaints about the naivety of his fiance, were calming him somewhat.

The youngest princess nibbled at her lip - a habit that Sunny had picked up from her, but looked far cuter on her half-pouting lips - and took a shortcut back towards Griselda's rooms. She'd already checked there once while looking for her sister, but perhaps...

A bark of laughter stopped her in her tracks. Then it came again, echoing down the servant's hall, unmistakably her sister's signature chuckle. It had been over two months since she'd heard it, and then only for the short period between the canceled and rekindled engagement. Before, Marianne had tried to silence her laughs, just as she had so much about herself, and since then there had been little to laugh about.

But now...Dawn hurried down the hall and opened a door into a tiny side-pantry from which the laughter had come, a smile already pulling at her lips. Who could have sparked such a sound?

"And then, he holds up up the frog, horrified as can be, and says 'But what if it turns into a prince?!' "

The three around the barrel-turned-table burst into laughter again, and Dawn had to pause to take in the tableau.

There was Griselda, perched on a box, arms gesturing wildly, still in the grip of the story, warm light of the fire glinting against her pale skin. And Ma Dai, Sunny's mother, howling and slapping her thigh, tears of laughter streaming down her face. And finally Marianne, gangly fairy legs almost up to her ears as she sat, head muffled in her knees, trying to hide her loud guffaws.

The trio quieted for a moment, Marianne and Dai still snickering, and Griselda shared out more tea from the rusted iron kettle that hung on the fire behind her. The three chipped tea cups almost took up the whole top of the barrel table, but neither Marianne nor Griselda seemed to care in the least.

"Well, you should hear the story of when Marianne tried to go blackberry hunting with her bed-sheets!" Ma Dai began, only to be cut off by Marianne pleading "Mercy! Mercy, please!" to another round of laughter.

Only then did Dai look up and catch sight of Dawn. For a moment, worry eclipsed joy in Dawn's heart; she had heard that the servant elves had started bullying Sunny again in the wake of him courting a princess. His mother had more than enough reason to hate Dawn now...

But the smile on her wrinkled face only turned warmer when she saw Dawn, and she immediately stood to fetch another cup. "Looks like your tender has come to collect you, Mari."

The future Queen craned her head around to see her sister, and sighed - but it was a sated happy one not the quiet, defeated ones she gave around Roland.

"Ah, I suppose that means I need to get back to afternoon council." She stood and stretched.

"Oh, aye?" Dai said as she handed a cup to Dawn. "You sure you're not just trying to escape the blackberry story?"

Marianne chuckled. "Only a little bit. But I think I've had my fair share of public embarrassment for one day. Goodness, I never should have let you two meet!"

Griselda and Dai laughed as well, and Griselda added. "Not meet this lovely lady? Not meet the best cook in the castle? Girl, that's almost torture, and you don't go around torturing guests! Unless they ask for it, o'course."

She winked at Dai, setting the other woman chuckling rather than looking horrified as most of the other elves did upon hearing one of Griselda's jokes. What had happened over the last two hours? Dawn wondered.

Dai's expression turned serious a second later, though. "So you'll remember what I said about the babes and the fuzz-folk?" She looked up at Marianne.

Marianne nodded. "Of course. This only confirms what I've heard - and what I've feared. And even if the council doesn't agree, I'm sure Sunny can set something up with the border elves."

The tension that had grown in Dai's shoulder released, and she shook her head, bemused. "I can't believe my boy is out there, tramping through that forest, changing the world." Then she smiled, and impulsively wrapped both Marianne and Dawn into a giant hug. Never mind that she barely reached either fairy's waist, the warmth of the gesture brought smiles and memories of days long since gone, of hiding beneath kitchen tables with cookies, ruffled hair and stern but loving hands.

Both Princesses leaned into the touch of their almost-mother, the woman who had overseen so much of their childhoods when their father was either too grief-stricken or busy to see to the care of his daughters.

The moment lasted only so long, though, and then Dai pulled away, her eyes misty with the same nostalgia the girls felt. "Well. Off you three go, now." She drove her guests forward with fluttering hands. "Can't miss a fairy council, now can we?"

Marianne sighed again; ruefully this time, but squeezed Dai's shoulder in friendship then turned to leave.

"Mari." The elf matron said, calling her back after she was halfway out the door. "Don't...don't be a stranger, hear? You come back down anytime you want. You'll always be welcome."

A smile flickered across the future Queen's face, and she nodded before ducking beneath the door frame.

She found Dawn and Griselda waiting for her at the end of the corridor, right before the entrance into the upper castle. Part of her wanted to go back, to run behind Ma Dai's skirts and hide like she had as a child. But Queens couldn't run from their problems forever, so she squared her shoulders and strode back out into the light.

--------

"Alright, let me run through this again." Sunny studied the map before him, trying to ignore how completely different it was from any map he'd seen in the fairy kingdom. Rather than being flat, the map Gale had pulled from her pouch was three-dimensional, a mobile constructed of cut leaves, spiraling from bottom to top, suspended between two strings when unfurled.

"So there are seven main markets of Alder Town. Spiraling from bottom to top." He pointed to the first lea, the one that rested on the table-top. "The dung market is the first market, and sits nearest to the ground. It's on the living side of the tree, and downwind from the rest of the markets."

"You probably don't want to go there in summer, unless you've got a really good reason to." Beau said. "The smell can knock out anyone unprepared."

"But it's still one of the most important markets in the city." said Gale. "Farmers from all around come there to get fertilizer or to sell their livestock waste. And the heat it generates during winter keeps the whole tree warm."

"I guess that makes sense. But still. Ew." said Sunny. "Next up is the meat market, which was where I met you, though we were on the lower levels."

"And the main thing they sell there?" Gale prompted.

"Livestock of all kinds, and anything to do with it. So most of the major traders are on the edge, where they can corral their herds. We really don't have anything like that in the Fields; other than our cart-mice we don't keep many animals. And the fairies don't eat meat, so the elves don't either."

"Trust me, you haven't lived until you've had a good grub-bark stew." Gale said.

Sunny had to agree. Gale and Beau had insisted on feeding him when they found out that elves in the Fields only ate grains and berries. And the scents coming from Grubby's kitchen had cautiously won him over, though he had nearly bolted when the goblin matron had brought out three bowls with ugly white maggots covered in broth. They still had the eyes, and Sunny had nearly hurled as he forced himself to take the first bite, feeling horrifically guilty all the way.

But then, after that first bite, it had been all over. Rich and savory, with thick spices that burned the roof of his mouth while demanding that he eat more, he barely even registered what he was eating as he gobbled it down. The only flavor that had come close was the roasted nut-meats he'd had once at a fairy ball, and those had been costly, roasted for days, and prepared by an expert chef. The stew, on the other hand, was served from a giant rusted black pot that Grubby kept behind the bar and watched with only half an eye. The idea that this was just mediocre cuisine left Sunny's mouth watering even as his higher brain recoiled from the contents.

"So meat-mart, then the Green Market, which sells all other food and rings the tree there." He pointed to the wide plate that dwarfed the whole rest of the map, from which all the other lower markets hung from, though even it wasn't the largest of the markets.

Of course, there were also two dozen or so miniature shelves that held markets like the one he had first seen; usually offering places to eat away from the hustle and bustle of the main markets, as well as more specialized shops dealing obliquely with the main markets. Sunny now knew that the blacksmith he had seen specialized in tools for slaughtering stock, while others specialized in gnat-tags and brands. Cookbooks and farmers almanacs were the main thing sold in the bookstores around the meat market, and there were even specialist doctors who could diagnose diseases in stock animals. What had at first seemed a complete disorder was, well, still chaos, but a chaos with a central theme.

The higher up the tree one went, the more specialized the little markets became, and the more expensive.

"After food, on the living trunk is the spice market, followed by a general trader's market that sells everything from textiles to furniture. That sits in the saddle of the tree and expands to all of the shelves up both trunks. On the dead trunk is the smithy and artificers market, then the magic market. Schools are on the living side of the tree, homes usually on the dead side, because that's the easiest place to grow the fungi. The upper branches are mostly given over to the birds on the living side, and the moth-people on the dead side, but it's up to the city to make sure their best traders aren't eaten by any errant birds." He had closed his eyes during the recitation, but popped one open to find Beau and Gale nodding approvingly.

"Which is where we come in." said Beau. "The Songbird clan acts as messengers and intermediaries between the two trunks, and the enforcers if a bird gets out of line."

"Sortof like Bog does for the whole forest."

Beau paused and considered this. "I suppose so. I'd never thought of it like that."

"Where do the Guardians come in?"

Gale pointed to the bottom of the map, and then again to fork that jutted off from the top of the tree. "Nero lives in a burrow beneath Alder's roots, while Bueto lives in a nest in the canopy. Neither interfere much in daily affairs, but they do question any unusual parties seeking to enter the city."

"We usually only deal with Bueto." Beau said. "Since we watch the upper reaches just as she does."

Sunny nodded. "That makes sense. But how do you, and the other people who work for the benefit of the tree, get paid? I don't see why you'd go out of your way to protect everyone for nothing in return."

Beau shrugged and turned to Gale, letting the elder woman explain.

"The major clans; Growers, Herders, Traders and Artificers - and all the minor clans like the Songbirds - have monthly meetings in which we agree on payment for various services. Generally, in every clan there are a few whose sole purpose is to attend these meetings and agree on the proposed payments. I did it for a few years, and it's the most god-awful boring waste of time under the sun, but there are some who enjoy it, and generally we try to reward those who are willing to sit through it with a certain amount of respect."

"But you all did this voluntarily? Agreeing to council and accepting the Guardians?"

"Well..." Gale shrugged.

"If you want to work in Alder Town, there are some basic rules you have to follow, set down by Old Man Alder himself. Mostly it has to do with attending council and listening to the king. But you're always free to ignore the council and work just on a pay as you need it basis. Plenty of folks do that. And all the clans take work outside the council and outside the city. No one has to follow the rules, as long as you're willing to pay for any damages."

Sunny shook his head. "That doesn't seem like it should work. I mean, without fairies - or at least lords and landowners - there should be total chaos. That's what they always said in school; without King and Crown, we would be nothing but barbarians."

"A little barbarism does the soul good." said Beau, a slight smile on her lips.

"So you were taught that the elves needed to be ruled because otherwise there would be total chaos?" Gale asked.

"They never outright said that but...I guess." Sunny swirled the dregs of his drink, not willing to meet Gale's narrowed eyes.

The older woman sighed and leaned back. "Well, it might be a bit disordered, but I can't imagine living any other way, and that's the truth. I just wish I knew why they treat elves so poor back in the Light Kingdom."

"Its...it's always been that way. I guess...it comfortable.. And we've never really questioned it."

"That don’t make it right, Sunny my boy. But it does my heart good to hear that at least one of your rulers is interested in changing things for the better.”

-------------------

"Why did we stop going to see Dai, anyways?" Dawn asked later, as they waited to file into the council chambers.

Marianne blinked and tried to remember. It had been almost four years since they'd visited with Dai. Before then Marianne had claimed that, as future Queen, it was her duty to have meetings with the head housekeepers and cooks frequently. That had begun as an acceptable excuse to see her adopted mother even after she had grown too old for such things, but it had morphed into a true part of her duty of managing the castle. Now the housekeepers and butler reported to a steward, and she would be hard-pressed to remember any of the names of the upper-staff.

"It was deemed improper for a Queen to speak with lower servants." She finally said. "Remember that tutor we had - Lavender, I think - that nearly fainted when she found out about it? Claimed that the Western fairy Ladies would not even speak a single word to their servants, and that a future Queen would be laughed out of Court unless she did the same."

"Lady Lavender..." Dawn tried to remember. "Oh! Yes! The one that taught us modern court etiquette. She loved using Roland as an example." She was about to give an impression of the haughty fairy, always critical except when mooning over a man half her age, when she spotted Roland in deep conversation with the King.

Already Desmond's eyes were glossing over, and his face falling slack as he nodded mechanically at whatever Roland was saying.

Dawn gritted her teeth. It was so obvious, when you knew what to look for, when Roland was exerting his power over someone. He must have soaked up all the adulation from his supporters then, while Dawn was looking for Marianne, turned his glamour against the king. Given her father's dull eyes it might take days before he was out from Roland's control. And Marianne of course went immediately to her father and fiance's sides, not knowing that Desmond would now likely try to undo everything Marianne had achieved in the morning.

Griselda noticed where Dawn was looking, and her own expression turned grim, but she patted the Princess's hand anyway.

"Cheer up." She whispered out of the side of her mouth as Marianne went to open the council doors. "We at least made some progress today."

"But Roland- " Dawn whispered back, as she filed into the council chambers. "Can't you do anything to protect Dad? Like you did with Marianne earlier?"

Griselda sighed and looked away. "Unfortunately, he's too strong. Without your godmother's magic, I wouldn't even be able to stand, much less protect myself against him. We'll just have to watch for right now."

Dawn blinked for a moment as the minutes were read out by Lady Holly. She chewed over Griselda's words. Dai was her godmother? She had magic? Neither could be possible...until she considered the fact that Dai had taken on Marianne and Dawn the moment their mother had died, making her a godmother in action, if not in title. She had offered love and a home to the two princesses when no one else had remembered them, and in her arms Dawn felt truly content. Wasn't that a kind of magic? Magic of love and welcome, hearth and home - nothing that was obviously 'magic' but nonetheless changing the world for the better.

Dawn's world view shifted as she sat. Bog and Plum had been right; elves did have magic, and it did have a huge effect on the world around them. But she had never once considered what Dai did to be special or unusual, or even worthy of special praise. And that...that was wrong, Dawn realized. Simply because her magic was quiet and subtle didn't make it any less important.

But her sister had known. Perhaps Marianne would not have called it 'magic' -but without a doubt she did respect all the elves and house-staff in the castle, and until Lady Lavender had banished the princesses from the under-croft she had made sure to consistently show that respect, and for it had won respect in turn. If their meeting with Ma Dai was any indication, the future Queen still had allies all across the kingdom; they simply weren't as easily noticed.

Dawn relaxed slightly, her chest lightening at the thought. Two good things had come of today; Marianne had impressed Gaillard and rekindled the support of the house elves. Maybe they could hold off Roland after all.

As if on cue, Roland coughed and began the meeting.

"So, I think it's about time time we burn the fields."

--------------------

High above the town that shared his name, Old Man Alder shivered despite the burning heat. Nestled between the topmost branches of the still-living trunk, his pavilion was open on all sides to the elements, letting any errant breeze through. But it wasn't wind that had chilled the official ruler of Alder Town. That feeling had come from across the fields...and across time. For though his magic was weak and tired, Alder could still feel the shifts in the current of the future.

Such chills had only become more frequent over the last few months, correlating with rumors and worries that whispered throughout his city. Rumors that had even reached this high in the tree bourn up on the backs of those desperate enough to seek the lord of the city for council and twittered back and forth on the wings of the ever-gossiping sparrows.

Alder sighed and adjusted his aching body on his throne. Outside the safety of his palace, the world was changing, and who knew where that would lead.

But he turned his face to the sun, drinking in the heat and light on his skin, and the aches and pains of his old body eased for a moment. Leave the future to the young, his instincts told him. There was little now he could do, except hold his tree strong and protect his city. That alone was enough to exhaust him each day. And perhaps, soon, there would be respite...

"Lord Alder."

The dryad was pulled from his musing by the gravely voice of his King. Misty green eyes opened, focusing on the knitted twig floor of his council chamber, and found the King of the Dark Forest bowing low before his throne.

"Bog?" Alder's voice rasped, nearly as guttural as the goblin's, and he coughed at tried again. It had been a full day since he had seen a soul other than his mute attendants, and his voice suffered for it. "What brings you here?"

Bog King stood up from his bow. No other leader of the Dark Forest ever received such honor from the monarch, but Alder was a special case. The dryad was nearly as old as the forest itself, and had seen hundreds of kings and queens come and go. He had earned the respect, and a bow was the least Bog could do.

"I was in town to see some of your craftsmen, and protocol demands..."

"Atch, and you are one to follow protocol?" Despite the haggard face, Alder's eyes twinkled.

Bog's lips twitched into a smile and he ducked his head. "Well, Nero did mention you wished to speak to me."

"Ah, yes. Come, my boy, and sit." Alder gestured to his side, and a moment later a silent moth whisked a seat and small table into the space, flicking out from behind the leaf-hangings and back again without a sound.

Bog sat, and Alder took a moment to collect himself.

Age had not been kind to the dryad. For every hurt his tree suffered, he too bore a mark. Half his body was frozen into immobility, decaying away like the second trunk of his beloved tree. Another casualty of the war between Light and Dark; when the fairy weather-mages called down the lighting three generations ago, they had never considered they were attacking more than just their goblin foes. Now Alder was dying slowly, using all his strength to merely keep his tree, and the city it bore in its branches, standing.

"There have been rumors of a new city." The dryad finally said.

Bog caught a curse between his teeth. "Those are merely rumors, Alder."

"Unfortunate. Then you have not remembered my request?"

Bog swallowed heavily, and felt guilt within his chest. "I have not forgotten. But to move the city..."

"Is a task only a King can do." Alder said with certainty, then added. "And that King must be you, Bog, for we both know I do not have much longer to live. I can last another few seasons at most, but..."

"But you shouldn't have to." Bog sighed. "You've done more for this kingdom than any should have, and it is beyond the time you should have gone to your rest. But a there is only one choice for a new city, and that is right on the border to Fairy."

Alder settled back into his throne, and closed his eyes. "You speak of your Hawthorn. It's a good choice for my replacement; young, strong, and resilient."

"And wholly dependent upon Fairy not burning it to the ground." Bog added.

That started a laugh out of Alder. "Yet your people begin to build there anyways. They must believe you have a solution."

Bog was silent a moment, thinking of what could have been so easy, if only the wasp-fairy Roland had not intervened. Even if he and Marianne not ben wed, their kingdoms would be quick on the way to peace now, and Hawthorn City would have been the perfect bridge between their two peoples. Instead there were worries of war and skirmishes on the border and rumors of worse. It would be idiotic and naive to build a new city now, when there was so little hope for reconciliation.

But yet...

There was the package slung over his shoulder, and he could still feel the cool weight of it, pulsing with ancient enchantments, only repairable by the artisans of the upper branches, a key back into his beloved's heart. Blame it on the stubbornness of goblins, or his own buried naivety, or perhaps the belief Sunny and Dawn had placed in him, but he could not abandon the hope of a better future, no matter what Roland did to sabotage it.

Alder seemed to sense Bog's drive, and smiled. "I'll leave it all in your hands, then. Tell me when my citizens can begin their move. And take Quez with you; it's about time he stretched his wings."

----------------------------

In a tower far to the West of the Fairy Fields, the Merlin of the Royal College of Fairy felt the same chill as Alder, but simply turned over in his bed and returned to sleep. He had already made his choice, and all the mages of Fairy would bow to it. History was clear; elves could never regain magic, and the royal house of Fairy could never fall to the corruption of the Dark Forest. Roland would prevent all of that, and all he needed was the support of the mages and a few familiar lies. And true, the boy was a Wasp, but a weak one. The lesser of two evils, surely. The Merlin slept easy, certain that this lesser evil would prevent far greater ones.

But the seneschal, Anthony, waiting outside for news from the council, shivered in the cold premonition. The Merlin was infallible, but Anthony could not help but wonder if, just once, the hidden history could be wrong. Wasn't one thousand years of punishment enough for the elves? Should not they trust their Queen more than an arrogant Wasp, no matter what heresy she spoke of?

He looked out across the bright fields and imagined them burning. And once again, he felt cold.

Chapter Text

"Burn the Fields?! Why?”

Griselda’s voice broke, along with the cup that she had slammed on the table, jerking the councilors out of their daze.

“Why would you ever set fire to your own kingdom?!"

The muttering councilors paused, surprised to hear the waver of uncertainty in Griselda's voice. Until then the goblin queen had been either ignored or looked down upon by the councilors, but it was hard to ignore the horror in her voice. How could they act so casual? As if destroying one’s whole kingdom was common as pie!

Unbidden, images of the fires of the past came to her mind. As a child, the Deep Woods had once burned, and she vividly remembered the chaos it had created, stronger than any war or battlefront. The creatures of the Deep Woods were huge and wise, but the fire had driven all sense from them, turning them to mindless beasts, and as they fled they had trampled all in their path, heedless of the death of their allies...or of their own. There were those who had drowned in the river kingdom, others who had breathed too much smoke and perished in the Dark Forest, and more still who were trapped in their homes and left as nothing but ash in the wind. Griselda herself had helped clean the soot from horns and eyes and bury the dead of their neighbors. For years the Dark Forest had no need to look for bones; they littered the boundary between the two kingdoms as a constant reminder of a fickle fate that could attack even the most stable of kingdoms.

Two generations later, the Deep Forest was just now recovering and the Bear King had forbidden all fires. There were those in the Dark Forest, after the burn, who had campaigned for a similar law, and even the harshest haters of the Light Fields had sorrowed when they watched their neighbors lose their fields once again to the flame.

"We always...we've always sent offers of aid when we saw your fields aflame. I never believed the stories that you did it on purpose to spite us. Is that true?" Her glare swept the table, horror now mixed with anger.

"Oh Griselda, no!" Dawn turned and squeezed the trembling goblin's hand. "We've always burned the fields every few seasons. It stops the meadow from turning into a forest, and heals the ground for the next season. Everyone in the whole kingdom works together, setting protective fires around villages, clearing the fields and making sure nothing goes out of control. It’s a good thing, not something to be scared of!”

"And it's just the thing to quiet those uppity elves." came a whisper from Dogwood's side of the table, followed but a spurt of snickering that somehow neither Marianne or Dawn appeared to hear.

"But the burn was planned for next year." Marianne spoke, her gaze turning to Dogwood and the fluttering magic attache, Juneberry. "That is what we told the elves at the beginning of this season, and is what the kingdom is prepared for."

The pretty aid fluttered her wings, nervous under the glare of the future Queen, and it took all of Roland's considerable power to hold her in check while Marianne continued.

"The mages have never made a mistake like this before."

"Now, now, Dear, no one's infallible, not even a Queen!" Roland's voice boomed out, cutting through the tension even as he patted his bride on her shoulder indulgently, forcing her to smile despite the backhanded insult.

"And really, it wouldn't be necessary if the elves had done their jobs this spring!" added Dogwood, quick to support Roland. "If they hadn't been so greedy...well we wouldn't have to go so far to prevent unrest in the future!"

"You still sound as if you're meting out punishment for a crime no one has committed." Marianne said, her voice brittle as Roland pushed more of his power onto her.

"Well, they're elves. I'm sure they've done something wrong."

-----------------------

"And this information is true?"

The day before Marianne’s disastrous council the dean of the weather mages found herself shifting uncomfortably beneath the stare of the Merlin. The ancient fairy with the wispy beard and greying wings was the strongest mage in all the kingdom, thus the leader of the Royal college and all licensed magic users across the land. The power that rolled off of him was palpable, but for all his skills he was still a tetchy old man, liable to snap and drain magic from his inferiors if irritable, and Christine Hale tried to avoid him as much as she could. Her husband, Anthony, the bursar of the college, was much better at dealing with the Merlin's whims, and only something truly serious would have prompted her to climb the stairs to the Merlin's tower and relay the news herself.

"Yes, lord. The rumors speak true. The Pixie is teaching the elf-ambassador magic."

The Merlin's eyes flashed, and around him the candles flickered in response. His study was full with them and an ever-burning fireplace to go with it, indicating the strongest elemental affinity of the man. Hale preferred water herself, the most dangerous element to fairies but the one that was the most versatile. But it added an extra layer of tension between the old man and herself, one that she would much rather have been ignored. Luckily, in this case they could put their animosity aside.

"What kind of magic?" The Merlin finally prompted, though his tone indicated that he already suspected the answer.

"Emotive magic. The specialty of the elves and pixies."

"Damn." The Merlin growled. "And I assume it's too much to hope that the witch has beguiled him into believing he is the only elf so gifted?"

"Unfortunately not, Lord. Though we cannot easily see into the forest, from what we have been able to glean from his communication with the princess most elves in the forest are trained in it. And that king of theirs informed the Princess of her own powers."

Another flare of the candles was the only indication of the Merlin's anger at the new information.

"Well, it's only to be expected, with the way they are already perverting nature with their courtship." He finally hissed, after a few moments. "How far have the rumors of elf-magic spread?"

"Only within the castle, lord."

"Too far already." The Merlin shook his head. "What fools we have been, letting it get this far. The Bog King is planning his invasion well."

"About that, Lord?"

"What, Hale?" The Merlin narrowed his eyes, steeling himself for more bad news.

"The Future King - Roland. He said that the Bog King may be in love with the Queen. If so...perhaps he has no intention of invasion, and this is all a misunderstanding..."

The chair clattered as the Merlin suddenly stood. "WHAT? No! We cannot - we cannot allow such a union!"

"But sir - "

Hale swallowed her protest as the Merlin rounded on her.

"The goblins, the pixies, and the elves, all massing behind one man - one who seeks the hand of a Princess. Have you forgotten your hidden history?! Think, fool! What does that sound like?!"

Hale's eyes went round, and she felt the frozen stab of horror cut through her concerns, all her training, and better sense. "No. Not - "

"Yes. This 'Bog' must have failed in his duty. He has fallen under the sway of the Dark One. The Winter Wasp."

"But that...the fairies barely defeated him the first time. If he is rising again..."

The Merlin slumped back in his chair, eyes flaring. "Our choice is clear. We mages have grown too weak, if we did not see the signs of it before now. We must find ourselves a stronger ally if we wish to defeat the darkness, even if that means giving the kingdom to a Wasp.

“Accept Roland's proposal, Hale. And tell the seers to change their predictions. We cannot let the elves come to power and support another rebellion."

---------------

A day later, Roland's new admirer preened under his attention. Unlike the Hales and The Merlin, Juneberry had no resistance against his power, nor would have fought against it had she known. After all, Roland was the future King! And what a glorious King he would be, radiant and shining, with his perfect hair and smile.

Hopefully he would find a more suitable Queen, though. Marianne was no longer glowering, beaten down by the arguments from all around the table, and June's words would be the final nail in the coffin. Still, June needed to look for Roland's support, and shine herself in his light before speaking. His approval felt like warm honey, filling her and strengthening her resolve. Her wings flared, and she took the stance of prophecy, her eyes widening and her voice taking the ring of power.

"The Seers are certain." She spoke, her voice tolling like a bell across the council chamber, drawing all who listened to her, quieting arguments and bickering by the simple power of her words. "They See a Fire beginning in the western fields and spreading throughout the kingdom, engulfing all in its path. No matter how the royal house struggles against it, unless something is done now to fight the blaze the Fields will Fall."

June's voice lost the ring of prophecy, and her eyes cleared. Around her the council shuttered, tasting the magic in the air, unable to doubt her words. This was one of the few instances the council saw real magic, and all Seers liked to put on a show.

June smiled to herself as the echoes faded. It was a true premonition, for seers could not lie about such things, but one could manipulate the words to suit one's aims, and the Seers had been instructed to do so by the Merlin. In this case it was easier still, for her words had been an old standard, spoken through the generations by seer after seer who needed a cowed and terrified king. The untruth was not in the prophesy, but in the fact that it had remained unchanged for a thousand years, and likely would for a thousand more, warning against a threat so long forgotten that only the Merlin and his advisers ever need think of it.

Today it was enough to convince the King and Council and break any remaining resistance from the future Queen. And yes, the goblin creature still looked as if she wanted to protest, but her words would easily be ignored. Juneberry's eyes sparkled, taking pleasure in seeing the creature brought low. Just punishment for daring to look upon the beautiful Roland! Resistance broken, elves and goblins alike crushed, all as the Merlin had demanded. Surely the highest mage in the land would be pleased with her performance!

And as reward, she would be gifted with more time in Roland's presence. And perhaps...perhaps the rumors were true, and he might give her more than a mere smile.

June licked her lips and glanced coyly at the future King, yearning to give herself over to him. And Roland smiled, feeling the power of a trained mage dangled at his fingertips in a lovely, blooming package. What a wonderful windfall!

--------------------

By the end of the afternoon session, with the added power of the mage girl, Roland had Marianne firmly under his control again. She was white and shaking and could barely stand, sitting mutely staring at the plans Dogwood, the aid, and King Desmond had approved. It was unclear if the pain was more from the combined power of the council bearing down on her or just Roland’s snide, condescending comments that had followed her through the full session, hounding her into accepting the monstrous proposal of burning the fields of her subjects. Either way, there were grim lines on her face, and her hands shook slightly as she looked onto the plans for the destruction that would be carried out in her name.

This was the exact opposite of what Ma Dai had asked for. Mariane thought to herself. The elf matron had complained of the increasing tithes that were wrecking the stores even during this abundant year. Dogwood had insisted that the increased tax had kept pace with the production in the fields, but the elf told a different story; of workers being run ragged as the fairy lords tried to get two seasons worth of crops from their fields, with no time left to care for their own crops. They simply didn’t have enough workers to manage both sets of fields, and in the end many families might be forced to leave their own crops to rot. After a year of plenty, the elves might still starve in the coming winter.

Other elves, those with more foresight, had chosen to plant late autumn crops, pumpkins, fall beans and hardy cherry tomatoes, which could be harvested after the fairies left. But now those crops were in danger too. Even those who had anticipated the greed of fairies like Dogwood would suffer from the burn, and watch their stores go up in smoke.

The thought made her sick, but there was nothing she could do about it. The council and her father had agreed; the mages predictions had never been wrong before, and so the fields must burn, taking whatever crops the elves had not been able to harvest with them.

She had to bite down on the traitorous thought that wormed its way into her head, caging it behind her teeth lest it escape and accuse the council. The fairies only burn the fields when the elves begin to question their lot. Whose greed is truly at fault here? The elves, who cannot fly to winter havens, or the fairies who demand extra labor to harvest luxuries no elf can ever afford?

But the words were locked behind her lips, and Roland had placed his cold hand over hers and squeezed it throughout the council, smiling and being the perfect, reasonable noble, even as his future bride tried vainly to argue her way out of a course that had been pre-destined.

His hand had been steel, and she knew with utter certainty that if she voiced a complaint, even what should have been a private meeting, Roland would turn, smile, and say that, if the elves were getting uppity, well, whose fault was that?

Hers. Somehow, Marianne couldn’t help but feel that, had she not spoken up earlier in defense of the elves, then the burn would not be necessary. Roland would deny it, of course, and tease her for looking for conspiracies - or act hurt that she could ever doubt him when he was putting up with so much from her already - and everyone around her would laugh and titter at her naivety and insecurity, and the fields would still burn, no matter what she did.

The thought made her nearly sob out, alone in the council room, left behind as the rest of the councilors had followed behind Roland and Desmond, all eager to be part of the planning process and none caring one whit about the damage their plans would do.

The future queen buried her head in her hands and allowed herself the luxury of one long, slow shutter. Earlier she had felt so certain that there was hope. For the first time in months she had felt alive, had felt as if she could see clearly and could solve the problems of her kingdom without resorting to stupidity or bloodshed. But now, once again Roland was proving himself to be the reasonable one, and her father had just fallen into step, and all agreed that tradition was the only way to save the kingdom.

“Dai will never want to speak to me again.” She whispered, and felt her heart crack.

“Oh, I wouldn’t be so sure of that. Dai seemed to be a pretty smart woman.”

Marianne jerked back, horrified that someone had seen her in a state of weakness. Queens did not cry, after all. If any of Roland’s friends had seen her, she wouldn’t hear the end of it for months, and it would just convince Roland all the more that it was time for him to take her place at council.

But it was Griselda who was watching her, face grey as Marianne’s heart felt, but with that ever-present goblin smirk twitching at the edge of her lips.

“Your sister seems to think this whole thing is comman as nuts, but the way you look says different. But I gotta say, hearing that y’all burned your land intentionally takes a load off of my chest.”

Marianne shifted back in her chair and surreptitiously checked to make sure no tears had escaped. “Oh. You said the goblins worried…”

“Ooof, yes. We would see the flames, and all the fools that prayed for your kingdom to fall would suddenly change their tune, and be half ready to divert the stream. Boy, you must have laughed each time we sent offers of aid.”

“Actually...I don’t think we’ve ever received one. Not that I can remember, at least.” Marianne said, trying to think. She had heard of border skirmishes whenever the fires were set, and suddenly it made sense; worried goblins and dark elves, hurrying to the border to help against all their instincts. Luckily she had never heard of anyone being killed in these skirmishes, and she was glad, for that would have been all the more horrifying.

“You have some problems with your communication network, girl. Almost as bad as ours, sounds like.”

She sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But you can tell Bog that the burns happen for a reason, and the Dark Forest needn’t worry about it.”

“Yeah, seems to me that you need help before the burns, not after."

Marianne looked sharply at the Goblin woman. She hadn’t spoken any of her traitorous suspicions aloud, so how had Griselda -

“Oh, don’t look so surprised. I listened to your nursemaid, and I listened to the council, and I can put two and two together and taste the revolution. Sounds like the timing of this all was perfect, don’t you think?”

“Griselda, I don’t think there’s a single thing ‘perfect’ about this situation.”

“Psh, use that head of yours, girl. You’ve got what Cabby would call a labor shortage, and wouldn’t you know you’ve got too much food as well. But if you wait just two weeks…”

Two weeks? What was happening in two weeks? Marianne could barely imagine facing tomorrow, much less waiting two weeks until…

Until the Fairies would meet with the goblins again, and Sunny would come home. Sunny, who was even now meeting with Dark Elves and making connections. Dark Elves who all rumors said were strong and fierce and always hungry…

Marianne’s mouth popped open. The solution seemed so simple, and would do much to build the ties she had so desperately wanted.

Griselda sat back, grinning. For a moment, she had nearly lost Marianne. After all the power Roland had bled into the room, pulling out a completely unexpected trump-card to win back the influence that had wavered in the morning, the future queen had nearly shattered and lost her will. But no matter what Roland did, no matter how much he twisted Marianne’s own words and desires for the safety of her people, he could not break her completely.

She would keep fighting, keep finding loopholes in Roland’s web of power, and do her best to save her people in the process.

Griselda couldn’t help but feel proud of her strange new charge. Anyone else would have broken under Roland’s words, just as easily as Desmond had. But Marianne kept fighting, even when she saw no hope. And that...that was a goblin trait, through and through. And that made Griselda smile all the more. If there was anyone perfect for her son, it was this girl.

---------------------------------

Back in the Dark Forest, the King finally had the time for his errand. He had left Alder, but immediately been besieged by all the clan leaders that had appeared when they had heard the King of the Dark Forest was meeting with Old Man Alder to discuss a new city.

Politics, bah. What was supposed to be a simple outing had turned into hours of discussion, everyone approving of a plan that was bloody stupid, naive, and oh so typical of the elves. He had just barely managed to get away, leaving the clans to bicker among themselves and argue their way into a sensible arrangement. He wouldn't be surprised if, the next time his patrols took him out by the Hawthorn, the entire city had materialized overnight. Or they would argue themselves into an impasse, and he would be called in to break heads until they all started to think again.

But now, as twilight began to fall on the dying tree, Bog could finally make his way to the highest craftsman's market, and finish the task that had brought him here.

The smithy was always busy, the craftsmen there churning out everything from weaponry to jewelry to the strongest plowshares in the whole dark forest. Their work went long into the night, forges and lamps equally lighting the dusty interior of the shop, and customers occasionally stopping by merely to watch with wonder what the elves could do with metal. And the guild-master of the smithy ruled over them all with an iron fist.

Bog stared down at the tiny, wizened elf, respectfully waiting for the man's diagnosis. The elf was still examining his package, but carefully, avoiding touching it as much as possible.

“Enchantment?” He asked again, confirming what he had already suspected.

The smith-elf nodded. “Aye. A strong one, too. I’m surprised you can draw it at all. This wasn’t meant for goblin hands.”

“Hmm.” Bog examined the dull steel in a new, critical light, trying not to speculate too much. “But can you repair it?”

The elf tutted. He was a master craftsman, after all, and one of the best in all of Alder Town. “It’ll be a challenge, ‘tis true. But I’ve got a dwarf who can help, and no one knows about enchanted steel better than dwarves. You’ll have it in a week.” He named a price, one high enough that any but the royal family of the Dark Forest would balk.

But Bog had expected such, and had sought out Hengleson specifically because he was the only craftsman up to the task. The price merely proved the elf meant business.

Still, propriety demanded he haggle, and so he bargained the elf into including two matching daggers and a full clean for the royal scepter along with the near-impossible task of repairing the carefully wrapped item. Hengleson seemed to be pleased with the final price, nodded as the gold was exchanged, and began to work immediately, ignoring Bog completely once the money was handed over and the piece laid out before him.

Other elves appeared, apprentices crowding around the master craftsman to watch as he carefully began to clean and polish what once had been a beautiful creation, but now was damaged almost beyond repair. It was clear to see that the project would be far more than the commission to the smithy; it would be a challenge and an opportunity to teach skills that only a master like Hengleson would ever be called upon to use. One could not buy the work of a whole smithy, much less the best smithy in the whole of the Dark Forest, for any coin, but a challenge worked wonders.

Bog smiled as more apprentices appeared, certain that his choice had been the correct one. He no longer wished to win the heart of Marianne, but if he did...this is the gift he would give her.

------------------------------

Chapter Text

"It doesn't make any sense!" Dawn complained as she thumped heavily into one of Griselda's thick cushions. "The weather-seers never change their predictions like that. The elves should have had a whole year to prepare for the burn, not just three months! Roland must have done something to the magic college."

Griselda tapped her damp fingers on the arm of her chair. Council had once again exhausted her, but this time it was more out of horror than magical exertion. Even with the logic of it explained, the thought of intentionally burning a kingdom sent shivers down her forest-dweller spine. Almost as bad was the cavalier way Dawn and the rest of the fairies treated it, as common as autumn cleaning at worst, as a frustration to their plans at best. Marianne seemed the only fairy to consider the damage and suffering the burn would cause her subjects.

Griselda bit down on an oat-cake, showering herself in crumbs in an attempt to banish the terror from her heart. It had been easy to be kind to Marianne, but to see Dawn treat such a thing as normal chilled her to her bones and brought back memories of the horror stories they told children in the Dark Forest. Never leave the shadows, dear ones, lest the monsters with wings take you for their cruel games... no. Dawn was as much a child as any in the Dark Forest, and could not be blamed for the lies tradition told her. She wanted to help, and that was the important thing.

"The mages should have protection from Roland’s wasp ways, if simply from being exposed to so much magic. Just as you were protected at first by the love potion."

Dawn paused, eyes going wide. "That was why Roland couldn't affect me at the beginning?"

Griselda nodded, still distracted by the day's events. "So he must have convinced them another way. What could scare a college of mages so much that they would side with someone all their instincts would be warning them against?"

She mused for a moment, then swore. The answer was so clear, it seemed impossible that it had eluded her while at council.

“Dawn, has your father ever told you of the origins of the Light Fields?”

“Of course! It’s in all the history books. How we came from Avalon and - “

“No, not that story. The story of the splitting of the Light and Dark, five years later. The story of the Winter War.”

------------------------

"I still have a lot of questions." said Sunny, as Bog and he returned to the castle from Alder Town. "Just...different ones, I guess."

"How so?" Even when walking the steps down to the winter palace, Bog seemed to stalk, his eyes flickering around them and his scepter easy in his hand. The package he had refused to show Sunny had disappeared, left behind somewhere in the upper markets, long before Bog had collected Sunny from his new friends. But Bog had smelled of metal-magic, and walked with a spring in his step.

After two weeks living around Bog, Sunny suspected he knew what it was, and wondered if the package contained the secret weapon that Bog had claimed would help their fight against the Wasp. Best not to know, if that was the case, since Plum would hound him constantly about it if she suspected Sunny knew the contents. And of course she would assume that it was magic rather than good sense based on the connection Bog and Marianne shared.

He took his mind away from the package and explained to Bog, "I never really believed elves could live any different. I figured the way the Light Kingdom was run was the only way. But after seeing Alder Town...yes, some of the old fairies and nobles would hate to lose their power and ability to control us, but people like Marianne and Dawn - and Dr. Ibis and the King, and anyone who might be interested in seeing the full potential of elves and fairies alike - would want a place like that. Even old reprobates like Dogwood might like it, because there's so much potential for commerce.

"So why keep all of us in the dark about our magic? It's not as if our magic could ever challenge that of the fairy mages; it's completely different and saved for small things, not big things like changing the weather or predicting the future. But if elves were allowed to use it, even the fairy nobles would benefit."

Bog looked down at Sunny, once again impressed in spite of himself. The elf had succinctly summarized the arguments of five generations of elf clans, all who had argued in one way or another for the Kings of the Dark Forest to invade the Light Fields and rescue their enslaved brethren. Looked at from such a perspective, it really did make no sense.

But...

"Ye don't have all the information, elf. Yer thinking ta much about now, an na' enough about what might have started it all. And o'course Plum hasn't explained it te ya, even in all her magic lessons." He shook his head ruefully. In this one instance, he couldn't really blame Plum for avoiding the topic.

"But 'er in the castle, we've got the old records. I expect they'll make things clear, ifin you're as clever as Plum and your Princess seem to think."

-----------------

A few minutes later, Sunny found himself back in the Royal Library of the Dark Forest, looking over a pair of tomes almost as big as he was. Bog had left him to go out on patrol, after unlocking and pulling the books from an unmarked cabinet.

The books were clearly ancient, their pages brittle and ink faded, but thanks to Plum's lessons Sunny knew how to carefully untie the bindings and open the pages without endangering the contents. It was thanks to her that he could decipher the old speech as well, and keep a light just far enough away to read the fading text.

He tried not to breathe too heavily as he sat down to read what proved to be an account of the very first King of the Dark Forest.

----------------------

It came out of the west, on the coldest day of winter, its army marching in lockstep behind it, an unthinkable mass of bodies that still was dwarfed by the creature itself.

Father believed it to be a remnant of the old gods, twisted and turned to darkness, and given its actions I shudder to think of what its original strength must have been.

Our strongest mages and warriors, Eric among them, fought it off at the border, massacring its army but doing little to damage the creature.

Sunny swallowed, the story bringing back memories he'd thought were long buried. Lonely winter months, spent knocking elbows with his six brothers and four sisters in their tiny one room house, while father drank at the bar and mother worked at the castle.

Ray, his eldest brother, had loved terrifying the youngsters into silence with his ghost stories, of the monsters that appeared when the snows grew so tall as to cover whole villages, muffling screams. Of asps and boggarts and monsters that ate whole villages in one bite.

But his favorite story of all was of the warrior who came in the dead of winter, bringing death and silence with him, who laughed like cracking ice as he turned families and friends against each other, leaving only when the whole village had killed each other in their madness, harvesting their souls for his grim parade. Ray had loved acting the story out, mimicking the screams and sobs of the fallen, and considering his act only done when the children were all too terrified to make a sound, lest the monster find them.

Bog had said the elves remembered the Wasps, like the fairies did in their pretty tales of princess and primroses. But this...this was his childhood nightmares brought to life. The White Warrior, and his army of the damned.

When we examined the wounded later, we found them to be the swamp creatures of the ponds, people who had welcomed us when we settled in the meadows five summers ago, but who were now twisted and strange, with hollow eyes and slack features.

Those we captured alive begged to be returned to their master, crying that it pained them to be even a moment out of its presence. And sure enough, all but the strongest of them perished only after a few hours after the battle.

But those who survived seemed to wake as if from a trance, and were overcome by an overwhelming rage against their former master. If nothing else convinced that these were our one-time allies, it would be the fervor in which they swore to fight against the monster that had destroyed their homes and families.

Sunny shivered, but forced himself to keep reading. Bog had said there was an explanation here for why elves were slaves, and he would find it, even if that meant facing his worst childhood fears.

The creature attacked again the next day, and again the day after that, and each time we beat it back. But each day the creature's army arose stronger.

At first we did not know why, for the pond folk were weak and easily overcome. By the third day most were dead or captured. But new creatures joined the army, first insects forced out of their winter sleeps, mad eyed and insane from cold and hunger, controlled by a power I could barely fathom. The creature must have come to them in their sleep, and bound them more strongly than even the pond folk.

But worse yet were the elves. They appeared on the fifth day, when we had thought the battle finally won. Against all logic they came, children, parents and elders, wearing whatever clothes they could against the freezing cold. Their eyes were as dead as the rest, but it took all of father's will to hold the army strong against the new foe.

For those elves were our people, our friends and servants, whom we had brought with us through all the long journey to this land.

Eric, kind as he was, could not bear to fight against his own subjects, so I took his place, poor mage though I am. In the end, that was what saved me, for the creature had been using magic to control its army, feeding on the powers of its servants, perverting every ruler's instinct to its selfish goals. Those who are strong in magic, like the elves and pixies, fell sway to its influence the fastest, and it drained their power to feed its own. Father and I sent Eric far away, to protect him from the corruption and also to search for any aid he could find, any miracle, for that was what we would need to defeat our foe.

“So that's why.” whispered Sunny. “The elves became part of the Wasp's army, just like in Ray's story. We fell because of the strength of our magic, rather than in spite of it…”

We fought on, though each day it drove us back, farther into the dark forest and away from the meadows of the elves. From the longest night to the turn of the season, we fought against the monster, giving up all hope of survival or victory, merely wishing to prevent the creature from attacking another kingdom.

But then, on the first day of spring, Eric returned. He rode upon a chariot of fire, and brought with him a gift from the gods, a pink flower that undid the monster's enchantments. With him too came our our allies from the southern lands, and more besides. The beasts of the Deep Forest, the Pixies of the north, the nyx of the river and stranger creatures beside rallied under his Primrose banner. Together we fought the monster back, routing its army and, finally, caging it with the magic of all our people's combined.

But our triumph was not without its cost. Those of us who fought in the winter war are changed, bodies twisted beyond recognition, myself most grievous of all. I bear my scars proudly, but it pains Eric to look at me. There is guilt in his eyes, as if he had only come sooner some of this might have been prevented.

I do not wish to tell him that my disfigurement is merely the most obvious scar. The others, elves and fairy alike, bear deeper scars on their very souls. No one should be forced to cut down loved ones, no matter the species, and I am glad Eric was safe from that horror.

But it is the forest that now suffers most, for the creature's evil magic twists the land and has turned the area into a fetid bog, rotting anything that touches it, and turning the once-stately forest into a decaying swamp. I think that pains Eric almost as much as the sight of me does; he loved our forest, and he weeps every time he sees another dying tree.

The magical advisers from all round the land agree; the decay is proof of the creature's evil magic continuing to live on. There must be a guard placed on the forest, and all must be warned away from it. Even now pixies and fairies are planting a primrose border round the diseased area, and most believe that nothing will ever grow there again.

But I have hope. The magic the creature consumed still lives, twisted and buried beneath the fens, but with careful stewardship the pixies say it may be cleansed. And who better to begin this task than those who have already fought hard against the monster?

What remains of my army agrees, and we have been joined by the remnants of the creature's dark forces who wish to atone for what they have done. The little water creatures, and the insects of the second wave, as well as those elves that can no longer bear the light will join me, and we will continue the battle that wrecked our land and endangered our world.

Father has split the kingdom, with Eric to rule the new kingdom of light, and I to take over the duty of guarding the dark. I doubt I will see my brother again after the border closes, but I do not grieve for it. He has a new bride, a beautiful girl from the southern lands, and new alliances with half the kingdoms hereabouts. Soon, the light kingdom will blossom into something beautiful, while those of us in the dark will protect that happiness as best we can. And one day, far in the future, when the corruption is finally cleansed, our lands may be reunited. That thought alone shall keep me strong in the coming winters ahead.

Edwin,
First Son of King Avalon,
Heir of Fields and Forests,
The First King of Dark.

-------------

Sunny sat back, once again left with just as many new questions as the ones he'd had answered.

This was hardly the story of the founding of the Fairy Kingdom that they taught in the history books. Nor was it the ghost story his brother had told him as a child, though it had several similarities.

And now, it certainly made sense why fairies feared elvish magic so, and claimed elves to be dangerous. His people had nearly brought about an apocalypse!

But...

"Avalon decreed that all elves in the light kingdom be stripped of their magic, to protect from further Wasp incursions. It only lasted a generation or so, but by then the damage was done."

Sunny started, and looked up to find Bog watching him. He must have spent hours reading Edwin's account, if Bog had already returned from his patrol.

"But this was written a thousand years ago!"

"And since then, no elves have been taught magic in the Light Fields. All the rest, about elves being inferior and the like, that was all added later, as the fairies reinterpreted history to suit their needs. It doesn't do for rulers to hint that they might be scared of their subjects, after all."

"But - " Sunny began, then shut his mouth. Put that way, it did explain a lot of what he saw in the Light Kingdom, and why the Dark was different. They'd been built on completely different concepts, after all.

"Does anyone remember the real story?" He finally asked. "Anyone from the Fairy Kingdom?"

Bog shrugged. "I dinna know. I presume your library has a book like this one, but told through the perspective of the younger son, rather than the elder. But I doubt any but the royal family are allowed to see it. The same is true for these books, but I thought it best to bend the rules, given your questions and Plum's confidence."

"But beyond that? Other than the oldest families and perhaps your magic scholars, few know the true origin of our kingdoms. If they did, I doubt our peoples would have gone to war quite so many times. But as is, it's all ancient history that only ever becomes relevant when another Wasp appears."

"Roland...could he become as strong as the Winter Wasp?"

Bog blinked, considering. "I dinna know. Magic has faded since the time of the great kings of old, and the untrained elves and fairies of the Fields are easy minions but offer little power. But he too is untrained, so who knows what his power might grow into. All the records of the Wasps we have speak of their terrible abilities and the cunning they employ to gain power."

"And Marianne is part of that power."

Bog looked away. "Aye. But she fights it. I know she does. It’s just...not enough. An' there's so little we can do to help her..." His voice faded and, for a moment, the hands on the scepter shook.

Impulsively, Sunny placed a hand on Bog's arm. "Don't give up, King. I believe in Marianne, and I believe in you too. If anyone can save our kingdoms, it's you two."

Bog stared down at the elf, his brows raised in joint surprise and amusement. Here was he, the fierce Bog King, needing comfort from an elf! But that comfort and loyalty was hard to ignore, and Bog cautiously returned the smile. It had been years since he'd had a friend, and longer years still since he had someone's advice he could trust. But perhaps friendship appeared in as unlikely a place as love did, and he would be a fool to turn away such honestly offered kindness.

In fact, with Sunny and Plum at his side, and Dawn and his mother fighting on in the Fairy Kingdom, it was hard not to feel the hope that, maybe, they might win after all.

------------------------

Dawn’s eyes had grown wide, and her perfect lips dropped into an “oh” as she listened to Griselda tell the tale from memory, even as within the Dark Forest Sunny learned of the same history.

The old goblin finished with " an' that is how it's been told, generation to generation, to each new king or queen of the Dark. O'course, your side of the story is sure to be a bit different..."

Dawn swallowed and sat back in her seat, her wings flicking unhappily.

"Griselda, I...I learned that there was a war after we came here from the homelands, but everyone always assumes it was against the Dark Forest. Not a single one of my tutors ever suggested that the Dark was protecting us! But..." she paused, realization dawning. "But in all the old texts, goblins are The Guardians of Dark. I never wondered why...just like I never wondered why elves are treated so bad! But it sounds like the kings of fairy have been punishing them for a thousand years for something that wasn't their fault!"

"Aye. A rebellion that was only half-true to begin with, then hidden by kings and mages - perhaps out of fear of what the elves could become." Griselda shook her head. The Kings of the Dark Forest never had the opportunity to silence their people's magics; they needed every shred of it they could find to fight against the corruption spread by the Winter Wasp. "But who knows what Fairy Kings and Mages have been taught all these years. Maybe that the Dark seceded. Or that the elves used the Wasp as a reason to rebel. Whatever it was, it sounds as if it's been their excuse for centuries. "

Dawn considered, Griselda's story filling her head with questions and some unfortunate realizations. How much of the Fairy was build on half-truths or full lies? And how much had she, herself been complacent in? Each new thought made her wings droop more and her once-cheery smile to fade.

Griselda took pity on her and snapped her out of her trance with a clammy hand over hers.

"None of that matters now, of course. Whatever the story is, Roland must have used it to convince the mages to give him their backing."

"But Roland is a wasp! They must know that!" Dawn complained.

"Unless they're truly incompetent, then yes. But Wasps are crafty. They're liable to concoct a greater enemy so they can prey upon the fear and chaos that results."

"Like Bog."

Griselda blinked. "Come again?"

"I bet that's what Roland did. Told them that Bog fell in love with Marianne." Seeing Griselda's perplexion she explained. "In The Primrose and the Prince, an evil sorcerer steals away a beautiful princess and puts the whole kingdom under a spell. If that story was based on the fairy version of the separation of our kingdoms...then the mages might think that Bog's the sorcerer. He's got the army to prove it; elves, insects and goblins, nevermind that he's won their loyalty by being a fair. He looks evil, and he's upsetting the tradition by pursuing an alliance with Fairy. They probably would never consider his interest to be genuine; he's a goblin so he must want to conquer us, just like the sorcerer in the story!

"And just like in the story, the 'princess' is going along with it. And I just bet that they'd rather think that Bog had cast some kind of spell on her than believe my sister could be doing this for the best of both our kingdoms!" Dawn's wings flared. "That's just like them! They'd rather believe Roland than trust their own Queen to do something new!"

She snarled, for a moment looking so much like her sister that Griselda was shocked.

"If that's the story Roland has told them, then it'll be darn hard to convince them otherwise." the goblin matron finally said, breaking into Dawn's fuming. "Anything that my boy does to ease tensions will just be used as proof that he's a worse Wasp than Roland."

Dawn quieted, but her eyes still flashed. "Then let them think that. The mages are only one part of the council, and if they really want to stand against Bog, they'll eventually have to explain why...and then their whole story will fall apart, because it's stupid to keep punishing elves and goblins when we should be thanking them for keeping us safe!"

"Ah dinna think it'll be that easy, Dawn." Griselda said.

"No, but if we can get the rest of the councilors on our side, then we'll have a chance. And from what you've said, Marianne just needs an opportunity to prove herself for that to work! Look how fast Commander Gaillard changed his tune when he saw through Roland's lies about her. I bet all the other councilors - and maybe even the mages - would change their tune if they were forced to confront the fact that Roland's been manipulating them. And if they're wrong about Marianne, maybe they'll see that they're wrong about Boggy too!"

Griselda was still skeptical, but it was hard not to get caught up in Dawn's fierce enthusiasm. She returned Dawn's smile. "Perhaps you're right. With our support and your sister's plans, we might just be able to out maneuver them."

Chapter Text

A week after his visit to Alder Town, and the reveal of the dark history of the elves, Sunny felt himself beginning to chafe under Plum's will once again. He still was too nervous to venture far out into the Forest on his own but a week spent helping Plum make her strange concoctions and moan about the DOOMED the Fairy Kingdom was growing old. It didn't help that he'd been getting worried messages from Dawn, talking about how listless Marianne had become over the last few weeks, growing exhausted from constantly fighting Roland. The way she carefully worded her letters, skirting around something that she promised to explain in person only worried him more. He felt helpless and frustrated, unsure of what he could possibly do that would help yet itching to do something.

A smaller, but just as frustrating, irritation was the fact that he had stalled in his magic training. Specifically on something Plum said should be easy.

"Really, Sunny, you do it all the time! Why can't you make yourself small now?" She grumbled, flicking gooey globs of mucus at him. They'd been decanting dragonfly ointment all morning, and he'd had the unlucky pleasure of hauling buckets of frog mucus up the stairs from the stream-bed. It was creepy down there, what with the shattered remnants of the old castle all about and goblins still dredging what they could from the wreck. It did little to improve his mood.

"Maybe, Plum, because I don't want to be small? I've been small all my life!"

"What's wrong with being small?" The witch demanded, shrinking herself down to the size of one of her plummets.

Of course you wouldn't understand, Sunny grumbled, but quiet enough that Plum couldn't pick up on it. The woman could read thoughts if she wanted to. Aloud he said, "Because when you're small, people ignore you. And if they do notice you, they laugh and tease."

"No one teases a sorcerer!" Plum declared, causing Sunny to duck as more globs of mucus splattered from her out-flung hands. "Anyways, I can't teach you to be big until you learn to be small."

"But I don't want to be big either. I just want to be me."

"Oh come on, Sunny. Think about the possibilities! Say you're giving a concert, and want everyone to hear you. Get big, and they will! No one can ignore you if your magic is strong enough!"

Sunny gulped. He didn't like the implication that he could make anyone do something. Plum never seemed to mind being the center of attention, but while he enjoyed performing, he got embarrassed too easily when going beyond his comfort zone. Apparently, brazen-ness was necessary to be truly "big" in some weird way. And so Sunny suspected he was always going to be stuck as a small, little, failure.

"See?! There! You shrunk, just now! Do that again!"

Sunny blinked, and jerked out of his funk.

"Atch, NO! Not like that! Argh, you're hopeless!" Plum complained. "Get out of my work room, and don't come back until you can get small on command!"

The elf skittered out of the room, trailing frog-slime, and nearly bumped into Bog.

"Ah, King! Sorry, I - "

The stony expression on Bog's face softened. "Trouble with the witch?"

Easily Sunny fell in step beside Bog, moving double-time to keep up with the other man's long strides. Over the last week there had been a decided skip in the King's step, despite his greying appearance and dark rumors from the Fields. Sunny was glad someone had some hope about the whole affair; with Plum's complaining and Dawn's worry he was feeling overwhelmed and the frustration was making his training harder.

"I've gotten stuck on size-changing magic. And none of Plum's explanations make sense."

Bog considered. "You know that you're not literally changing size, yes?"

"Yes, but she says that you can change your 'presence'. I've seen you and her both do it, and she says I do it all the time too. But..."

"But you can't do it on command."

"Right."

Bog tapped a long finger against his chin, and looked down at the elf. "Yet you don't appear disappointed that she kicked you out."

Sunny flushed. "Well, um..."

The King barked out a laugh. "No, no, I tease. A week alone with Plum would be enough to send my teeth on edge as well. I can barely stand the woman for an hour, and I grew up with her." He shook his head ruefully. With as much as she'd been moaning and badgering him, he'd been tempted to return her to the cell for a bit, just to stop her complaining. But Sunny was getting the worst of it, training under a demanding master whose explanations rarely made any sense at all. He could probably use an escape. "I've always found that thinking about magic too much can confuse you more. Perhaps a break could help. Why don't you take the rest of the day to work on your ambassador duties?"

Sunny blinked. In the three weeks since he'd left the Light Kingdom there were only a few times when he had felt at all like an ambassador. And yet Bog expected him to easily be able to 'tend to those duties'. He bit his lip, and glanced up at Bog, looking for a clue as to what the King could possibly be talking about.

But Bog was looking down the corridor, his lips quirked in a slight smile, which probably meant this was another of the man's tests. Sunny was supposed to figure this out on his own. But the only thing he could think of was the request Gale had made a week ago, about Sunny speaking to the local Light villages to set up some kind of trade.

Carefully Sunny voiced this idea, and was rewarded with Bog pursing his lips, which would have indicated disappointment on anyone else, but Sunny had learned that for the King often indicated the ruler was hiding a smile. Emboldened, he added, "And maybe I could visit Hawthorn, too, given that we'll be meeting there in a week?"

That got a full smile out of the King, and a pat on the shoulder. "Good idea, elf. If you leave now, you should reach the tree by mid-morning, and have the next few days to oversee the preparations before the Fairies start arriving."

Sunny considered. "Could I take Stuff and Thang with me? Only I've never been that far away from the castle alone..." At least, since he'd snuck into the Dark Forest for the Love Potion. The memory still sent shivers down his spine, though he now knew most of the dangers he'd feared were not the least bit dangerous...and that many of the things that he'd ignored as harmless were so deadly that natives would never go near. He'd been lucky to get in and out alive, his size being his greatest boon, since the worst predators simply overlooked him.

"No, both are already at the Hawthorn, making a royal mess of things, I'm sure. That's another reason why I need you there; I haven't been able to inspect the preparations as much as I would like, and goblins set loose..."

Sunny nodded, still thinking of the several hour trek through the wood. Of course for any with wings it would be only a few minute flight, assuming they avoided spiders, snakes, and the carnivorous plants.

"Anyways, you could use some time to explore. Can't babysit you forever, elf. I'm sure you'll be fine. You might even learn something."

And with that, they reached the cave entrance, and Bog set off into the gloom, leaving Sunny to stare glumly after him. Then he looked up at the long, treacherous stairs that he would have to climb back to the forest floor. Life was so unfair for people without wings!

--------------------------

Life was so unfair for people with wings! Dawn thought to herself, stabbing into her berry brunch and nearly staining her new tunic. Today the whole royal family needed to be fitted for rain gear, and Dawn hated the very thought of it. After a week of fruitlessly trying to give her sister an opportunity to prove herself without Roland sabotaging her, Dawn was exhausted and the last thing she wanted to do was stand for a fitting of the one garment she couldn't stand.

Once the announcement of the burn had been made (to the court first, of course, and then to the elves at the end of the month, much to Marianne's despair and Dawn's frustration - even she could see how unfair that was!) the weather mages had immediately set about changing the weather patterns for the upcoming months. They needed a clear, dry autumn to burn the fields, with any potential showers pushed earlier into the summer or back farther into the fall, the latter to be managed carefully and held in reserve should a blaze get out of control.

But that meant that the fields would have rain sometime in the next month, potentially a full-blown thunderstorm of the kind that had Dawn scrambling for the cupboard as a child, huddling beneath the linens until Marianne or Sunny found and comforted her. Thunder and lighting were the worst, but the slow, misty drizzle that was the most common thing for weather-mages to call up was bad in its own way, confining all winged folk indoors lest they risk their precious wings.

Of course, there was an alternative to that for those with the funds or army backing to provide; modified rain-coats. A clever elf had discovered years ago that certain types of spider-silk could deflect rain. Grow enough of that from carefully bred spiders, and one could weave coats out of the stuff. With a bit of ingenuity only elves were capable of, and some snaps in the right places, one could make a garment that slid over wings and allowed the wearer to still fly.

Never mind that the resulting garment was ugly beyond belief and uncomfortable to boot. Nor did the coats last long, needing to be re-done every year. Dawn hated the idea of wasting so much time, effort, and comfort on a garment that was hideous and nigh-useless except perhaps to the army and anyone who was foolish enough to venture out in a downpour.

And for once, Roland agreed with her.

"I just don't see why the whole royal family needs coats." He said to King Desmond, speaking across Marianne as if she wasn't there. "Dawn and Marianne should never be exposed to such dangerous weather!"

"Roland, it's really not a hassle..." Marianne began, but was quickly cut off.

"The coats are designed for army use. They aren't fit for a Lady to wear." And Roland turned his soulful eyes on his bride. "You wouldn't want to look foolish, would you dear? You just stay in the castle during the rains, and I'll deal with any pesky problems."

Marianne met his eyes, seemed caught in them for a moment, then dropped her gaze, fiddling with her engagement bracelet. "If you say so, Roland."

Roland smiled and leaned forward to speak to the king again. And suddenly Dawn remembered why Marianne wanted a rain shield.

Her sister loved the rain. She always had. The more extreme the weather, the more she wanted to be out in it, feeling the power and watching over her kingdom. When they were little only comforting Dawn had kept Marianne inside and when Dawn had grown the crown princess was liable to dash for her coat the instant the weather-mages predicted rain. She wasn't foolish about it; never flying without protection and making sure to take shelter for the worst of the storms, but she preferred to be out in it rather than locked away inside.

And Roland wanted to take that away from her. Of course he would prefer if Marianne was trapped in the castle, removed from her kingdom for yet another reason. Roland had been quick to urge her away from going out in the sun. "Wouldn't want to blemish your pretty face" he had said, and mysteriously all of Marianne's sun-creams had gone missing shortly after he had mentioned it, followed by her sun hats. Before that an accident in the laundry had destroyed the future queen's most comfortable flying dresses, along with her training outfits and darker clothes. Now she was relegated to bright, fluffy concoctions that had sat unused for years at the back of her closet, things that made her look like a child or a fool and had the courtiers tittering at the lack of decorum. And while she was trapped inside, Roland's friends surrounded her, teasing and bullying her in equal amounts into accepting Roland's ideas while the man himself had the full freedom of the skies...and everything they contained.

It was a pattern, and Dawn kicked herself for not recognizing it. Roland was using his power again, and it was far easier to fall sway to it when he said something Dawn herself agreed with.

But no. Even if Dawn hated the rain, she would not let Roland take another thing from her sister.

"You know, I bet I could make a better looking coat."

Both Desmond and Roland turned to her, Roland with an indulgent, condescending raised brow.

But the king spoke first. "Dawn, I thought you hated rain shields."

"I do!" she said, setting her fork down with a click. "But that's because they're so ugly. But add some colored thread in with the spider-silk, and I bet I could make something even the future King and Queen could be proud of!"

Roland paused to consider, and Dawn mentally patted herself on the back. Appealing to his vanity was a good idea.

"Well..." he said finally. "If you could make something that matched..."

"Of course!" Dawn said quickly. "Something in your colors! Just imagine, gold and green thread, perfect for the royal house!"

"Well, that might not be half bad!" He smiled, and turned to Marianne. "Sorry, doll, your sister's convinced me. Guess we'll have to indulge her a bit."

"It's no trouble, Roland." Marianne said meekly. But her eyes brightened, and a smile twitched on her lips. Dawn's heart swelled. Finally something that her sister could enjoy!

But as they finished their meal and headed to the fitting, Dawn was left a tad uncomfortable. Roland had caved almost too easily. And there was a crafty look in his eye as he left the table. This couldn't be a trick...could it?

---------------------

"Hi!"

Sunny was barely out of the castle valley when, for the third time in as many months, a reptile appeared out of nowhere and nearly caused him to faint. It wasn't as if he had been negligent, either; he'd been cautiously sneaking along the forest floor, sticking to the shadows and carefully avoiding anything that could be remotely dangerous. But the creature appeared literally out of nowhere, startling him enough to use one of the curses Beau had taught him.

“Adam and Arch!”

The creature jerked back, green plume flaring and eyes going wide in shock. “Oooh, I’m gonna tell Mr. King you said that~”

The sing-song tone, and the fact that he wasn’t head-first down a monster’s gullet, let Sunny relax. He examined the creature more carefully. The tone went hand-and-hand with the juvenile look of the creature, with its wide eyes that looked almost too big for its head and the dappled camouflage of youth only just beginning to rub off into what would surely be vibrant red and green scales. But Sunny didn’t let his guard down; three weeks in the Dark Forest had taught him to be cautious around things that acted simple. And it was certainly true that the creature must have had some serpent in it; despite the feathery frill, its head was the same wedge-shape he had seen on Nero, rather than the softer look of his Lizzy. Plus, its teeth were the fangs of a snake, not the sharp jaws of a lizard, which he got far too good a look at as the creature yawned broadly.

But surely no snake had bright, multi-colored fringe wreathing its face with unmistakable feathers. And further along its tail were stubby half-developed wings, of the kind Sunny had seen on baby birds, covered in brightly colored down and tucked close to the serpentine body.

Added together, the creature made no sense. No thick body could ever be born aloft by weak wings, no creature so bright could remain alive in the drab forest. It was impossible. But magic flowed off of it, magic he should have sensed, smelling like the air after a lightning strike, and sending Sunny’s skin prickling.

“What are you?” he finally asked, voice quavering a bit.

The not-serpent grinned. “Why, I’m a Quez!”

Again, fear was overwhelmed by confusion. “A...Quiz? This is some kind of test?”

It chuckled, a high bubbling sound that felt like the patter of rain over lake-water. “No, Quez. Short for Quetzalcoatl, though it’s easy to get that confused. I think I’d rather be a Quiz than a Quez, far more common name and all, but mum insisted, and even dad doesn’t say no to mum.”

Quez eased off of its branch and thumped down next to Sunny, its head being just about as tall as the elf. It continued to chatter animatedly, feathers flicking in time with its voice and tail-tip wagging.

“But dad said that I was supposed to come and check out this new Hawthorn place and see if it was up to snuff, and he specifically said to watch out for a nice Light Elf that would taste very delicious, only I wasn’t to touch him, and wouldn’t you know, but we meet right away! So I think we should go together, right?”

The serpent creature nudged Sunny in the back, and he bit back a scream before realizing that Quez was pushing him into a cleft in its crest feathers that made a kind of seat, still chattering amicably and showing no sign of hunger while it set off in the general direction Sunny had been heading.

“All aboard the Quez express! Next stop, Hawthorn Pavilion, where we’ve set up some of the second-best tents for you. Mr. King o’course gets the best one, what with being royalty and all, but you’re almost as important, right? What with all the trade and stuff. At least, there will be trade. Hey, have you ever been to the Light Fields? What am I saying, of course you have! What’s it like? I’ve heard it’s hot all the time and you can sun whenever you want. Dad says that makes you lazy, and mum says I’d scare the fairies out of their wings, but do you think you could take me there? I promise I’ll be real small, and only scare a few people. Maybe a town. Or five. Oooh, do you have tribute? Tribute’s supposed to be fun, but mum and dad only let me have a tiny tiny bit of it and - “

Sunny sat back and let the words wash over him, letting his heart calm down while he watched the scenery speed by. Whatever the creature was, it didn’t seem hostile. Carefully Sunny tested to see if it was using any beguiling magic on him, as Plum had taught him, but no, the creature seemed to be genuinely helpful. Perhaps because it had been sent to look for him...if Sunny was interpreting the near endless stream of chatter correctly. Leave it to Bog to find him a guide that was would scare the pants off of him first. The King probably was having a laugh even now.

But riding on Quez's back certainly seemed faster and more comfortable than walking all the way to the hawthorn on foot, so he couldn't complain too much, though he did loosen the knife Bog had given him in its sheath. It never paid to be too careful in the Dark Forest. Just because he didn't recognize the magic of the creature didn't mean it wasn't going to trap him with it...

But from skimming the creature's words, they were both expected at Hawthorn, which was a nice surprise. Sunny had packed his own bag anticipating needing to camp out if the goblins hadn’t brought tents for the retainers and other hanger’s-on. Certainly people like Roland might ‘accidentally’ forget the accommodations for their servants and it was hardly the first time Sunny had roughed it for a fairy meeting while the lords and ladies dined and slept in perfect summer pavilions.

Not this time, apparently. This time he was an anticipated guest. That thought alone almost distracted him enough to nearly miss out on Quez’s words, but a lifetime of listening to Dawn came to his aid and snapped him to attention.

“Wait - your Dad sent you to look for me? Who - “ He paused, as the pieces clicked in place. “You’re Nero’s son, aren’t you?”

Quez’s mouth ticked up in a smile. “What keyed you off? Oh, I guess he’s the only snake you’ve met. Bet you can’t guess who my mom is, though!”

Sunny thought over his experience at Alder Town and the snake guardian. He couldn’t imagine a creature like that ever letting another get that close without eating it. Except…

“The hawk. Buteo, was it? She’s the captain of the sky watch…”

“Oooh, you are smart! Yup! Dad and mum got hit with a potion and boom, six weeks later there were five eggs and no one will tell me how it happened. They won’t even talk about it. Anyways, there’s me and Dragon and Wyrm and Thunder and Falcon but I’m the best cross, so I’m the most magical and the rest are all boring normal snake birds who try to eat me if I go into their turf. Most annoying. Wyrm can’t even talk! He’s out by the fen-lands, and just eats anything that gets in his way. I like Thunder best, she sometimes talks to me and even said she’d take me flying when my wings come in. Being mostly magic sucks; I’m going to take forever to get my wings, and she only had to wait a year!”

“Wait, go back. Your mother's a hawk, and your father, a snake…”

“Don’t ask, they won’t tell me either. But I figure the potion must not have done much 'cept give em a reason, ‘cus dad stuck around even after we all showed up ta keep us fed, and then even when we were all moved out he and mum haven’t killed each other yet. If that isn’t love, I don’t know what it is.”

Sunny opened his mouth to disagree, then closed it again, trying to imagine how else a predator would love. Perhaps among some, not killing your spouse was the height of romance. If there was one thing that the Dark Forest taught him, was that love came in more forms he had ever imagined.

But a snake and hawk with a magic feathered serpent of a kid? That would probably be at the top of his list of weird for a good long while.

"So your brothers and sisters are magic like you, just less magic?"

"Yep! Wyrm and Falcon have the least. Other than me, Thunder has the most. We're spread out all across the Dark Forest, with Wyrm guarding the fens and the others each with their own territory." Quez paused in his chatter for a moment, and Sunny quickly looked around for danger...only to feel Quez's crest flaring happily once again. For a second the juvenile had been too excited for words. "Do you...do you think I'll be assigned to the Fairy border? Oh, that would be wonderful. Tell me, what's it like, living in the Light Fields?"

Sunny was surprised when the creature actually paused in its babbling to listen for an answer.

"Well, we've borders with four other nations, but don't export much except to the winter lands in the south - "

"No, no, no! Not boring stuff like that! What are the people like? Are they nice? Are they tasty?"

"Uh, we don't eat eachother in the Light Fields. In fact, we generally don't eat anything that can move on its own." The conversation should have made Sunny feel uncomfortable, but by now it was becoming second nature. The first thing anyone asked him was what the Fairy lands were like, inevitably followed by questions about food. He was starting to wonder if half his job as ambassador was going to compose of sharing recipes. That was what most of the goblin chefs wanted, plus most of the elves he'd met. Quez at least didn't act shocked when he said they didn't eat meat.

"Right. You're all veg-it-ate-ea-n. Oh! But don't worry, I won't eat you. I don't really need to eat at all, unless I want to make magic."

"Wait, you make magic?" That was new. Plum had indicated that most magic was constant; a quality inherent in an individual, something that could be focused or repressed but never fully removed. Then again, the mages from Fairy worked on a completely different system based on elements, not emotions. Perhaps Quez's magic was like that.

"Well, yeah. How do you think sis and I can summon storms? But only little ones, unless we get really mad. But never mind about that! Are your people nice? Can I meet some of them? Oh please, would you take me with you when you go back to the fields?"

He's just like Drizzle. Sunny thought to himself. Scatterbrained unless he wants something. Good luck trying to get solid information out of him.

"I don't think your parents would be very happy with me if I took you away from the Forest." He said.

The snake considered. "Well...then how 'bout for just a little bit? I promise I'll be good! I won't eat anyone."

"I thought you - no, never mind. You're too big. You'd terrify the people I'm trying to talk to."

"Oh, don't worry about that! I can be super small!" And to demonstrate, there was a pop of in-rushing air and Sunny tumbled back to the ground.

When he dusted himself off, he found a tiny winged serpent curled around his arm. This time he managed not to swear, but it was a near thing.

"See?" Came the piping little voice, full of pride. "Now I'm small as you! Oh, it's weird looking up at you! Your face is really funny! Like you're mad and jealous all at once!"

Sunny pursed his lips, trying not to yell in exasperation. Of course Quez could shift sizes. It was apparently something that everyone could do, except him, of course. Back to being a disappointment once again...

"Oi, Oi, Oi! You can't get small too! You're already small enough! Get back bigger right now!" The tiny serpent hissed, then stuck his tongue in Sunny's ear, startling a yelp from him.

"Hey! What did you do that for?!"

"You were shrinking! But bad shrinking, not good shrinking." The snake paused. "Was it something I said? I'm sorry. I didn't mean to."

The elf blinked, and looked at the serpent. Its eyes had grown huge - still too big for its small face - and its lower lip jutted out in what looked like a pout.

"It's not you, Quez. I'm just supposed to be studying size magic, and you do it so easily..."

"Oh! And you've spent so much time being small, you've forgotten how to be big!"

"Eh? No, I'm supposed to be learning to be small. Why would an elf ever need to be big?"

Once again the tongue flicked out. "Silly! You can't get much smaller! Look, just do this!" and the big Quez was back again, thumping down on Sunny like several feet worth of snake, half pressing the life out of him.

"Uh, Quez?" Sunny's voice was muffled. "Let me up?"

"Eeep! Sorry, sorry. But you see what I mean?"

Once again Sunny set about dusting himself off. "No, not really. You have completely different magic than I do."

"No, no. I am magic. So when I feel big, I am literally big. And when I feel small, I am really small. But you...you must feel small all the time! That's not right!"

"Quez, I'm an elf. All elves are small." And unimportant and...

This time the huge tongue lapped his neck, face, and hair on its way to his ear. "There! You did it again!"

"What? What did I do?"

"You thought yourself small!"

"That's the same thing Plum said! But it doesn't make any sense!"

"Yes it does! See? Just think 'I'm not someone important. Just ignore me.' And Poof!" There was a woomph of in-rushing air, and the tiny Quez returned. "Then you think 'I'm big and strong and you should pay attention to me.' And you're back!" And it returned to its large form, grinning but looking slightly winded. "Oooh, maybe I shouldn't have done that so fast..." Its head thumped onto the ground. "Now you try while I rest. Ooooffff."

Sunny reached out, and felt the serpent's form flickering under his fingertips. Plum occasionally did the same, after she had focused much of her magic on a spell or potion. She had warned Sunny not to do too many shifts quickly, because it could leave the body confused and muddled, just like Quez looked now.

His brow creased with worry, but the snake said, "No, I'll be fine! Just practice a bit, and I'll tell you if it worked!"

"Oh - okay..."

"Go big first. It'll be harder, but help!"

Sunny bit his lip and concentrated his mind inward. He really wasn't an important person; he just kept messing things up. First the love potion, then Lizzy getting free, and now this... Then he felt a flicker of magic and remembered. Dawn believed in him. And Bog and Marianne too. If someone as amazing as them believed in him, he couldn't disappoint. He'd be big, and people would listen, and he could help people. Really help people. Because now he was an ambassador, and a mage, and he had met a whole city of elves who had wanted to hear him...

"There! Look at yourself now!"

Sunny blinked, and found that Quez's eyes had turned to a mirrory sheen. It made the serpent look almost dead, and his natural instincts would have been to jerk back...but there was a strange surge within him that calmed and reassured and said 'of course Quez is weird, he's mostly magic, isn't he? and he must have done it intentionally for me. It'd be rude not to use it.' So instead Sunny leaned closer.

Reflected in the serpent's eyes, he didn't look taller. But somehow...he was bigger. Shoulders back, back straight, eyes looking straight...all things he usually avoided. And it felt weird, but not in a bad way. It was as if...as if he spoke, he would be listened to, simply because his words would have value. Just being Sunny was enough.

The snake blinked, and the vision was gone, and Sunny tasted the magic and let it go, feeling himself shrink back to his natural state, the thought of but this isn't me, at the back of his head. But now that he knew what to sense for, there was a tinge of magic in that, too. Strange. Had he really been making himself intentionally small all along?

"Good job!" Quez smiled, fangs flicking at the edge of his mouth. "You see what I mean now?"

"...yes, I think I do. Does it always feel nice to be big?"

"Oh no! Sometimes it’s really hard and scary! Like when you have to scare away bigger predators, or try to convince sisters to listen when they're arguing." Quez gave a whole-body shiver that wriggled all the way down his tail. "I think it’s just as hard as being small, though. Just think if everyone was always looking up at you! Just think how tiring that would be!"

-----------------

Roland, for one, never had any problem with being the center of attention. Whether it was courtiers, the council, or his adoring crowds, he always seemed happiest when the most eyes possible were on him.

Which is why it was no surprise that he chafed during the fitting process. The three fairy seamstresses and their elf assistants should have been enough to keep him feeling pampered, but protocol insisted that the king be fitted first, followed by the heir, and there was little more irritating to the future king than watching Desmond and Marianne be treated with the servility that should have been reserved only for Roland.

Dawn flitted around the edge of the fitting dias, holding up swatches of fabric and thread, chattering animatedly with the seamstresses. And that was another thing that frustrated the future king; not only was everyone paying far too much attention to Marianne, but the people were hideous to boot.

Unlike the pretty fairy girl that was attached as his personal tailor, the seamstresses had been part of the royal household for what seemed like generations, outfitting dozens of royals in increasingly complex fashions. They were great friends to Dawn, and considered the best tailors across the whole country...but they were old and hideously ugly and useless to Roland's plans. Each time they sent him a coy wink, his gut twisted in revulsion, even as he preened for stealing a few seconds away from the king. Unfortunately they were far too professional to spare him more than a few perfunctory glances, and that rankled too, for with all his charms he could still not make someone go against their own fundamental nature. To do that, he would need more power, and that would take work and effort and less time wasted inside and more out among the populace.

Really, the only enjoyment he could get was needling his fiancee, and in that at least he had an excellent ally.

"No, no, purple will not do. It goes against all of the traditions. Unless you wish to return to that dour Dark Forest, you would do well to keep to the colors of your station."

Lady Holly was the perfect court lady in every way. Her greying hair was tied in intricate knots without a hair out of place, so long that only a woman with impeccable poise could avoid tangling the locks in her wings. Her robes were immaculate, without a single crease or frayed seam, and she held herself with such easy grace that most fairy woman either hated or envied her on first sight. And her power in her domain, that of the royal finance and taxation system, won over years of politicking and ruthless negotiations, was unquestioned.

Completely the opposite of Marianne in every way, then. Everything about Holly was proper and without reproach, while Roland had carefully crafted Marianne into a pariah and a disappointment. Watching the two together was immense fun, and Roland to do hardly anything to push Holly into criticizing every word that fell from the future Queen's mouth.

"Perhaps a small break with tradition..."

"You are already asking us to back your...ideas." She didn't need to sneer the last word, her raised eyebrow and flicked fan gave quite enough indication of her opinion on Marianne's plans. "The least you can do is look the part of a true Heir. You are of the fields; your wardrobe should reflect such loyalties, rather than make your people fear for their future each time they look on you." Holly remarked, then added in her cold, unimpressed way, "Your mother would never have forgotten such a simple thing."

-----------

"So...when will we get there?" Sunny broke in, jumping into the stream of endless chatter that Quez gave off, not intending to be rude but knowing that if he didn't speak up he was liable to fall asleep, cushioned in the comfortable feathers and listening to Quez's droning, squeaky voice.

"We're almost there! Actually, we've been beneath the branches for the last minute or so. You can really tell how much Mr. King cares about the forest, with the way his tree reaches into it!"

Quez pointed with his tongue, and Sunny was surprised to find the serpent was right. Looking ahead he could just see the light of the Fields through the heavy bushes and foliage that divided the Light from the Dark. Out at the edges there were more bushes than trees proper, but those that did grow looked far healthier than those within the forest. Around them were the husks of old, twisted stumps, trees bent by the shifting bog soil and the dark magic that had created it. Those stumps were usually at the lowest points in the forest, while the younger, healthier trees were on the hillocks and slopes that had grown up around the hard-working older trees.

Quez glanced at where Sunny was looking, and said "The old trees pulled the darkness from the ground over years and years and years. It's amazing what they did! Each generation built a slightly stronger foundation, and you can see the results all around us!"

It was true. Around each gnarled tree was a ring of taller trees, their canopies wide and lush, the ground beneath them littered with thick leaf mulch giving birth to dozens of smaller ground plants, while the old were covered with fungus and moss.

And if one looked up...Sunny's mouth dropped open. In a forest so bent upon every thing fighting for its place, replacing the old with the new...the old trees had a guardian. Anywhere an old tree put out a leaf, desperate to catch the little sunlight that its children allowed it...there was a ring. Grapevine and brambles and thorns pushed the younger trees back, just enough to let small beams of into the darkness, illuminating the true heroes of the forest.

"Bog did this?" Sunny marveled.

"All the kings have. And most of us forest residents, too. Though...in the case of the elves and goblins, it's mostly 'cus the old trees make really good houses, and everyone likes a bit of sunlight now and again. Specially snakes like me! But Mr. King did even have 'ta think about it much; his tree did most of it on its own."

The pointing tongue flicked out again, and Sunny understood. All along the edge of the forest and then as deep as a tree could reasonably go, there were thin Hawthorn branches holding back the forest. Mixed in with the sturdy, heavy branches of ash and oak there were the sharp points of the Hawthorn's thorns.

"Plum said Hawthorns are supposed to be small trees. Ones that need lots of light. She said it was stupid to move the city to such a weak tree."

Quez laughed. "And do you think that anything Mr. Bog touches could be weak? The tree gets plenty of light from the branches that reach out into the fields. All of these are just extras. Oh! Look! We're almost there!" He put on a burst of speed, slithering out of the channel he'd been following and up out onto a hillock, letting Sunny get his first look at the tree they'd been talking so much about.

------

The Hawthorn was at once exactly like what Sunny had expected, and completely different. Just as with the original Dark Forest castle, it stood close to a stream, though this time it was nowhere near as precariously placed high on a ravine. Instead, the Hawthorn overlooked a stream that flowed from the Fairy Kingdom and into the Dark Forest before it broke into a dozen different tributaries that all ended in the wide, hand-shaped bog that dominated the eastern half of the forest.

The original castle had leaned precariously out over one of those tributaries, bathed and protected by the deep mists. The Hawthorn had no such cover, sitting on the wrong side of the water, almost trapped on its lone hillock by a curve of the stream before the water zigzagged on into the deeper forest. But its branches burst out into the sunlight in a display of what the fairy nobles would surely have called arrogance had they known something more than nature was directing the tree's growth.

It was huge, going against the argument that Haws were small, and its roots seemed to extend across the whole hill it topped. Sunny could instantly see why the whole of Alder Town was convinced the Hawthorn was the only place to move the city. The roots which occasionally burst from the ground divided its whole footprint into dozens of small squares. Roots even reached across the tiny stream, creating four or five wide bridges and offering plenty of paths down to the water. The tree itself had a perfect burrow right against the trunk where Quez or another guardian could live. And a hole a halfway up the trunk that would be perfect for a king's castle.

Sunny tried not to think about the fact that, had the tree been in the shape of a man, the hole would be about where its heart would be. He had heard that Bog had taken his earlier heartbreak badly, but to see the tree reflect it so starkly made him wonder about Griselda insisting that Bog would be in no danger even should the tree burn. Looking further, it was obvious the tree reflected him in other ways, with its ugly thorns and cracked bark and barren lower branches. Certainly the tree could not be called pretty in in any way that a Light Field resident would understand.

But it was perfect for a city, from the tips of its wide-spaced branches, to the protective thorns, to the wide-set roots providing everything that a potential city-tree could need. Had the tree grown within the Dark Forest, rather than on the edge of it, Sunny was certain it would already host a city twice the size of Alder Town.

"Plus, in the spring it has the prettiest flowers - though don't ever tell Mr. King that, and in the fall we trade the Haw berries all the way to the Deep Woods." Quez said.

No wonder everyone wanted to move here the instant the border opened. There was something for everyone in the tree, from wide spaces to fallen branches perfect for mushroom growth, to sunlight for those afflicted with the Rot, and space to expand for the cramped businesses of Alder Town, plus easy access to the water trade routes.

And if the border opened? Then the Hawthorn was placed perfectly to join the Fields and the Forest. Whoever had decided to plant the tree in such a place had been clever indeed.

Quez slid down the small hill they had just crested and waited at one of the root-bridges while a whole caravan of elves passed before them towing heavy rolls of leaves and canvas. The elves were clearly from Alder Town, for they barely glanced at Quez, instead focusing solely upon their task. But Sunny recognized the ring-leader and couldn't help but call out.

"Gale!"

The stocky elf woman turned, then focused up on Sunny. At the sight of him her smile widened considerably.

"Sunny! Come to see The King's Folly?"

Sunny blinked and dismounted, holding out a hand to Gale in greeting.

"That's what they're calling the city." Explained Quez. "Since Mr. King says the whole thing is silly."

"And it is!" Gale agreed. "A whole city, right on the border, with the fairy lands aching for a war? Pure foolishness!" But she was grinning widely even as she spoke.

"So...you think it's dangerous?"

"Oh yes. Doomed to failure, the whole idea."

"And...you're still doing it anyway?"

"Of course! We've been wanting this for years, and now we get the chance! We just have to finish the main pavilions before Mr. King gets here and puts a stop to it all."

Sunny looked back and forth between the beaming Quez and the smiling Gale and wondered if everyone in the Dark Forest enjoyed risking danger on a regular basis. At least the goblins had the excuse of not being very smart. The elves should know better! But from where he stood he could see a whole square completely covered in brightly colored tents and everywhere elves and goblins moved over the tree, cutting, sawing, and moving bits of bark and leaf matter.

"The key is to prove to him that we can make this work without his protection."

"Really."

"And for that we need your help!"

"What?!"

---------

Gale lead Sunny and Quez further into the tent city, calling out orders and pointing out landmarks. After spending such a long time in the heart of the Dark Forest to see so much light and color left Sunny dazed. It seemed the denizens of Alder Town and the local villages had pulled out all the stops in attempting to impress both their ruler and upcoming foreign visitors. Not only were the elves wearing their most colorful garments, but they had also brought out their most colorful tents, which Gale mentioned were saved only for the most important festivals, given their fragility.

Deep in the Dark Forest, color was rare. Anything that stood out from the rot and mildew was at risk for predation. One either had to be powerful, or poisonous, or both, to wear bright colors. Quez was a perfect example of the former. Several of the nastier flowers Plum had sent Sunny for were examples of the latter. Sunny was neither, but for once that didn’t bother him. Being unimportant was safe, and nowhere made him appreciate his small stature and dark complexion more than the Dark Forest, with its greys and browns and deep greens that he could instantly fade into.

Bright colors were dangerous. Autumn was the only time for vibrant color in the Dark Forest, and so colorful leaves were collected and carefully preserved, just like petals were in the Light Kingdom, for yearly festivals and special occasions. So the tents surrounding the first square of Hawthorn were colored in reds and oranges, leaves carefully unrolled from storage tubes and layered over the more common hide and bark under-tents.

To himself, Sunny wondered if perhaps the dark forest denizens were using the colors as a kind of protection. Some goblins would paint themselves brightly when they were nervous; Thang had done so when proposing to Stuff. In Alder Town sellers of talismen would paint their wares in lurid yellow and bright green, colors emulating the most dangerous frogs and poisonous plants to indicate potency. Even in the Winter Castle doors containing magic or weapons were painted with orange and red, a fact that Plum despaired of since it “didn’t match her aesthetic”. (Despite all her declarations of the contrary, Plum’s pale blue form fit quite well into the Dark Forest, blending into the shadows almost as easily as Sunny did. He couldn’t help but wonder if that was why she was so loud; to force herself to be noticed and feared.)

So perhaps the elves and goblins were not just dressing to impress, but also to bolster their own egos and quiet their fears. Surely creatures used to the shadows could not feel comfortable as exposed as they were beneath the Hawthorn. Yet Sunny saw no burrows and all around him goblins were hard at work sawing down protective thorns. And the elves were bringing in no weapon-smiths or battle-mages. He could sense nothing dangerous in the bustle around him, at least, nothing more dangerous than a normal elf and goblin task force.

He blinked, and realized how strange his life had become, if he thought of elves and goblins working together as normal. Much had changed in the last three weeks.

“No! When I said keep to the plans, I meant it!” Gale shouted, startling Sunny out of his musing. In the few dozen paces they’d made into the square, the elf woman had gained half a dozen followers, all talking to her in loud voices and waving bits of parchment.

Arguing seemed to be a pastime among the elves and goblins, so Sunny wasn’t surprised at the various looks of irritation and loud voices. What was surprising was the fact that they listened to Gale, and all but the most irritated took her orders without question, indicating a level of respect that Sunny knew must have been hard won.

“But it would be so much easier just to - “

“Do you think Mr. King would accept easy as a good excuse?” Gale snapped back, glaring up at a goblin five times her size.

The huge creature gulped and shuffled back slightly.

“No? I didn’t think so. If I see a single gap in that wall, I’ll point Mr. King right in your direction.”

A white tinge came onto the giant green face, and the poor thing turned tail and fled back to the “wall” between the Fairy half of the pavilion and the Forest half. The differences between the two sides could not have been more clear, even if a root easily halved what would have been a huge empty space between Fields and Forest. On the Forest side, there were goblins and elves and tents. On the Fields side...nothing. The goblins had cleared the grown, cut down the sparse weeds and hauled them away, but beyond that they had left the field cleared, presumably for whatever the fairies brought.

“And it was all done under the cover of dark.” Gale said, following Sunny’s eyes. “We’re not completely stupid, despite what these idiots - “ She gestured to the crowd around her. “ - would have you think.”

“The fairies have been bothering you?” Sunny worried.

“Oh no.” One elf piped up. She was even shorter than Sunny. “They don’t come close to our side of the border. But every time a goblin pokes their head above the root, suddenly there’s a fairy guard glaring. They must have a group stationed just inside the Fields.”

“It’s just west of that third root out-cropping.” A chubby goblin who looked sister to Stuff said. At Gale’s raised brow she coughed. “At least, that’s where we think it is.” She looked guiltily at Sunny. “Is that...okay?”

The elf swallowed. “That’s...not really my area. If they couldn’t hide it better, then that’s on them, right?”

The goblin grinned and nodded her head.

“Then they don’t mind that we’ve been doing recon-oh-zens?” A big one asked, glancing between Gale and the smaller goblin.

Both women immediately stepped on his foot with identical bright expressions on their faces.

“If that’s all Ermine?” Gale asked with her frozen smile.

“Yeah. I’ll just keep telling ‘em “follow the plans.” The smaller goblin, Ermine, promised then grabbed the hand of the big goblin and the small elf and steered them away, back into the fray.

Gale shook her head, then forced her way back into the crowds, repeating the phrase ‘Follow the plans’ every few steps while Sunny bobbed behind her. By the end of their trip across the square he found himself both itching for a chance to look at the ubiquitous pieces of parchment, and terrified that anyone would be stupid enough to give him one. Duty and loyalty would demand that he turn over the plans to Gaillard and thus to Roland when he returned to the Fields. The thought made him sick. Maybe he would only be involved in the beginning of this city, and maybe it really was a fool’s errand, but he couldn’t help but get caught up in the infectious excitement the builders held.

“Here, make yourself useful.” Gale thrust a roll of parchment at him without a second thought. “Just say the same thing I am. “Follow the directions.” And add in as many expletives as seems necessary.”

Sunny unrolled the paper, unsurprised at the city diagram, and wondered if he should return it with a warning. But Gale wasn’t a fool, and might take it as an insult. The best he could do was help as much as he could while he was here, then disavow himself from the consequences after. That was what a goblin would do, anyway.

“What can I do to help?” He asked, finally, as they reached the other side of the bustling main square and found Grubby’s bar already assembled, open on all sides to customers and doing a brisk business selling soup and beer to the workers.

Gale motioned him to one of the slip-shod tables that had been set up on the edge of the bar, far enough towards the root-walls that they were out of the way and could speak to each other without shouting. Quez, who until that moment had been shadowing them along the edges of the square, eased up onto one of the roots that formed the back of the bar, and watched the crowds with interest. With in less than a moment Grubby had given them both cups of spiced chai.

“First, you can tell everyone that we can defend ourselves.” Gale started with. She held up a hand to stop Sunny’s protest. “No, don’t say the fairies won’t attack, or anything silly like that. I know you don’t have any control over that. But look at those defenses, and honestly say if we could hold an army off.”

Sunny looked at the plans, spread out over the table. He was oddly glad to see that the directions only called for the clearing of a few squares and building of a dozen or so basic structures, nothing as complex as Alder Town, though the groundwork was certainly there for a far bigger city. He thought over her question, and admitted truthfully that though he had brothers in the army, he didn’t know much of fairy military tactics.

“But I can’t imagine any army going up against Nero willingly. Or even Quez for that matter.”

The winged serpent raised his head. “It’s true! I’m super scary.”

Gale rolled her eyes but there was a hint of a smile on her lips at the young serpent’s obvious boasting. “And the thorns?”

Sunny’s eyes widened as he looked over the plans again. All along the roots that separated the Forest from the Fields there were lines indicating a thorn barrier. So the goblins hadn’t simply been cutting down the thorns; they had been removing them to use as a barrier should the fairies ever attack.

“Marianne said something about fairies never wanting to risk their wings. But that was referring to brambles, not huge thorns like these. A good winged warrior would be able to dodge around them easily.”

Gale nodded. “Those mostly prevent unfriendlies from landing on the upper branches. We’ve been cutting down or smoothing out the thorns on the lower tree. Those can be used for defensive lines against foot soldiers.” And she traced the line on the map, showing where the barriers could be put up, right along the border of the proposed city, sharp spikes ridging the tallest of the roots.

Sunny looked at the map. “Pardon me for asking, but why are you telling me this? You know I’ll have to tell my fairy leaders…” He tried not to crumple the edges of the plans as his fists clenched in guilt.

Gale stared at him for a moment, then laughed. “Oh goodness, you’re actually feeling bad about that? Sunny, that’s the whole point! I, and the King too, I imagine, want the fairies to know the Hawthorn is defended. If they didn’t, some fool guard might take it in his head to invade, and then start an international incident when we trounce him. Better to have them know we can protect ourselves.”

“...Oh.” Sunny hadn’t considered that giving out such information could be a good thing for everyone involved. “Is that all you need me for, then?”

“No, that’s just the easy part.” Gale leaned forward, her eyes suddenly serious. “King said you’d be willing to talk to some of the local Light Elf villages. Is that true?”

--------------------------

There was a sharp silence at this. Holly's criticism rang out like a bell. Dawn, curled in the corner with her sketchbook, looked up with wide eyes. Marianne, held fast by Roland's hand on her wrist, clenched her teeth and forced herself to look away. Even Desmond was brought up short.

"Holly, that's a bit..."

But Lady Holly stood her ground, ignoring the king himself to give a lecture she had apparently been planning for quite a while. Roland was impressed. No other fairy would have dared speak out against the king to his face, nor done it with such cutting poise as to render both monarchs momentarily speechless.

"Please, Desmond, half the court is saying it. Queen Juniper was the perfect lady, and yet her Heir apparently does not care enough about her own people to look presentable for them." Despite the tight irritation in Holly's voice, her wings remained rock still behind her, a feat most fairies could not even conceive of. "You seem to forget, Princess, that your actions in the Dark Forest have affected not only you, but the kingdom as a whole. Now your people look to you for guidance and reassurance, but they see a child instead. Not a Queen. Not a Lady. Not even a Princess. A child, throwing tantrums and bringing dirty animals to the house without heed to the consequences. "

Roland nearly beamed at the look on Dawn and Desmond's face. They both were struggling not to instantly agree with Holly, wanting to support Marianne but unable to come up with any good arguments in her favor. After all, she did look childish, in the few remaining dresses that Roland had allowed her. And it was oh so easy to see her spirited arguments as the rantings of a petulant child. And there was no doubt that goblins were worse than animals. Lady Holly was merely saying aloud what everyone was already whispering about (thanks, in large part, to Roland's work). Even the elves had ducked their heads as if hiding the fact that they too had been disappointed by their queen.

But Marianne...Roland's face fell. The critique from Lady Holly should have left the future queen in a puddle on the floor, which he would lovingly gather up and ring round with leading compliments. But instead, Marianne's face had gone white and her eyes narrowed. The hand free of Roland was clenched into a fist, yet when she spoke it was lightly.

Had Roland not been spending so much of his power holding his bride in check, he might have noticed slight approval on Holly's face as Marianne drew herself up. Then again, it had been years since anyone had been able to read Lady Holly's enigmatic expressions. Queen Juniper alone would have been able to recognize the bait for what it was.

"Lady Holly, generations of 'tradition' have gotten us nothing but a never-ending war and a pile of corpses. And how, may I ask, could my people have faith in a Queen given over to nothing more than idle tea-talk? Who wears fripperies and spends more time on her hair than in council? Would you rather I lie and suggest that nothing is wrong, despite the mounting evidence before their eyes? I remind you, after all, that we serve more than Fairies, Lady Holly, and the elves and vole feel the bite of winter far fiercer than we do." She tossed her hair, and smiled with far too many teeth. "And if my population believes a ball gown can solve their problems and a bit of purple will end them, then perhaps they are not a population worth my time."

Holly's eyebrow rose. "Do you really think so little of your subjects, Princess?"

Marianne smiled tightly. "I merely expect more from them, Holly."

"Your mother - "

"My mother is dead." Marianne interrupted. "Killed not by war or treachery but an illness that could have been prevented had our doctors not spent all their time fixing up soldiers so they could go pointlessly throw their lives away for a bit of primrose border."

There was a clatter as Desmond dropped his crown onto the cold stone of the fitting dais. Above his bushy beard his eyes had gone wide and his face gone white.

"Marianne..."

Both Holly and Marianne turned to their monarch, Marianne's face finally falling into the shock and worry Roland had been trying for all day. But this...this wasn't how he had wanted it to happen! Holly was supposed to turn the conversation to how Roland was the perfect specimen and leading the kingdom to the correct course. This family drama was no use to him at all, and might even erode his hold over Desmond...

"Father, I'm sorry. I didn't mean..." Marianne had reached the dais in an instant, wrestling her arm out of Roland’s unresistant hand and reaching out for her father.

Roland was close behind the instant he realized the severity of the situation, but Dawn of all people intercepted him.

“I’m sorry, but could you two give us a moment?”

“Excuse me?” Roland attempted to pour all his contempt into those two words, sending them out as effectively as a slap to the face, but Dawn didn’t flinch from her position in front of her father and sister.

“I believe this is a family matter, Sir Roland.” Holly stood and smoothed her dress down in a practical motion, her face holding no hint of reproach for the younger princess despite the blatant challenge Dawn was offering.

“Dawn, sweetheart, I promise I won’t let my love for your sister get in the way of - “

“No, Roland. Holly is right.” Dawn looked up at him, clear worry for her family on her face.

But behind it there was steel in her eyes, and Roland felt his verbal slap reverberate back to him as shock.

Dawn wasn’t supposed to act like that. Desmond, yes. Marianne, yes. Thankfully both were weakening to his charms. But Dawn was a cute nothing with air in her head, not steel in her eyes.

But now she was staring him down, and Holly was already halfway out the door, so he left without arguing that he was basically family, the surprise making him foolish. Not that the great Roland could ever make a mistake. Dawn’s sudden fierceness was just a setback, that was all. His plan called for eventually getting rid of her, anyway. Maybe he just needed to move things up a bit…

But in the meantime he would not say no to additional allies.

“Queen Juniper would never have been that cruel.” He said as the door shut behind him, shaking his head.

Holly turned slowly to him and glanced at him from beneath her lashes, her expression still unreadable, even to him. It was rare that anyone kept their emotions as closely in check as Holly did, but Roland had confidence in his skills, even if he could not feel their effect.

“I love the girl, but she just can’t just speak her mind like that! Imagine what would happen if the people heard her! They’d tear her apart.”

Holly regarded him levelly. “You may be right, Roland. And that would be…” She paused a moment, and Roland swore he saw an expression twitch at her lips. A smile? A frown? “A great...pity.”

Then she smiled at him, and Roland knew he had gained an ally. No woman like Holly could resist tearing another down. It was in her nature. A nature they surely shared.

--------------------

When the discussion between the members of the royal family went on for more than a half hour, quiet murmurings and some tears heard through the thick door, Roland finally made his escape, joking about women and fashion and indicating that Holly would of course never be so vain. He bowed deep and made sure to flick his hair out of his eyes in that way he knew made the girls swoon before leaving without a backward glance.

Which was perhaps a pity for him, as Lady Holly watched him leave with narrowed eyes and for a moment - just a moment - her glamour shifted and something other looked out from behind her carefully constructed mask. Too many eyes watched the future king leave, face unreadable as always. Then she turned back to her seamstresses, all of whom knew the value of a perfectly chosen dress, and exactly how much to charge for it. Vanity, really, had nothing to do with it.

And if Desmond was taken aback that she intruded upon his grief, he was sensible enough not to voice it. After all, he was not the only one who grieved for Queen Juniper.

Chapter Text

Sunny peered out into the sunlight of his home kingdom and marveled at how much could change in just a few months time.

Three weeks ago he had been terrified of the Dark Forest. And now...yes, he was still scared. But he knew enough to know what to be scared of. Not goblins, or dark elves, or even the Bog King. All the things he had been warned of as a child were...not really scary at all. Goblins sneezed around mouse fur. Dark Elves welcomed children rather than stealing them. And the Bog King...he was a big grump who could be easily swayed by simply following orders and listening.

The scary things in the Dark Forest were things that either the Light Fields had never heard of or craved. The mushrooms that dripped poison. Groves where dark magic polluted the air. Flowers that made any who sat beneath them besotted.

But he had expected to fear the Dark. He had never expected to fear the Light.

But here he was, citizen of the Light Fields, about to embark on his second major act as Ambassador to the Dark Forest...and he was scanning the waving flowers of his home carefully for any sign of fairy guards.

They would kill him on sight, of that Sunny was certain. He’d seen the way the fairy guard treated the goblins who ventured over the primrose border by the Hawthorn. If a goblin so much as peeked an eye-stalk around the stumps there were guards with shining armor and sharp swords there in an instant. The goblins and dark elves took this in stride, nodding politely at the guards and occasionally attempting to explain themselves...which generally only made things worse. Sunny wasn’t sure if they fully understood the danger they were in. Aggression among goblins was expected, and even Dark Elves were happy to settle problems with fists. But fairies didn’t make threats they were not willing to follow through with. And if they were moved to action, their enemies would end up dead, dispatched efficiently and with no apparent remorse. Each time Sunny saw a fairy draw a bow on his new friends, his blood ran cold.

In the past, Sunny had felt safe because of the efficiency of the field’s army. When he was a boy he had seen a guard battalion fight a snake, fairies and elves alike fighting in complete silence, ignoring casualties and following orders with crisp precision. The idea that there were soldiers on the border like that, protecting the Fields from the Dark Forest, had been an immense comfort.

But now Sunny had a snake on his shoulder, and he was on the wrong side of the border. And his friends were the ones who now regularly stared down the shaft of fairly arrows just for doing their job...and the job that fairy retainers should be doing, namely clearing a space for the Fields and Forest to meet. Even without the city project, the Dark Forest was more than holding up its end of the bargain when it came to preparing for the meeting, while the Fields did nothing and menaced anyone who dared to step close to the border, even curious elves from the Fields’ side.

As a result, most of the work on the fairy side was done by the goblins at night, and Sunny knew that must only be making the Fields Army more paranoid. He’d seen fairy guards inspecting the bark streets the goblins put down, overturning the sturdy sheets as if they personally offended them.

Sunny was certain that the only thing preventing the guards from even further aggression was instructions to prevent an international incident. Or at least an obvious one. Luckily fear of the Bog King’s rage kept the goblins from venturing out into the Fields further, or the guards might have taken the opportunity and then blamed the Dark Forest for any fall out. Sunny could imagine Roland just itching for an incident like that, and using it as an excuse to cancel the talks. Only the fact that the border goblins were damn good at their jobs and carefully kept everyone inside the Dark Forest had prevented an incident.

But the Dark Elves were perhaps more in danger. At first glance many looked like citizens of the Light, and Sunny had seen more than just revulsion on the faces of the Fairy guards upon seeing them. Goblins were disgusting, but elves should be ruled by Fairies. Yet there they were, unsupervised and undisciplined and worst of all completely uncowed by their Fairy superiors. And they were helping the enemy.

The disgust was almost palpable each time a Fairy guard spoke to a Dark Elf. Their eyes would be slits beneath their helms and they loomed above the smaller creatures, barking orders and making demands, hands always resting on bow strings or sword pommels. Twice in only a day Sunny saw a fairy nearly backhand an elf, only to be caught by a fellow guard and pulled away.

Luckily, the other elves felt the same hatred that Sunny did, and left most of the talking to the goblins, despite the generally lower intelligence from their friends leading to muddled messages and confused demands. The goblins at least had fairy respect.

Of course, maybe a few Light Elf guards would have eased the situation somewhat, but not a single one had been seen on the border. Sunny suspected they were being kept away specifically to prevent the wider Field elves from learning of their cousins. Certainly it would be much harder to stir up anger and fear among the elf communities if they knew people who looked just like them were working just across the border. Every family had a son or brother in the army, and news of the Dark Elves would spread fast should any elf soldier meet a Dark Elf face-to-face.

So it was almost certain that no leniency would be given to any elf, Dark or Light, seen near the border. The question that had been worrying Sunny, was whether the guards had been given specific orders for him.

It would be just like Roland and his men to concoct a situation where Sunny would be a perfect casualty. Not a Dark elf or goblin, so under no protection from the Forest. But similar enough that excuses could be made if anything...untoward happened.

Of course, Sunny had been perfectly willing to simply walk across the border, certain that his people would never betray, him until Plum had appeared with a warning from Bog. For once her fear-mongering made perfect sense.

“Are you sure you want to do this, Sunny?” She asked, hovering at his side. “It’s just so dangerous.”

“I’ll just be small, like you said.” He promised. “You were right, it isn’t all that hard, once you know the trick.”

“And I taught him!” came Quez’s peeping voice, from where the feathered serpent was coiled around Sunny’s shoulder. “An’ I’ll protect him if ‘e gets in trouble!”

Plum looked skeptical.

“Nothing is going to happen to your precious protege.” Gale said gruffly, from the other side of Sunny, playing polite to support the other elf, but clearly wishing to be nowhere near Plum. “We’ve got their guard rotations mapped out. Just bolt for the grass when I say, and you should be free and clear.”

Sunny nodded and tensed. The whole team was a fair distance away from the hawthorn, knowing that the fairy guards were focusing all their attention on the area of most activity. Here, a minute’s jog away, close to where the lowest branches nearly brushed the ground and mingled with an arrow-wood bush, they had plenty of cover which bridged the field-forest border.

Gale looked back to where the goblin Fang stood atop a root, waiting until the little creature gave the signal that the Fairy guards had passed. The seconds stretched, then the goblin quickly ducked beneath a leaf and waved.

“Alright. Go!”

Gale shoved Sunny forward, and he tumbled down the hill, keeping beneath the shade of the bush but running fast. While he ran he sucked his presence in, concentrating on being small and beneath notice, falling into the habit just as Quez had shown him.

He slowed a few steps from the border, sneaking behind a leaf and looking for the telltale flash of fairy armor in the sky above or the rustling of grasses to indicate where they traveled on foot. Nothing.

“I don’t sense any guards.” Quez whispered, confirming what Sunny suspected. Gale’s information had been good.

Sunny eased over the border, and felt a shock when he stepped from the cool forest into the sun of the fields. One second the world felt tense and aware, the next there was heat and drowsy calm. The difference almost pulled him up short, but a flick from Quez’s tail kept him moving, scurrying into the grasses and easily finding an elf-trail only a few moments later.

As soon as he was on the trail, Sunny flipped his jacket inside out and slowed, going from a run to a quick walk. He’d left his signature ladybug cap behind, knowing it made him too recognizable. Now he looked like any other elf, going hurriedly from a border farm into town, and surely was beneath the notice of any fairy.

A fact that was called to test a mere five minutes later, when another squad of Fairies flew overhead. Only one spotted him, but Sunny tried not to scream when the man landed in a flash before him, armor glowing so bright it almost dazzled his eyes.

“What are you doing so far from you village, Elf?” The fairy loomed, and Sunny shrank down.

“Streamside has the best apothecary ‘round here, sir. My friend needs - “

The fairy waved him into silence, rolling his eyes. “Your friend should have told you to keep to the inner roads. New rule, imposed by General Roland.”

“...ah. But it’s the fastest way…”

“It’s the fastest way to get eaten by goblins, you mean!” One of the still-hovering fairies shouted, to be met with laughter from the rest of the group.

But the grounded fairy didn’t smile. “Are you talking back to me, boy?”

Servility came easy to Sunny, but for the first time he realized how ugly it sounded falling from his mouth. “N-no, sir.”

“Seemed to me you were trying to make excuses. The Army doesn’t tolerate that, you understand?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good. Now turn out your bag. Your friend better not be sending you to town with contraband.”

Sunny did as asked, privately thanking Gale for her suggestion that he leave everything but a few coins back in his tent at the Hawthorn. All that the guard found was a dried berry, a comb, and the coins. The man snorted, and pocketed half the coins before shoving the bag back into Sunny’s hands.

“Good enough. But if I see you on this trail again, you’ll be in the stocks, hear?”

“Yes, sir.”

With a leap and a flap, the fairy kicked off from the ground, his wings generating enough wind to nearly push Sunny to the ground. The laughter from the other guards followed him as he hurried forward.

“Are all fairies like that?” Quez wondered when the guards were out of sight. The little serpent had gone wooden at the first hint of detection, looking for all the world like an intricately carved necklace.

“No. But a fair lot are. Especially the ones who get assigned to the border. In the bigger cities, elves can complain, even if it’s just to their Fairy lord.”

“Will the Lord believe them?”

“...if you make the case that the guards are taking money that should rightfully go to the Lord or Crown, then yes.”

“That still sound horrible!”

“That’s just the way it’s always been.”

“Well, then you should fix it!” Quez said with his perfect, childish logic. “No place this warm should be this mean!”

-----------------

“Lady Holly?”

The woman in question glanced up from her - or rather the castle’s - daily accounts, only to find Princess Dawn of all people at her chamber door. She stood behind Holly’s private servant, an elf whose head was bowed to the exact proper height, just as Lady Holly had taught her.

“Thank you, Moracea. You may go.”

“Shall I prepare tea for the Lady and her guest?”

“You may, yes.”

A deeper bow, and Moracea disappeared, a perfect picture of comportment. Good servants were so hard to find these days, all under-educated and gossipy. Lady Holly had resorted to training her own servants, and while that did mean she had to occasionally give one away to secure a deal, Moracea was her triumph; an orphan girl, raised in Holly’s own household, loyal to a fault yet clever enough to learn the careful rules of etiquette and deploy them perfectly.

In another world, Holly would have used the girl as a replacement for her own lack of heir, but fairy law - and more importantly, custom - was unyielding on such things, and Moracea and Holly kept their roles perfectly as master and servant, and that was all there would ever be. Luckily, Lady Holly was above regrets, and her servants knew their place.

Dawn, however, had no such reticence, and warmly thanked Moracea as she left, disquieting the servant enough that her lips pursed just the slightest in disgust.

Unfortunately, beyond her lack of any kind of appropriate classism, Dawn was perfect in every other way, to Holly’s eyes. She was young, and her manner emphasized it, with her bright dresses and enthusiastic attitude. Yet she held the poise and manners of the highest if fairy ladies; she floated when she walked, kept her gestures fluid and elegant, held perfect posture without any obvious effort, and was a natural at social situations, easily navigating the oft-times labyrinthine web of shifting alliances in the fairy court. Holly could have barely trained Dawn better herself, and as far as she could tell, it all came naturally to the youngest princess.

Quite unlike the sister, then.

---------------

Marianne knew she was awkward. She had been, since a child. She was clumsy, apt to speak without thinking, and over zealous whenever she caught on to a new idea.

When she had first become engaged to Roland, she had thought that just being by him had made her better. Suddenly it hadn't mattered if she let her hem tatter or her hair tangle. He had smiled at her and it felt that the sun itself was beaming at her. And she had done her best to be worthy of him, taking more time on her hair and looks, trying to learn all the silly things that Dawn tried to teach about clothes and fashion and matching one's mate. It hadn't been perfect, but she had thought she had changed enough to make everyone happy.

But then they had broken up, and the perfect image had shattered into a million pieces. Throwing herself into learning to fight had been a blessing, taking all her clumsy flailing and turning it into something refined, training her to be aware of her surroundings in a purely physical manner that had made sense in a way that all her etiquette classes had not.

It had also removed her from the court, which was a blessing on its own. Without Roland to pull her eyes, she realized how everyone her age looked at her. There was disgust and condescension on most every face among her peers, hidden well but always there. In fact, she could hardly remember a time when it had been otherwise. She had been an awkward child just as much as an adult, always a bit too mature to play with her age group, but too small to tag along with the older children. But it had been easier to play with boys, waging mock-wars in the courtyard rather than painting or reciting poetry with girlfriends. Easier to beat a bully with fists as well. But as she had grown her friends had gone off to the army or trade, or simply grown distant as her breasts began to grow. It wasn't appropriate for a girl to tussle with a boy, worse still if the girl had a chance of winning.

Perhaps if her mother had lived things would have been different. There certainly would have been more time spent playing with her peers and less in the council, her small, serious face listening close to the councilors and asking progressively less silly questions as the years went on. Her tutors had been old warriors and young scholars, the normal comportment and etiquette classes brushed aside in favor of preparing her to step into her mother's shoes far too soon.

But it had felt, from age sixteen to twenty five, that not a single other person her age cared about the things that really mattered. And then Roland had appeared and pulled her awkward, clumsy self into a world of peers who could speak an insult with pretty words and who cared more for dresses than strategy.

It hadn't mattered until the illusion shattered, and she saw just how much they all despised her. Where Dawn could fit in easily with a smile and a pretend vapidness that allowed her to ignore insults and condescension, Marianne had no such subtly. It all seemed so pointless, all the back-talk and jockeying for the scraps of power that the court allowed, while at council and in the army real power was being exchanged.

But her peers spoke to their parents, and when Roland charmed them all they lent their support to him, not to his awkward paramour. And while it should have been that the boys hated Roland just as much as the girls loathed Marianne, it never seemed to fall out that way. Even former friends, boys she had fought with in those long-ago courtyard skirmishes, hid sneers when she spoke of business and war, and turned to Roland to parrot whatever his opinions were, even if he merely repeated what she said.

How had it come to this? Dawn moved in that world so easily, yet when Marianne entered a room a space opened up around her, and she could barely begin a conversation unless Roland was at her side to draw attention to him.

As Marianne went about her daily affairs, she wondered if that why she needed Roland so desperately. It seemed as if no even saw her without Roland at her side. And if they did acknowledge her, it seemed as if they saw nothing they liked. Every where she went, it was as if doors slammed in her face.

-------------

Roland smiled as he watched his creation try, and fail, to begin a conversation with an old friend. They were on a terrace over looking the castle gardens, and it was so easy for the young man to claim a pressing engagement and fly off. Of course, no one would show such blatant disrespect to Roland, but Marianne had become used to it, the silly girl.

He had begged her, earlier that day, to try and get out more. To connect more with his friends, rather than hiding her 'pretty face' away in her rooms and exhausting herself on matters better left to the experts.

But the exhaustion still showed, for all the world to see, and Marianne was like a wilted flower in a bouquet of the freshest blooms. Everyone could she she was out of place, and surely she felt it too. He didn't need any of his strange power to push them away from her, afraid that their reputations would be tarnished by someone so ugly.

He watched as Marianne tried, and failed, to find a single ally in the crowd of her peers. She would have no luck, nor would she tomorrow, unless Roland walked beside her and eased the minds of his followers. For these people were indeed his followers, more than any other group in the entire kingdom except perhaps the army. But soldiers were trained to follow orders. These people were trained not to think, and that was even better for his purposes. While Marianne had busied herself in Council and inspecting the towns and borders, Roland had acted as the easy leader the beautiful and restless wished for. And they had fallen to him without a moment's hesitation. He was so easy to love. And even without his manipulations, Marianne was the exact opposite.

And soon, everyone would hate her.

------------

Sunny managed to sneak most of the way to the nearest Light Elf town without any further hassle; he stuck to the shadows and away from known army surveillance routes. Only once did he need to hide, ducking into a stand of grass and jopeweed and concentrating on being as small as he could when a group of chattering fairies flew overhead. They hit at the grass stalks as they flew over, making the whole stand jostle in a way that would have caused any harvesting elf to fall painfully to the ground. Sunny pushed down a flare of anger at this, reminding himself that such casual cruelty was the norm among fairies and the self preservation (masquerading as basic decency) he saw in the Dark Forest was the aberration.

In some ways Quez was a great help to Sunny on their trip, his chattering helping to take Sunny’s mind off the nervousness he felt. The little snake was fascinated by everything he saw, demanding names for every new flower or grass they came across and exclaiming loudly at the bright colors of vervain and butterfly weed. Sunny wondered what Quez would say of the truly impressive spring flowers, the imported tulips and pansies, or of the bright summer tiger lilies of the west or deep rose bushes that bloomed around the palace.

Of course, Quez was equally surprised by how safe everything was. Even this close to the forest dangerous weeds were ruthlessly cut down, especially given that the elves had more leniency to do as they wished so far from outside authority. Sunny knew of fairy lords who kept poisonous weeds around for castle protection or for punishment for rebellious workers. It didn’t bear to think of what would happen should the more carnivorous fly-traps and pulpit flowers made their way into fairy gardens. He could only imagine servant elves losing hands or feet ‘accidentally' when caring for their master’s farms.

But Quez babbled on about everything, from flowers to buzzing insects that were all as familiar to him as the back of his hand. Yet. In all of that chatter, the instant the serpent felt an approaching presence it snapped to attention, directing Sunny to the incoming army [squad]. For all its foolishness, Quez still was a valuable ally.

Quez was also the first to notice the up-coming village, eagerly flapping his stubby wings in excitement before finally settling down when Sunny reminded him of the promise to remain a wooden observer while in the town. Then Sunny squared his shoulders, adjusted his pack, and strolled into Forest Side.

--------------

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here.” Dawn began, after Holly had elegantly seated her in a perfectly outfitted sitting room. The walls were draped in spider-silk wall hangings, all in the greens and silvers of the Royal House counterbalanced artfully with the reds of Lady Holly’s own House. Scattered all around were artifacts of the Lady's wealth; silver filigree on lamps and mirrors, plush lounges of dark wood from the summer lands against the walls, while the tea table and chairs were made of intricately carved local wood, far stronger than it appeared. Everything spoke of equal parts luxury and class, and Dawn couldn’t help but sit straight in her chair, hands folded just so on her lap, ankles crossed and knees tight in a way that would have made Lady Lavender cheer at the perfection.

“I would never presume to guess.” Lady Holly said, easing into her own chair carefully. For all her elegance, she was still an aging fairy, and her joints ached after a morning sitting at her desk reviewing accounts and searching out corruption. The light of the sitting room hurt her eyes after so long in the dimly lit study, and she accepted Moracea’s offered tea with something as close to gratitude as she could allow herself.

“Yesterday you said something that caught my attention.” Of course Dawn was given her tea cup first, placing it lightly upon the tea table and preventing Holly from taking her own sip.

Holly placed her cup down as well, her arthritic fingers missing the loss of heat. “I said a great many things yesterday. If you wish me to apologize…”

“No, no!” Dawn quickly said, wings fluttering in agitation. “Quite the opposite! You are right about Marianne not having anything to wear.”

Holly’s brows went up, but if she was surprised at all by the statement her wings did not show a flicker of reaction. “Oh?”

“Yes! But it’s not because she’s silly; she doesn’t have enough time.”

“Roland makes time for such things.” Holly observed. He did; his incompetent servant girl was always making requests to Holly’s tailors to create outfits that were far beyond her meager skill or begging for assistance when she confronted a problem far beyond her pay-grade. That hardly excused Marianne from taking the opposite approach, however. Holly would stand by her claim that the Crown Princess could no more pick the correct clothes for the occasion than an elf could fly.

“Well, it’s true she doesn’t much care for it as well. But ever since Roland fired her housekeeper she hasn’t had anyone to see to it that her clothes are taken care of, or that replacements are found.”

Holly’s eyes narrowed at the idea that Roland commanded the future Queen’s staff, many of whom Holly herself had trained and had gifted to the royal house - and Queen Juniper in particular - over the long years. No matter how slack the Crown Princess was in ruling her house, Madam Pennyworth had been an excellent housekeeper, one of Lady Holly’s best creations before Moracea, a woman who once had overseen entire wings of the castle before ‘retiring’ to care for the Princess’s suit. And if she had occasionally passed on tidbits to her former mistress, well, that was appropriate thanks for the help Holly had given her to reach such a high position.

That Roland dared to fire her spies was a larger insult than any made about her age or vanity. But Dawn seemed oblivious to the subterfuge happening beneath her nose.

“And you are completely right about all her old clothes being terrible anyways. So! Since you have the best tailors in the castle, I thought I’d come to you to negotiate a new wardrobe for Marianne.”

Holly did not let irritation or surprise show, and neither did she give into the temptation to chastise the Princess for chattering when she could have spoke more eloquently.

“What, exactly, do you want, Princess?” Picking up her cup to sip was enough insult, though the princess hardly seemed see it as such.

Dawn beamed, and her warm smile momentarily eased Holly’s cool expression. “I want to hire you!”

“I am a Lady. Dawn. You do not hire a lady like a common servant!”

“Oh.” Dawn’s face fell, and Lady Holly resumed her neutral expression with some relief. Then the princess fixed her face into a cool expression, not unlike Holly’s own, and said, “Lady Holly, would you lend your expertise to a project of some challenge? Of course you will be appropriately compensated for your skill.”

“Much better. Very well. I will hear your proposal.”

------------------

The village was just like every other small town in the fields. Small houses, husk-shingled roofs and woven grass siding, making it all blend almost seamlessly into the surrounding meadow, practical in how it hid the town from winged predators. It took training to find such towns from above, and most fairies would have flown over head barely noticing the downed grasses that was the clearest indication of elf housing.

Streets were made of grasses as well, shorter pieces woven tightly together and slung over mud paths whenever anyone had enough time to sit. Mostly that was only in winter, when every house would work on winter tithe by bettering their community for the king, and working on smaller cottage industries for their lord. Thus by fall the streets were often broken down and ground into the mud, and elves would hurry through the fall storms with mud up to their knees on their way to harvest their last crops.

But now, only half way through summer, the streets had faded into a light brown and there were only a few holes poking through. Tiny wildflowers had been grown into the houses, nothing large enough for harvest for the lord, but beautiful nonetheless.

Few workers were about, every farmer in their land or on their lord’s fields. If Dawn’s messages were to be believed, most of the fairies were working their elves double in the bountiful summer. Still, there were women with babes at the hip tidying house and calling out chores to the children. There was a line outside the mill, a rickety contraption that looked as if it hadn’t been repaired in twenty years and creaked along on wind-power and with the help of a tired looking mouse on a treadmill. But no one sat outside the corner store, and it was still too early for field hands to be returning for lunch at the pub.

The world was quiet, not of the lazy summer heat that Quez had complained of earlier, but the quiet of industrious work with little need for speech. Sunny walked through town, remembering it from the last time he had stopped by - on an errand for chilled berries after an outing with Dawn - but noting how tired everyone seemed. There was no chatter even in line for the well or mill, no aborted chuckles or whispered gossip, even with a quiet outsider walking in their midst.

Every little town near the border would look exactly the same, though some didn’t have general store, blacksmith or mill, relying on hand labor or walking to the nearest large town to get luxuries. None had stables, because everyone was too poor for even a mouse, much less a stronger beast like Roland’s Chipper.

He wondered if everyone looked this tired, in every little town across the kingdom. It was the same bone-weary tiredness one saw at the end of the harvest season, but without the bubbling excitement of an upcoming harvest festival. Sunny wondered if these people had even had a break for Summer Day, or if they had worked quietly through that as well. What could the fairies be doing to motivate them so?

Quez vibrated with curiosity, desperate to gawk and look around at such a little, bitty town, but equally desperate to prove how grown up and responsible he was, and thus not move a muscle. The concentration was so hard that he was just as shocked as Sunny when they passed the single alley in the whole town, and were jerked harshly into it.

------------

Sunny caught himself before he swore like a goblin, barely keeping his identity hidden in his surprise. A small elf woman jerked him into the shadows between the Lord's office and the the mayor's house, the two buildings just far enough apart to indicate disdain for the other while still showing a unified front. Sunny could barely see her in the shadows, his eyes still sun-dazzled, but any hint of her identity was secondary to the hissing question she asked.

“What is a Dark Elf doing this side of the border?!”

Sunny gasped in shock, mute as the woman dragged him onward, through the alley and then into the mayor's kitchen garden and on into the house.

“Miss, lm not...”

“Pah!” she spat into the fire. “You don't think I can recognize one of my own?”

----------

“A new dress every day? From my tailors?” Surprise leaked out of Lady Holly’s expression, mostly at the audacity of the request. Her workers were true artists, taking only a few commissions at a time, and those few openings were fought over dearly by the members of the court. Holly had advanced her way into many an arena never before opened to a woman or fairy of low birth in part through allowing through commissions of of her tailors and dressmakers - to have one family monopolize her workers for an entire season had not been allowed since Juniper’s death.

“I assure you, the royal family can afford it.”

Lady Holly pursed her lips. “You apparently forget, Princess, that I oversee the royal family’s accounts. If you wish quality deserving of a Queen, your sister most certainly cannot afford my House’s services.”

Dawn smiled calmly. “As you know, my sister rarely uses her budget to its full extent. If you consider the amount she has not spent over the last ten years…”

“That is not how the royal budget works. It has always been on a yearly basis…”

“And if you add in the salaries of the workers my sister has lost since Roland has joined her house, as well as my yearly dress budget and private stipend, then I believe you will find the total satisfactory.”

As the numbers grew in Holly’s mind she was forced to agree that yes, perhaps that would be enough to monopolize her tailors for a season.

Dawn continued, “I also have designs for your artisans to follow, should they need a few weeks to come up with their own designs. If you choose to use them, it will also lessen suspicion that you have allied yourself completely with the royal house.”

Holly pursed her lips, ready to accept Dawn’s armature drawings and then surprised in equal part by the quality of the sketches the Princess laid on on the table, and by her ability to recognize the the swirls of politics surrounding Holly’s use of her craftspeople.

Other nobles had excellent craftspeople in their employ as well, but only Holly had taken her family’s original source of wealth - general textiles produced by the elves on her small manor and taken as tax instead of grain - and developed it into an art form great enough to be exported across the fields and beyond. Just as she selected and trained servants to the highest quality, so to did she instruct her craftspeople to do the same; plucking the most talented elves and low-born fairies alike from her lands and beyond. Her spiders might be the most long-standing testament to her family’s heritage, but Holly had gone far beyond that to create her Fashion House, and had used that one thing to climb to the same heights as her beloved Juniper.

And now Juniper’s daughter, the child everyone thought too silly to play the politics game, was sitting beside her, sketching out her ideas for winning over the population with art and beauty, just as her mother had before her.

“You said that Marianne should show her loyalty to the fields with what she wears. I believe you are right. By using the first flowers from every crop, it should be possible to showcase the work of every sector of the kingdom, and use what is already tithed to the king…”

“And the colors?” Holly prompted, knowing how the Crown Princess infamously wore only darks.

“There I think we can find a balance; by rotating the colors we could also show support for every royal family equally, without seeming to come down in favor of one house or another.”

“Even if it does not match Roland?” A test and a question in one; Roland only ever wore the green of the Royal family. The dark colors that fit so well with Marianne’s features would look out of place next to the knight.

Dawn hesitated, and Holly knew she had found a flaw in the younger woman's plan. “Roland...looks perfect in everything. I’m sure your work will only improve with a man like him beside it.”

Lady Holly's eyes glittered, but she simply said, “Perhaps. What kind of outfits do you want for your sister?”

Dawn seized upon the safer topic. “Oh, everything. Sun dresses, flying dresses, evening dresses - even bed clothes!”

“That is rather beneath the scope of my craftsmen.” Holly said.

“Surely the best would be up to the challenge?” Asked Dawn innocently, and Holly had to bite back a smile at the clear attempt at manipulation.

Still, there was no harm in letting the girl think she won for now.

“Very well. I will discuss your proposal with Emanuel, my lead clothier.”

But when Dawn did not rise to leave, Lady Holly looked up from the sketches.

“Was there something else, Princess?”

----------

The kitchen was of the sort only the wealthiest man in such a village could afford. A good stone hearth, wide pieces cut and smoothed to a polish rather than thrown together from any flat stone pulled from a field, cabinets made from bark rather than grass, and actual iron cookware. Paint on the walls and a full set of plates; compared to the castle this was nothing, but in this town the luxury stood out.

The matronly elf woman spoke, hands going about the task of putting a kettle on out of instinct. Sunny noticed the heavy callouses on her palm, and the same spark-scars as his mother on the back of her hands.

“That carving on your shoulder is to fancy for a place like this. So I figure you’re a spy or a border hopper, and no spy I’ve ever seen would wear such worn shoes.” The kettle was filled from a canister of water, then placed on an iron hook over the hearth fire. She wiped her hands on her skirts, then sat across from Sunny at the worn kitchen table. “But no Dark Elf would be such a damn fool to hop the border with those guards hassling any traveler. So what are you, boy? A fool or a snitch?”

“I’m neither!” Sunny paused, the denial too quick on his lips. “Or...maybe I’m both.”

The woman leaned back and crossed her arms. “Oh really.”

“Yes! My name’s Sunny. Sunny Dai. I work at the palace.”

The woman’s eyes skyrocketed. “The fool wooing the princess?!”

“Yeah. I’m...I’m kind of like an ambassador, now. I got sent to the Dark Forest, and now I’m here.”

“You run away from your duties? Scared of what you saw?” The kettle was beginning to whistle, but the woman didn’t take her eyes off Sunny.

“No! Not at all. I’m here to talk to people. To see if trade between the kingdoms is possible. If you would even want it.”

The woman looked at him, long and hard, and Sunny felt pinned to the floor by her gaze. Even Quez was silent and motionless, doing his very, very best to remain hidden from the frightening elf woman.

Then, suddenly, she laughed, a big, bellowing sound, and slapped her knee.

“Well, I ain’t never heard a spy with a story so foolish. I believe you, son. And you’ve come to the right place.”

She extended her hand, and Sunny took it, only to be nearly crushed by her grip.

“Round here they call me Mater Joy. But back home I was Joy of the Grower Clan.”

------------------------

For the first time since coming into Lady Holly’s chambers, the Princess looked unsure.

“Papa said you and mother were close friends, before…”

A genuine look of pain flashed across Lady Holly’s face, and she set the sketches down.

“It is true. Dr. Ibis and I were quite close with your mother before she became Queen.”

Dawn looked down, flushing. “What...what was she like?”

--------------------------

Sunny sat, eyes wide, hand wrapped around the thick earthenware mug Joy had given him, and listened as Joy explained how things had used to be, before the Primrose Border had been shut down.

As she spoke, her glamour slipped, revealing a face mottled with green round the edges and scars round her lips. Goblin heritage, perhaps, and the stiff tension in her eased as it happened, as if she was relaxing for the first time in years; quite believable if what she told Sunny was true.

“We’re not blind, you know. Those closer to the castle might not know about the Dark Elves, but you can’t live close to the border without seeing them some. O’course now the locals think it’s just a few, babes who somehow survived a goblin up-bringing or some such rubbish, and us old folks stay quiet, lest some loose lips slip the secret to those with wings. Younguns don’t know any of it. Imagine their faces if they knew Alder Town was just cross the border?” She chuckled and shook her head. “My grandbabies think I’m the best story-teller in all of Forest-side, talking about cities in the sky with lights that glow brighter than stars. But you’ve seen it to, haven’t ya?”

Sunny nodded, noting the pang of longing in the Joy’s eyes.

“Well, afor the border went up, there was plenty of trade between the Dark and Light, quiet like. There’s things you just can’t grow in the Dark, and just as many that don’t like the Light. For every ginseng there’s a fennel, and it’s amazing how quick you get a taste for what don’t grow in your own garden.

“So as long as there have been elves on the border, there’s been trade. When the war was bad it was quiet like, just meetin’s far away from the battle as possible. An if a few younuns wanted to jump the border for a chance at adventure, well everyone would shake their heads and not make too much of it.”

Joy nodded to a picture on a cabinet.

“That wasn’t for me. I was a sensible girl, raised Grower all my life, though I ain’t got no talent for it. I was always more of a baker. But Forest Side is the closest Light town to Alder, and the war was always north when I was a child. Trade was regular, and Lord Cam looked the other way long as his cut came in.

“When they needed a go-between, I volunteered, and I didn’t regret it till the border closed. My husband and I - that’s Timothy there - we built a fortune on sending Dark goods out into the Light. Built this house out of nothing, an everyone was better for it.”

“But the people here are so poor…” Sunny said, then trailed off as Joy sighed.

“Yes. The rules were the same, then an now. Can’t sell Dark goods openly, and what counts as “Dark” ain’t well defined. We’ve got good soil, good lands, but half of what grows is shade-bound. Can’t harvest violets in spring, not to sell inland. Afor the ban, when Old Cham was in charge, no one would look to close at what you passed on, 'less you sell too much or go too deep into the Forest. An' who would, with goblins so nasty about their territories? Most were too scared to do much, but the little things made living out here worthwhile. Pretty little lasses might not have much, but they could have Seng tea and violet pillows that not another soul in the Fields could afford, and that made it better.

“An most families round here lived off the primrose harvest, afor the ban. That’s why they needed me, and no one spoke too loud when I married the mayor, though I was an outsider and a Dark Elf to boot. They needed a Grower, even a rubbish one like me, to handle the primroses without becoming besotted."

“But then the ban came.” Sunny said.

“Aye. But the trouble started afor that, with that last war. The battle didn’t need to be here for the effects to be felt. No one would buy things from the Dark any more, and the Lords wouldn’t take suspicious goods in tithe, no matter the quality or the value. Even if they were going to sell it in the Winter Lands! That was, oh, twenty years ago. Then Old Cham died, and Young Lord Chamomile just wanted money, money, money in the tithe, never mind that not a soul out here has more ‘n a few bits to their name. Then came the Ban on Love, and everyone close to the castle was so happy about not hav’n another war that they didn’t care ‘bout what happened to us, with our big earner gone up in smoke. But the Young Lord wanted more, not less, and called in his palace friends and that Damn Dogwood to get it.”

Joy’s grip on her own mug was tight enough to shake its contents, and her expression darkened.

“Now most everyone works for Dogwood and Chamomile more ‘n they work their own fields. An’ any bit of forage you c’n do is liable to get you in the stocks for touchin the Dark. My Percy’s eldest was whipped last week for pick’n flowers for ‘er sweetheart too close to the border, and my Percy is mayor of this here town! An’ now the army’s round more, tramping o’er fields, not caring whose they are, not car’in whose life they hurt.”

She set her mug down with a thump, and turned to Sunny.

“An’ that’s my story. You think you can do anything about that, elf, or if you can help my town, I’ll listen. An if you are a spy, you can tell those bastard Mater Joy says that they can stick it!”

--------------------------

Holly watched the second Princess leave, long fingers tapping on the sketches the girl had left behind.

Dawn had surprised her, and it had been a long time since anyone in the royal family had done so.

It had also been a long time since anyone in the royal family showed any skill at politicking. Or since anyone had been so aware of how the face they showed to the world affected the populace's perception.

In all of this, Dawn was untried and untrained, something Juniper would have never let happen to one of her own daughters. And Juniper’s daughter she most certainly was, with the easy kindness backed up by cleverness hidden behind the appearance of vapidness.

So much better than the unsubtle Marianne. That girl was most definitely her father’s daughter, brash and arrogant and too quick to solve problems with a sword rather than finesse. She would ruin everything Juniper had built, all the sweetness the former Queen had brought into the Palace in the midst of a war. Now Juniper’s ideals of beauty ruled, and Marianne directly opposed all of it, unaware of all the progress she risked with her coarse words and childish clothing.

One sister alone was not enough to undo the chaos that Marianne was pushing them towards. And neither girl could make up for the sins of their father. He was the reason his elder daughter ran around unchecked until love caged her. He was the reason his younger daughter was untrained in the ways of finesse. He was the reason Dawn knew nothing of her mother.

He was the reason Juniper was dead.

And could one girl undo twenty years of brewing hatred? Or should a far better-trained knight be allowed to bring down the whole family with his pretty face? Before today she had thought the answer obvious. Now she was not so sure. Still she hated Desmond passionately, and would love to see him fall...

And the look in Desmond’s eyes as he realized he was the cause of all his suffering?

That would be all the reward she sought.

But Lady Holly was not an emotional woman. Not someone to damn a country just because of one decades long grudge. Like her seamstresses, she would watch and wait, and see how both sides balanced out before she struck.

-----------------------------------------

“I...I don’t know if I can fix all your problems.” Sunny said honestly. “Or...or even most of them. But I do want to help, and there’s others in the castle that do as well. But I’ve got to ask...given all of this, why stay?”

Mater Joy sighed. “This is my home, boy. My husband’s buried here. My children an’ grandbabies live here, right in this house. If I left, I’d never be able to come back. The town wouldn’t let me. And…”

She tugged the collar of her pressed shirt down, revealing a white scar, running up both sides of her neck. The exact same shape that Sunny had seen in the Alder Town tavern.

“An’ I wouldn’t live long in the Dark. The fields saved my life, Sunny. They’re worth fighting for.”

Chapter Text

“You survived!” Griselda hopped off of her seat and hurried over to Dawn, grinning broadly.

The second princess nodded and collapsed in an ungraceful lump on a pile of cushions. “Ooooofff, yes. But it wasn’t easy.” After a full three hours with Holly she felt like finding a mud puddle to jump into, just to wash off the exacting formality that Holly exuded like perfume.

“I don’t know why you chose to go after her first.” Griselda thumped down besides Dawn. The thick cushions almost swallowed her small frame up. In any other circumstance, it would have been unbearably hot. But deep within the castle-stone, it was cool enough to enjoy the plush pillows and heavy fabric.

Of course all of it was barely used; hardly anyone stayed in the castle during the winter months and there was little need of the lush comfort throughout the rest of the year. Dawn couldn't remember the last time she had used such things. It was quite a pity, for the ancient seamstresses had done an excellent job yet their work rarely saw the light of day. The Princess stretched happily against the soft velvet and thought about asking for a room deeper in the castle to be set aside for the worst of the summer heat.

“I’m glad to see you safe.” Griselda admitted. “That woman...there is something off about her.”

Dawn turned to Griselda, resting her head on her arms, confused. “Off how?”

-------------------

Mater Joy introduced Sunny to several of her friends at the pub that night. The rickety building looked as though it would blow down in a stiff breeze, and had in winters past according to Joy. But the fire and the company was warm, locals slipping in after a hard day in the fields for a good hearty dinner or meandering in later for a beer and company.

Sunny had been right in assuming the town was small; beyond the Mayor’s family there were only ten others who lived in the town proper. Others homesteaded further out, and of those only the younguns had the energy to come all the way into town after a long day's work.

That was not who Joy introduced him to. The young people laughed and talked loud and flirted with their sweethearts, never even glancing into the corner where Sunny and Joy had set up, hours earlier. Instead the older generation slipped in, slow and spaced out, grandfathers who all earned a respectful bow from the assembly or old women who told a bawdy joke to get the younguns laughing as they collected their drinks.

The first old timer who made their way out of the light and into the shadows was the blacksmith’s father, a wizened elf with arms bigger than Sunny’s whole chest, and scars speckling his cheeks. He gave his name as Dav, and said no more until he’d finished his first beer. Then there was Patti Spool, a face Sunny recognized from the corner store, a matronly woman who could have been Gale’s sister, for all the sharpness in her eyes and her taste for haggling. A middle-age man named Stem came in with his son from the fields, but left the boy behind at the bar when he saw Joy beckoning him over. The last to sit down was the barman’s wife, Charin, bringing the whole table bowls of hearty stew and never returning to the front.

None of them noticed Sunny until he was handing out the thick bread Joy had brought.

“And who is this? Another relation?” Stem asked, looking over his glasses at Sunny. “I thought I’d finally seen them all.”

The table chuckled, except for Patti, who squinted at Sunny and said, “No. I’ve seen him before. Dressed different, though. You’re from the castle, ain’t cha?”

Suddenly the table silenced, and Sunny found himself at the center of piercing attention.

“Yes...I work for Princess Dawn.”

The tension lightened, but only a bit, until Joy said. “And that’s his bread you’re eating. Made it with his own two hands, and if you think a toff can do that, you’re foolin’.”

The tension eased the rest of the way, as half the table had already been on their second portion of the heavy farmer’s bread Sunny and Joy had spent the rest of the day making. Sunny had assumed Joy had preferred to talk while working, and of course he wasn’t one to let anyone work while he did nothing. He’d never thought it might be some kind of test.

“I knew it wasn’t Joy’s normal loaf.” Charin said, examining the bread critically. “But here I thought you’d found some new recipe.”

Joy shook her head. “No recipe, just some spices Sunny brought from the Forest.”

Silence. But it was not the shocked silence Sunny had expected; rather it was as if the table suddenly understood why Joy had brought them here. And they still reached for more bread.

“Hell’s Bells, Joy.” Dav complained. “Don’t tell me you’re back to that fool’s quest of yours.”

“The border’s closed up good.” Charin agreed, eyes darkened. “Won’t change until the war - longer if we're lucky - and everyone knows it.”

“Much as we might wish it different.” Patti said. She, of all of them, probably was feeling the loss of the extra earnings clearest, with her stock of borderland spices dwindling down to what the army permitted while the luxuries sat unsold as her customers cash dried up.

“That’s not why I’m here.” Sunny said, drawing their eyes to him and out of what he sensed was an age-old argument.

“Really?” Dav didn’t look as if he believed him.

“Oh, let the boy speak!” Joy said.

Sunny flushed, but continued. “I might be from the castle, but I’ve got eyes. I know how hard it is out here - how hard it is everywhere in the kingdom. And it's just going to get worse when they burn the fields.”

“They’re doing what?!” Stem shouted, slamming his fist on the table, only to be hushed by the rest.

“That’s what the Princess said. They’re making the announcement at the end of the month.”

“Bastards.” Stem hissed, but listened anyways.

“That’ll destroy the elves’ harvest.” Patti said quietly, and the others nodded. Stem fumed - quite understandable as the farmers would be most hurt by it all. But everyone who stayed for the winter would feel the bite if the food stores were not enough to last. Things might get ugly...had gotten ugly in the past. But in bitter winters the royal store houses were opened for the poor and hungry. This year Roland was in charge and Sunny doubted he would be so lenient.

“Dawn, er, Princess Dawn doesn’t want that. Neither does Crown Princess Marianne.”

“Atch, and what’re they gonna do about it? They can’t tell the Lords to stop working our bones off.” Stem said.

Sunny placed a missive he’d received from Dawn on the table. Only half of the group could read, so he briefly summarized.

“This says that the Princess is authorizing me to talk to the elves and try to help. It can’t be...obvious, but we think we might have a solution. But you might not like it.”

“He wants to bring Dark Elves in to finish the harvest.” Joy said, cutting through the unease.

----------

On the border, the Light Elves knew of the Dark. Not just the oldsters who remembered the times before the primrose ban, but any elf who had eyes and watched nervously for signs of goblin mischief. It was almost a right of passage for little borderland elf children to be taken aside after their first sighting and be made to understand that yes, some goblins looked like elves, but they were different elves and no one else must know of them.

And, being children, it took stories of the Bog King and curious little elves cooked into stew to prevent them from sneaking across the border to meet these ‘evil' elves. And even then every year some child was found playing catch across the border for bragging rights. For those children bluntness was used; if the Bog King was not terrifying enough, then pointing to actual family members who had disappeared into the jails or stocks of the fairy lords was a much better discouragement. No one treated the fairies as a game.

But further from the border, where goblins were effective boogiemen rather than strange creatures occasionally sighted from beneath heavy shadows, no one knew of Dark Elves. The idea was preposterous. Elves could not live without light. And since no one ever left their village, and certainly never left their lord’s service, there was never any threat of them finding out otherwise.

The Wizard’s College and Council preferred to keep it that way, only more so now that the presence of Dark elves had been confirmed and reports had begun trickling in of free elves, beholden to no one but their king, able to move freely and demand fair prices for their goods and work. Elves with magic, that thing that was only reserved for the most brilliant fairies, that elves were supposed to be too stupid to understand. In the past every rumor of the Dark Elves had been squashed as soon as it had drifted from the border, violently usually, giving the border elves all they needed to keep their children in line.

No one had considered that such a lack of knowledge might work against them.

But even as Sunny spoke to the few elves who would need to know the truth, other rumors were flying through the kingdom, carefully planned by Griselda and disseminated by the Dai family.

A burn was coming, Sunny’s sisters whispered to their friends at market and to their husbands. Misty spoke to customers at her boutique, words spoken only in the highest confidence to her most trusted regulars, ensuring almost alone that the rumor of the burn spread faster than wildfire ever could. Drizzle cried to her band about it, which ensured the entire pub knew...and she played at the most popular caravan stop in the whole kingdom. Drip and Drop spoke to their students, reminding the little ones in schools around the capitol proper fire safety...And if their parents asked why the twins told of a terrible, terrible rumor they had heard, surely far from true, but better safe than sorry with the little ones, right?

Ma Dai played her boys a bit more carefully, Ray in particular having too much of his father in him to appreciate subtly. And if he got into his cups...well. But Beam was a good, solid boy whose crops were sought after by half the city, and he only needed to hear of his sister’s worries before his thoughtful mind wondered if there might be elves somewhere who would be willing to work for any extra harvest. When his mother pursed her lips he hid a smile and mentioned casually to his friends at his pub that he’d be willing to hire any who wanted some sunshine and good food...and to send any information of such a team on to the capitol, should they hear of it.

Shine and Bright both worked in the army, loyal as could be to the king and kingdom, but when Ma Dai mentioned Marianne’s proposed changes to the army rotation both shared a tight look.

“That’d take away from parading.” Bright said, looking everywhere but his mother’s eyes.

“Aye.” Shine agreed, his opinions less polite after a cup of heavy ale. “And let us rest our boots a bit while doing some actual good."

Shone, Shine’s twin and a cobbler, said, “Hey now, that’d cut down my business!” And the table laughed, even as the brothers shared another look that spoke volumes of their opinions on ‘General' Roland...and his treatment of his troops.

“They’re fun when they’re happenin." Shine admitted later. “ All that cheering, all the flowers…on parade I feel like I can take on the world.”

“But then you get back to barracks and your commander‘s fit to be tied at the smudges on your armor and you have to buy new boots out of your own pay.” Bright grumbled.

"Its a waste of good shoe leather.” Shone said, free to say as he pleased. “And it's not as if he has to walk thirty blocks.”

“Thirty blocks? How ‘bout thirty towns. Parade’s on rotation now. Half the elf battalions are assigned to capitol parades, the other half keeps a moving parade through the kingdom.” Shine shook his head. “And if the rumors are true…”

“About the burn?" Bright's face grew tight. "Roland’s been calling up reserves for the Parade. No one will be prepared for it. Seem’s every free elf is in the army now, less they’re working on their lord’s fields. I feel sorry for Beam.”

“Pity there aren’t any non-attached Elves.” Dai said. “A smart elf could make a killing harvesting what the lords and the army don't leave time for.”

The words sunk in, while Shone made a joke about running out of elves to cheer, and Shine and Bright considered who under their command might need administrative leave to help their struggling families. The number was depressingly high.

So they went back to their barracks, speaking of Marianne’s thoughtful ideas and Roland’s waste of boot leather, and asking if anyone knew of traveling elves who might be willing to work. Beam did the same, and Shone and all their sisters, and even Ray turned his normal drunken complaints towards the lack of labor and the damn fool Lords who worked a body to hard.

And quietly, the warning of the burn spread, along with an inkling of a solution, if only there was someone to fill the niche.

-----------

Before the table could erupt, Sunny explained. “There are plenty of Dark Elves who would work for just food and a chance in the sun. I’ve already spoken to some of their leaders, and they agree that it could be possible, and that they’d be happy to help. I need to know...would you be?”

Stem and the rest sat back and considered. “How many elves would this be?” The old farmer asked.

“No more than one - maybe two - per farm. It shouldn’t be too hard to hide them; to fairies we all look the same. And they could move through the kingdom, from farm to farm, if needed.”

“So you’re saying that you want to smuggle an army into the kingdom, and you want our help to do it?” Dav asked, brows arching high.

But the farmer seemed interested. “Only a few per town, you say. Just enough extra labor to care for the farms while their owners are working in Cham’s fields?”

Sunny nodded. “I know the elves planned for a bountiful season. Most planted enough to last three years, at least further inland. I figured you could feed at least a few more mouths, if that meant getting the full harvest in. And it would help the Dark Elves too - there’s not much food in the Forest, and it's a heck of a lot harder to harvest than grass grain.”

Dev looked between Stem and Joy. “You can’t seriously believe this! Listen to him! His words are near treason!”

“Oh hush up, Dev.” Patti said. “You might be surviving on army work, but the rest of us are starving amidst bounty. The cost of wheat has gone up twice already this year while grains are rotting on the stalk. Think with your stomach, if not your head!”

“He’ll be showing his stomach to the whole world, if’n we let the Dark in.” Charin said, eyes narrowed. “I heard someone got gutted Stream-side way, before the border closed. Everyone knows what Dark Elves do…”

“And goblins eat babies and Fairies are always right.” Joy rolled her eyes. “Everyone has heard that. But where’s the proof? Sunny’s just fine.”

The table looked Sunny up and down, but clearly it did little to prove anything.

“They were probably on their best behavior.” Stem said. “Anyway, he’s special. What would happen to a normal farmer, if a Dark Elf came to work the fields?”

It was a genuine question, surprising Sunny.

“Nothing different than if you’d hired a Fields farmhand.” He insisted. “I’ve seen them; they’re just like us. They have whole clans that farm, full of strong elves who would jump at the chance to see Light Field crops. They’d be good workers.”

“So they’re saints?” Dav clearly didn’t believe Sunny.

“No. They’re just...normal. They drink, get into fights, and get yelled at by their wives. Just like my brothers. And I’m sure there are bad Dark Elves, just like there are bad Light Elves. But if a Dark Elf killed someone, then they would be glad to be in the Light Fields. What they do to criminals isn't…pretty.” then he quickly added,” But no one gets fed to monsters unless they really deserve it.”

“So you’re saying you can’t promise our safety.” Charin said, arms crossed and mouth tight.

“I guess...no more than I could guarantee anybody hired at the castle wasn’t going to steal the silver. We’d have to have someone pick out the Dark Elves that come to the Fields, and someone bad could get through…” Sunny trailed off, feeling as if he was failing in every way to reassure anyone.

Dav grimaced. “A Light Elf should decide. And we’d have to have a trial run before letting in half an army.”

The rest of the table looked at Dav, surprised. He looked back.

“What? Stem is right; we need more workers. But I won’t let random riffraff into my village.” Then he scratched at his cheek. “But the boy does have a solution, and I’m old enough to remember when the border was closed in name only. Some of us have known good Dark Elves.” He didn't glance at Joy as he said this, but Stem and Patti both did. Apparently only Charin didn’t know Joy’s secret. “I’d be willing to give it a shot.”

Patti nodded. “I agree. And if someone could sneak through some ginseng or sassafras...” She looked hopefully at Sunny while the rest of the table groaned and rolled their eyes.

“Well, I’d be willing to be your trial case.” Stem said. “It burns my boots to see my strawberry crop going to waste. If I could pay someone in food to harvest it, I wouldn’t care where they were from.”

Charin looked back and forth between the older table members. “You all are crazy!” She turned to Dev. “I would have expected you to be more sensible!”

Dev shrugged. “Just because I take their money doesn’t mean that I like the fairies running you all ragged. Plus, the army never pays when they can get away with it. I’m actually losing money with them around - they take my best work and then act as if I should be grateful that they’re stealing my livelihood.”

“We have a duty to the kingdom! All of that is within their rights!”

“Well, they usually pay you.” He fired back.

Charin sniffed, back stiffening as if his words hit too close to home. “They have a tab. Fairies needn’t think anything so crude as money.”

“Will you say the same when they start going after your daughters? Can't leave babes at the gates anymore, and you know what fairies can do to good girls.”

Charin chewed at her lip, and glanced around the table. She was greeted with cautious but hopeful faces, all of whom belonged to people she respected and wished to please. Suddenly, she was very alone in the darkness. Grumbling, she said, “Uhg, fine! If you all want to get yourselves killed I won't stop it. But I expect cold hard coin ifn they plan to come here, and I won't serve any who look goblin.”

Dav glanced at Joy, but said nothing, and the conversation went on to specifics of how to smuggle a half dozen elves across the border.

------------

Elsewhere Griselda carefully considered her thoughts on Holly. “You know how some people just rub you the wrong way? She's like that, but...more.”

Dawn flapped her wings in consideration. “I guess. But I've known Lady Holly all my life. She might be...prickly, but she's always served the royal family well, and she was best friends with my mom.”

Roland supposedly served the royal family as well, but Griselda held back her judgement. “Is that why you went to her first?”

Dawn sagged and buried her face in pillows. “Ugh, no. She is always really hard on Marianne. Sis doesn't need that right now. Dogwood and the rest are jerks, but Holly takes her criticism to a new level. She tears people down with a word, and Mari has been bearing the brunt of it. I had to show Holly that it isn't deserved.”

“Do you think it worked?”

Dawn thought back to the encounter, past the childhood terror she felt around Holly and towards what the woman actually said. “I...thinks so. She was really irritated that Roland fired the servants she gave mum.”

“Was she.” Griselda hummed, wondering if Dawn saw any implications in that.

Apparently not. “But she seemed genuinely interested in my designs! And liked our idea to switch up house colors. How'd you come up with that?”

The goblin woman chuckled. “Oh, my boy does just the same.”

Dawn was assaulted with the sudden image of Bog in a floor length fairy dress, and had to choke back a laugh at the image.

Griselda shot her a look, as if she had seen straight into her mind and continued, “Of course, elves and goblins don’t feel loved unless someone is yelling at them. I figured fairies would prefer something pretty to remind them that their family is remembered, rather than a black eye to show off.”

“Ah yes. Fairies aren’t big on...ugliness.” Dawn sighed sadly. Right now it seemed that there was nothing but ugliness in the Fairy kingdom, all hidden by glitter and sweetness so no one would notice it. Roland was beautiful, so he must be good. That was what all the courtiers and young nobles said, when Dawn attended their parties and outings. Marianne was dull, boring and lifeless compared to her dashing fiance, and it seemed that no one had enough sense to look through the sun-dazzle on Roland’s hair and think about what he was doing.

She said as much to Griselda, complaining about how once-enjoyable parties had turned into mires of intrigue and rumor, preventing her from actually enjoying them.

“Like the Summer Day ball! I used to love it. I would dance with all the boys and sneak punch and laugh with all my girlfriends. But now…”

“Now its work rather than pleasure.”

“Exactly! The way they talk about Marianne...it's horrible. They sound like parrots, saying exactly what Roland wants them to say, never-mind who’s listening.”

“In the Dark Forest, people like that would be looking for new heads.” Griselda said, her kindly face turning dark for a moment. There were very few traitors in the Dark Forest - the rules being so fluid that it was quite difficult to break any of them. Revolt and assassination was considered polite conversation, and Bog often encouraged would-be assassins to test the castle defenses. Loyalty was not expected in the Dark Forest; it was earned.

But the denizens of the Dark Forest were honest, in their way. And none of them were cowards. Bog - and Nero, and Buteo, and all the other creatures brought in to deal with criminals, gave every foe a fair chance, words being replaced with violence to support one’s convictions. Even the oldest of councilors in the dark court occasionally took their grievances to the arena; where one could argue for a change in law or challenge the King directly for the throne. It was considered the highlight of the season, better even than the city festivals.

It was weakness to do otherwise. And yet here in the fields, pretty fairies played at rebellion, as if it was a meaningless game, rather than upsetting the whole order of their world. As Dawn described it, they were completely blind to the consequences, believing that war was an excellent idea, rather than a travesty that had nearly destroyed both the forest and the fields more times than one could count. And should anything actually threaten their easy comfort, they could simply fly away from it all, so never mind the consequence.

They were fools, all of them, and Dawn had taken it upon herself to undo the damage they caused.

It was a huge task for one so young, and she was doing it without support and with only an old goblin as a mentor. Yet she went after the woman Griselda considered most dangerous first, just like a Dark Forester would.

And her ideas were far from as foolish as her peers assumed.

She turned to Griselda, halfway through their planning and said, “I wonder if we could use Lady Holly to undo some of the glamour Roland spreads around.”

Griselda blinked, confuse. “What do you mean?”

“Just as you said. She’s scary. Whether its magic or not, everyone is on edge around her. Its like what Sunny said of Bog’s power: it makes you more awake. Like hit by cold water, or stripped naked in front of a crowd. That's the opposite of Roland, right? If Holly makes people more aware just by her presence, that could help wake people up.”

“And how do you propose to make her do that?”

The younger princess smiled, equal parts sweetness and vicious glee, wider than a fairy mouth should go.

“We're going to become friends.”

---------------

Over the course of the evening, Sunny found out more about the various guests at the table. Of all of them, Joy was supposedly had the highest status, but there was little enough difference and everyone loved her food so they listened long enough to fill their bellies...and had they had all become friends long ago because of it, willing to listen to even her craziest stories. Stem was biased towards the Dark not just because of the labor, but for the tiny pair of glasses balanced on his nose; a long ago gift from Joy that was his most precious possession. Dav was harsh but fair, at least that was what Sunny assumed at first, given his genuine interest in the argument and tendency to poke holes in the plan, but by the end of the night Sunny realized the old man just loved to argue. But he’d suss out the best plan through his niggling questions and harsh logic. Patti was his opposite; loving any scheme that chanced money or gossip, she didn’t care which.

And Charin...She went along with the others because she was the youngest, and the newest to the town. But she was loyal to the fields, loyal in a way that reminded Sunny of the elves back at the castle who followed after Roland on instinct. While Dav’s loyalty was tempered by practicality, and the knowledge that there was corruption in every beast’s heart, no matter how pretty, Charin truly believed that the Lords were in the right, and that her friends were exaggerating the situation. And he couldn’t tell if her loyalty to her friends would win out over her loyalty to the elites.

He had thought he’d kept his doubts to himself, focusing mostly on answering Dav and Stem’s questions as best he could and promising Patti he’d visit again as soon as possible...while also pushing off the shopping list she thrust on him. But as they left the bar that evening, thoughts and plans filling his head to bursting, Joy took him aside.

“You’re worried about Charin.”

He flushed in the darkness. Out of all of them, Joy had been the best help, and the one with the most detailed suggestions. If this worked at all, it would be from her help.

“Sorry. I know she’s your friend…”

“She’s a bloody fool. Wasn’t always like this. But when the army came to town...well, she got starry-eyed. Half the younguns did, too. But those fools went and joined the army...or opened their legs as if they hadn’t heard all the stories. But Charin should have been smarter. I thought she might snap out of it if she realized how hard it is for the rest of us.”

She sighed, and continued.

“I shouldn’t have invited her. She might ruin the whole thing, now. I’m sorry, Sunny.”

“No. She said what a lot of people are thinking, Joy. And knowing that people like her are out there is important. We’ll have to plan around it.”

“You’re a kind soul, Sunny." Joy patted his shoulder and hobbled on.

She paused a moment later when she realized that Sunny had fallen behind.

“Do you think...that magic could have caused Charin to act like that? Pushed her to hate the Dark more than she did?”

Joy sighed and gestured Sunny to follow her into her home.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. You must have seen so much magic in the forest, you’re looking for it here too. But Light Elves don’t have magic and Fairy Magic is different than any magic I’ve ever seen. Its all…” She gestured to the fire. “Powerful. Big. No little growers or pretty dancers among the Fairies." She sighed sadly. “And no magic at all for the elves.”

“How can you be so sure?”

Joy’s hands went to a dish-towel and she began scrubbing the counters, face darkening.

“Cause I thought one of my boys had magic, once. Eddy could sing anything from the ground when he was a boy. Grass bloomed for him, so we thought. And I said ‘talent like that needs training’ but the border had closed, so we took him all the way to the capitol, to those fairy mages. They acted awful surprised that an elf could do magic. So they made him show them. And they laughed when he sang, and sneered at his plants, and when he couldn’t make a sprout they sent him right back home with not a spark left in him.” She shook her head. “He couldn’t do a thing after that. Empty as an apple without its core. Even I could tell that the power had been a fluke. Gone the moment the Merlin laid eyes on him, sputtered out like a raindrop before a flame. Elf Magic doesn’t last in the Light. I’m sorry Sunny. Charin is just a fool.”

“That’s not true!” a piping voice from a corner called.

Joy swore and darted for a knife, while Quez eased off Sunny’s backpack and closer to the firelight.

“There’s magic everywhere here! I can taste it! Like honey and sunlight, and fresh grass and cool spring water. Its small but not gone.” His infant wings flapped as he climbed a table-leg and then into the table proper, only to rear up and look Joy straight in the face.

Joy, who had found a cleaver and was staring at Quez with such a white face that she might have been a ghost.

Quez blinked his bright eyes, then turned to nose at a loaf of bread, as if this was the most normal thing in the world. “Elves can’t live without magic. Neither can fairies, or goblins. Mr. King says its what lets us be small. Else you couldn’t be sent- sentie - couldn’t be smart. Magic is how you tell food from friend; one has the magic to be smart, one will always be dumb."

He sunk a cautious bite into the bread, and his wings buzzed excitedly when his tiny fangs broke the crust. He tore a piece from the loaf and spoke around it, words muffled by crunches and mumbles of pleasure.

“If elves lost their magic, they’d get big! Real big. Mr. King says when he takes elves to the Deep Woods they get taller than he does! Can you imagine that? Sunny being bigger than Mr. King?” He chortled and bread crumbs scattered over the table.

Sunny reached over and removed the knife from Joy’s un-resisting hand. She was frozen in shock.

“Anyways, I think you’d make a terrible grower, given how good this bread is. You’re definitely a Baker. You were clanned wrong, yes. Sunny! I can taste your magic too! Your mum must be amazing in the kitchen! Take me to meet her next!”

“Quez, what did I tell you?!” Sunny said, sighing as he brushed the crumbs from Quez’s feast into a corner, then into his palm to be disposed of. Then he explained to Joy, “This is Quez. He’s a friend from the forest who desperately wanted to see the fields.”

“And you broke your promise! I’ve been stuck here all day in this ugly wasp heat and didn’t get to see anything at all. It was boooooooring.”

“Wha…”

“Quez.” Sunny said again. “He was supposed to remain quiet.”

“Hey! I'm your bodyguard, too! Ms. Gale said I was supposed to protect you from mean fairies and silly elves. And you left me behind!”

“I went to meet a bunch of people that wouldn't understand you, even as an ornament.” He turned back to joy. “I'm really sorry about this. He just really wanted to see the fields.”

“He’s...alive?” Joy asked, her color slowly coming back.

“Yes. Usually he's a lot bigger but …”

“Sunny. Can I talk to you for a minute?”

She pulled sunny aside, away from the still feasting Quez, into a small alcove between the stairs and kitchen.

He was half-expecting her to scream at him for bringing a monster into her house, but instead she sighed and brushed back strands of fine white hair from her face, looking tired for the first time.

“You’re new to this, aren’t you?”

Sunny flushed. “I’m trying to be a good ambassador! But...yes. Why?”

Joy shook her head. “You did well tonight, talking sense into Dav and the rest. But that?” She pointed back towards the kitchen. “That is dangerous, Sunny. A creature made of magic isn’t supposed to exist in the fields. The fairies would think it an act of war to bring it here. You’ve put us all in danger.”

“But Quez is just a kid!”

“That doesn’t matter to the fairies, Sunny. Think of what would happen if they captured him. He’d be caged in the mages college and taken apart. Or used as an excuse to start the war.”

Sunny’s eyes widened, and he instantly saw she was right. What had seemed like a harmless gift in the Forest was something far different in the fields. Never mind that Quez was just a child, he was something strange and foreign, something dangerous or exploitable. Sunny didn’t want to think about what might happen to the poor child if the mages got their hands on him; the resulting violence would certainly be enough to start a war, no matter who did or did not survive.

“You need to get him back into the forest, and fast. I know you were planning on testing out the other villages but…”

“But this takes precedence. By the arch I never thought…”

She patted him on the shoulder. “It's been a long time since any elf has tried to do what you’re doing. Of course there will be some hiccups. Let’s just make sure you survive them, okay?”

He nodded, then hurried back into the kitchen to collect Quez and return to the forest, ideally before anyone noticed the spike of magic of the magic serpent coming alive.

------------------

“Dr. Anthony?”

By common agreement among the students, there could be only one Dr. Hale. Anthony didn’t mind coming second to his far more powerful wife; in fact he preferred the comradely with the students and their willingness to come to him with problems, rather than simply reports of their successes.

But in this case the student hurrying towards him, wings flapping just enough to give her an extra burst of speed in the tight corridors of the mage’s college, was clearly coming to him as an administrator rather than a friend.

He hefted his satchel to a more comfortable position on his shoulder, and waited for her to skid to a halt before him. The girl, Tia, was a wood mage, an oppositional element to Anthony’s own air, but he was quite fond of her nonetheless. In her hands she carried a wood sphere, smooth to the touch and glowing with subtle energies.

Any element could give rise to seers, despite everything the Merlin said about the proper division of magic and its appropriate uses. It was simply that Wood mages saw best into the now, while Earth looked to the past and Air looked to the future. Water and Fire looked far and near, respectively, the five balancing each other in ways the often surprised students, if they found the Sight among their talents. Anthony himself had no skill for it, too focused on the here and now to turn his air and water tendencies towards the Sight, and too practical to use wood for what a good pair of eyes could do just as well. His talents lay elsewhere, in that ugly, imprecise border between war and kindness that so frustrated his wife and set the Merlin glowering at his hesitancy to use his skills.

Tia was not so old as to doubt the use of her abilities and comfortable enough in her place to come straight to him. She was of the generation that grew up after the war, a peer to the Princess Dawn, and all that entailed. He envied her for it.

The wooden sphere in her hands was part of the Border Watch, the magical equivalent to the fairy guards patrolling the border every day. It had taken an adept a month of walking the border to coax it into its polished, dappled sheen. Half the sphere was richly detailed, showing every stone and furrow of the fields, every village and stream, and with enough power might even show the location of villagers at their work. Now silver flecks moved through the wood grain to show the location of those few fairy troops with magically charged tracking seals. Rubies grown into the wood showed the locations of magic beacons, and if one focused properly the whole dappled half of the ball shone with a tiny replica of the ley-lines that ran through the Fields.

The other half of the sphere was achingly blank in comparison, showing only so much as could be physically seen across the border. The huge forest trees crowded along the ancient primrose border between the two kingdoms, seeming to stop any Sight from approaching too close. As such the Forest half of the ball was mostly smooth walnut, the natural whorls and grain of the wood disappearing as the magic took hold of the device. One half rich and complex, the other 'empty as the hearts of its inhabitants'.

At least, that was what the Merlin said. Anthony tended to warn his students against over-generalizing and finding meaning in the limitations of spells. He privately agreed with Commander Gailard; a savvy scout with just enough magical talent to enchant the ball could be sent over the border, and then there would be none of this nonsense about the forest inhabitants having no hearts simply because their map was blank.

But none of that was why Tia had come to him, babbling about invasion.

“Slow down, Tia. There has been no army of goblins coming over the border, and no attacks against fairy lands. The guard would have told us."

“Then what do you make of this?” She demanded, spinning the sphere to show him an unimportant elf village.

Suddenly, Anthony understood why Tia had come to him. Burning in the heart of the village was an ember, ugly orange and blackening the wood around it with sinister power.

Anthony’s eyes traced its path, from its current location in the village up a scorched trail to the forest. It crossed over the primrose border beneath a bush, occasionally flaring up where whatever it was had used magical powers, then disappearing down to a bare brush of ash when the thing attempted to hide.

“Something from the forest came to the fields.” Tia said, redundantly.

As they watched the ember darkened again, fading to a mere spark that began moving back towards the border, fast enough to barely singe the wood.

“We should alert them…” Tia’s fingers went to the nearest brush of silver.

Anthony caught her hand just as her power began to build.

“No. That thing is powerful magic. The guards might not be able to handle it. And it's done no harm.”

“No harm?! I worked three months on this!”

“And you've proven your talents quite well, Tia. None of the other wards picked this up?”

The girl shook her head. “Mine is the only one keyed to magic. They said I was stupid! That goblins can't…”

“Yes, well, even first years don't know everything.” He smiled reassuringly. “I’ll take this to the Merlin. You get back to the watch room.”

“But professor -” the whine was so familiar that Anthony almost laughed; he had said the very same as a novice, desperate to get out of night watch any way possible.

“No buts. Off you go, and don't worry yourself about this a second more.”

Tia groaned but acquiesced, dropping the ball into Anthony's hands and slouching away without a glance back.

So she missed the instant expression of revulsion that crossed Anthony's face when his hands touched the ball. His hands jerked away in horror and the ball was only saved from cracking on the stone floor by a blast of Air.

How had Tia not noticed? The ball was covered in a disgusting, sticky magic of a kind Anthony had never felt before. It pulled at his hands, trailing from the ball in sticky tendrils, and he summoned the idea of water to his hands as fast as he could, washing his hands on nothing until the ugly magic dissipated. The sphere still dripped with it, turning the Air power holding it aloft into an ugly burnt yellow. Anthony could taste the remnants of it on his tongue, a sour sweetness that curdled his stomach.

But worse than the feeling was its source. The magic coming from the sphere was second hand, dissipated by space and only showing a fraction of the power that must be at play on the border. It leaked out all along the primrose border, a span of distance that would take a fairy a full day to fly across and an elf a four day walk. To enchant the whole area, even weakly, would take a power rivaling the Merlin's. To be picked up by Tia's wood ward indicated something far stronger.

The Merlin needed to know. Yet as Anthony returned to his office, he couldn't help but notice that the power did not emanate from the forest; quite the opposite in fact. The magic stopped just short of the border, cut suspiciously cleanly along the line of the ancient primroses, as if even the lingering power of love negated the sticky magic. The village Tia noticed was half protected by the line, old power holding back the new. Elsewhere villages were hubs of the power, as were guard outposts, and that, too, was deeply worrying.

Anthony knew what the Merlin would say. That something in the Dark, perhaps the Sugar Plum Witch, had worked an evil magic on the fields. A quarantine would be called, and some elves executed, while infected fairies would be dispersed back among the army, away from the contagion.

But no magic could get beyond the border. Every mage knew that; it was one of the first thing they learned. The Plum’s love potion needed special warding to even cross the border, and her magic was equal to that of the Merlin himself. And that had been made from solely border ingredients in the first place and merely enhanced the primrose's natural power. The entire point of the border, in all the ancient recordings, was to specifically halt the creeping mind plague of the White Wasp.

Either the primrose border has completely failed, or the yellow magic was coming from within the fields.

Anthony was not sure which idea terrified him more.

Chapter Text

The Merlin was brooding in his chambers when Anthony was ushered in. The old fairy rarely left, now, melting into his overstuffed chair much like the wax from the dozens of candles that lit his rooms. His stare was vacant, caught in his own thoughts and oblivious to the mere physical until Anthony coughed. Then the fairy’s eyes snapped back to clarity, mood souring with a familiar glare.

“What.”

A professor in his own right, grandchildren on the way and still the Merlin treated Anthony like a child. He wrestled to keep his wings still as he bowed, then gestured to the ball still levitating at his side.

“One of the students registered Magic at the border.”

The Merlin leaned forward, and Anthony sent the wooden ball towards him. The old fairy peered at it, hand ghosting over the sphere, then settled back into his chair.

“What of it? The Wasp is bolstering our defenses. Don’t waste my time, boy.”

Anthony held back his expression. He had presented the sphere carefully, and the confirmation of the sickly yellow magic - and the Merlin’s failing skills at observation - were disappointing.

“Are we sure that is wise, Master? So much power, going to an illusion?”

“Pah!” The Merlin snorted. “No illusion there. Just a bit of glamor to keep the elves in line and the fairies flying high. You need your eyes checked, boy.”

Anthony stared at the other side of the sphere, the black scorch against the wood taunting him with his own subterfuge.

“...such magic dulls the mind. It might make our warriors miss the unexpected.” He paused, then added. “None of them reported the incursion.”

“What?!”

He turned the sphere and the Merlin’s eyes snapped to the burn mark.

“WHAT?!”

That was the reaction he expected. Unexpected magic in the Fields was always suspect. Magic on the border only more so.

The mage’s college existed primarily to regulate magic. No rouge fire mages endangering the fields, no ice wizards freezing elves in their beds. Any child with interest or talent was apprenticed to the college, any large working preapproved by a council long before it could interfere with another’s work.

Tia had spent a whole year on the smooth walnut ball in the Merlin’s hands, the culmination of years of training and centuries of careful spell development to ensure the far-sight would not unbalance the other magics on the border, most important of all the Primroses themselves, a piece of magic so old and vital that it superseded all others and was only ever skirted by modern magic.

The college had said nothing when the denizens of the Dark Forest had pruned the flowers, because the mages had been well aware that the physical manifestation of the old magic was the least important of its uses; the deep magic that sunk into the soil was only bolstered by something so paltry as a physical attack.

Now the Wasp’s magic was pushing against that primrose border, shoving against the magical nullification field with staggering amounts of power, with no care or thought for the barrier. It was reckless, and dangerous, and the fact that Anthony was the only one who seemed to care was preposterous.

But the Merlin’s eyes only went to the fading ash on the sphere’s surface, black tipped nails clawing at the ball as if he could pull memory from the source through his grumpy scowl alone.

“Elf magic? No, too powerful. A traitor fairy? No, it’s not elemental in nature. Too unrefined…wait. What is this?!”

Beneath the old man’s hands the ember flared and went dark, even the black soot it left behind fading, pulling in on itself until the scar looked weeks, rather than hours, old.

The Merlin snapped his fingers at Anthony. “Bring it back!”

Again the water mage hid wounded pride and simply extended a hand. Earth magic was not his specialty, but he was leagues better than the solely focused Merlin. With a flick of his wrist, time wound back on the ball, showing the progression of the ember. First the final flare had happened as it crossed the border a second time. Then it bounced and flickered its way backwards across the map, spending a half a day motionless in an unimportant elf village, before tracing its path back across the border, a clear to and from with no stops along the way.

Anthony himself had already traced the path, and noted that there had been no actual use of the power, at least that he could recognize. Then again, with the wasp magic overlaying everything, it was very possible that Tia’s Ward couldn’t pick up a small blip of magic. There were a half dozen little tricks Anthony himself could pull that wouldn’t register - the only reason the incursion was noticed at all was because of the singular power of the individual that had visited.

He wondered what the ward registered when the Bog King visited. His power was nothing like the bright ember, too much Earth and Wood in his soul, libel to exist more as creeping rootwork than a bright spark, lingering in a way this new threat hadn’t.

“Perhaps this is the Elf Ambassador.” He lightly suggested.

“Pah!” The Merlin sneered, eyes still rapt on the repeating journey. “No Elf has this kind of power. No. This is some new beastie. One of the Sugar Plum’s toys, perhaps. Or a monster they’ve grown.” He muttered to himself, “...maybe that dragon I heard of, or that damnable hawk…”

“Surely we would have heard reports of a dragon crossing the border.” Anthony said.

The Merlin’s eyes snapped up. “Right. The Patrols. Send one of them to find out. One with one of our mage attachees. Beat the information out of the elves if you must, but we need more.”

When Anthony hesitated, the Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Now, Hale! I will not allow an incursion into our Fields!”

But you already have , the bursar thought to himself, but hurried to follow orders anyways. The Merlin’s will must be done. No matter how short-sighted it might be.

----

“...so you took one of the most powerful magic creatures in the Dark Forest into the Light Fields, and now the Fairy Army is clear-cutting the border?” Bog massaged his brow and tried not to throw something at the cowering Elf and his wooded companion.

Quez hadn’t moved since returning to the Dark Forest, and Sunny was rather envious of the spirit’s ability to freeze into immobility to hide from the Dark King’s ire. They were all standing on a fallen branch well within the Dark Forest, looking out at the carnage in the Fields where, just a day ago, Sunny had had a lovely trip that ended in utter chaos.

“I don’t see what the problem is.” Plum complained, shrill voice grating more than usual to Sunny’s ears…if only because she seemed so completely unconcerned in comparison to Joy’s near panic.

“But this elf woman seemed certain.” Bog said. “And current evidence suggests she was right.”

There was a crash, and both Bog and Sunny winced - another flower stalk near the border was coming down on the Light side.

“Oh, of course they would see it.” Plum said flippantly.

Sunny stared at her, aghast, as she continued.

“But what does it matter? It’s not as if any of them are a match for Quez.” She gathered the wooden carving in her hands and spoke with exaggerated sweetness. “Wu would eat wanything that scared our Sunny-bunny, wouldn’t wu?

Quez snapped back to his normal size, multicolored eyes streaming, and wailed. “I don’t want to! The Elf Lady was nice! And now her home’s gone! I’m Sorrrrrryyyyyyyyy.”

Bog winced as the creature yelled, and Sunny was forced to pick himself off the ground as his space was now occupied by a rather large, miserable, snake.

“The problem, Plum, is that their forces are on high-alert, and will not take kindly to an ‘invasion’ from any magical creature, much less one as powerful as Quez. Apparently hiding his form was not enough.”

“I figured that was for keeping the elves comfortable. Obviously the mages would pick up on anything magic crossing the border - their wards are overly observant, if you ask me. What’s it matter if a few growers cross over every spring, or a oread wants to look at a new smithy?”

Bog thought longingly of the spider-silk cage he still kept in his chambers, and of the much more robust one that was under half a ton of silt at the bottom of a crag. When the Light Fields had heard that he imprisoned the Sugar Plum they probably thought it was for all kinds of nefarious reasons. Not because she gave out the worst advice in the world and never thought about what mere goblins might consider important.

“It might not matter to us, but it certainly matters to them.” He said, pointing to the devastation happening in the Fields. The fairy army was methodically cutting down every grass stem or flower along the path that Sunny had taken, clearly searching for any hint of remaining magic.

Plum sniffed, and examined her nails with overt disinterest.

“The Fields don’t have growers or Oreads.” Sunny offered, shifting on his feet and looking between the two powerhouses of the Forest. “And all the fairies who do magic work for the Mage’s college.”

Plum snorted. “Sure. That’s what they say. But I doubt any of those mages could recognize real magic if it bit them.”

Here she patted the still sniffling Quez, as if indicating a piece of magic that could, in fact, easily bite whatever it wanted.

“Yet their magic killed both my seed mother and Alder.” Bog said.

Plum winced and drew her hand back. “That’s…”

Sunny looked between the two. “What do you mean? How could magic kill a city?”

Plum looked away. “...the fairies have some very powerful storm mages. They were not afraid to use them in their wars.” She shivered, and rubbed her ethereal arms. “I doubt they realized who they were attacking, though. I’ve never sensed a dryad in any of their trees.”

Sunny’s brow twisted. “...Are you talking about the Hales? They’re heroes! The best battle-mages in the whole kingdom. Their lightning struck down the Dark Castle it…self…”

He stopped. Every child in the Light Fields was told of the great victories the Fairy army had accomplished, going back generations. But he’d never considered that there might be people on the other side, rather than faceless monsters that could be killed without consequence.

But he knew them now. Knew Plum and Bog, yes, but also the kitchen staff of the castle, and the Songbirds of Alder town, and the silly goblins like Stuff and Thang and all their friends who thought it hilarious to teach Sunny bawdy songs that he could barely sing, less understand.

They were people, just like him, with families and work and songs of their own.

And any of them could be snuffed out at a word from two fairies that held the wrath of god in their hands.

The teachers in the Fields said that the mages’ attack on the forest was a triumph of warfare, and the bitter violence that followed indicative of sniveling goblins incapable of accepting defeat with grace, or greedy to steal what their minds were too small to conceive.

But now Sunny wondered at that. No one had ever spoken of the casualties of the Hales’ strike. No mention was made of dark elves brought down by fire from the skies, or goblins dead on the ground. No thought for the children who played in Alder Town, or the dryads who stayed so far from the conflict that the Light Fields never even considered their existence, yet killed them nonetheless.

Did the Fields even know what they had done?

Perhaps they did. For all that they were heralded as heroes of the Fields, the Hales never again called down the lightning, no matter how vicious the following battles. Rumor said it was because of the danger of harming their own forces, but perhaps both sides had realized that their work was a step too far, the destructive power too extreme.

“I’m sorry about your mother.” Was all Sunny could say.

Bog glanced down at him, seemingly surprised.

“...thank you. My mother was weak, and Alder was - is - old. The others recovered better.”

“How…how many trees were hit?”

“Fourteen. But the others seemed…unintended. Such storms must be hard to control. We are lucky to have our own storm-speaker now.”

“That’s my sister!” Quez spoke up, some joy coming back to his face. “She’s a Thunderbird!”

Bog quirked a smile for the first time since Sunny had come back with his story and shamed companion. “Aye. She can control storms better than any fairy ever could.”

He caught Sunny’s melancholy expression. “Don’t think too hard on it, elf. The Forest and Fields have been at war for most of our history. There are atrocities on both sides. And we’ve both lost Queens for it.”

Sunny opened, then shut, his mouth. As proud as they were about the attack, no Field teacher ever mentioned that the Hales had killed a Queen of the Dark Forest. But they were happy to lay the blame of Queen Juniper’s death at the Forest’s door, despite the common knowledge that she’d died in childbirth, along with the infant prince.

There was something strange there, but Sunny didn’t wonder further. That time was a wound on the royal family, and he’d long ago learned to skirt the idea out of kindness to Dawn.

Instead, he asked, “Could I check on Forest Side? After the army leaves, of course. But I’m worried for the elves I spoke to. The army…”

“...might be none too pleased with any elf that spoke with an outsider.” Bog finished, and sighed. “So much for our mission to bring the elves together.”

“...I actually have some ideas about that. That is, as long as you don’t mind a bit of subterfuge…”

Bog turned towards Sunny, brows raising but a smirk on his face. “Go on…”

---

Two days later, Sunny snuck back over the border, alone this time, and the worst of his suspicions proved true.

He approached the town from the opposite direction as he’d come previously, and pulled himself into the smallest he could imagine, but it didn’t matter. The other elves kept their eyes resolutely towards the ground, and didn’t even glance up when he went by, studiously ignoring both visitor and familiar face.

The entire northern portion of the town had been clear-cut, direct sunlight blazing on normally shaded paths, fields and fallow areas equally destroyed. The town itself looked little different, except for the paths that had been torn up beneath fairy boots.

“Why did you come back?!” Joy hissed, when she pulled him into an alley with the same move she’d introduced herself with.

He started to explain himself, then stopped.

The old elf woman had a black eye that filled the entire left side of her face.

For the first time in, perhaps, his whole life, Sunny felt furious. Fairy knights had beaten an old woman. And for what? Him?

“I had to check on you.” He said, eyes caught on the horrid bruise.

“Well. You see where that got us.” She grumbled, but pulled him along into her home anyways.

“I’m so so-”

“Don’t be.” She eased herself down into her chair by the oven. “You made a fool mistake, but the fairy bastards were looking to make an example already. Better me than someone with something to lose.”

Sunny shuffled, trying to find something - anything - to say.

He fell back on his pack. “When she heard what happened, one of the growers gave me this for you.” He dug out a jar of foul smelling salve from his pack.

Joy stared at him. “If this is more magic - “

“No, no! I checked. Just dark forest herbs. Beath said she sells them after goblin brawls…”

Joy stared longer, then snorted. “They do need bruise cream more often than not. Pass it over.”

As she applied the salve to her face and bruises along her arm, she explained what had happened after Sunny had fled.

“Took six hours for the wings to arrive. A whole platoon of fairies, with a real mage in tow. And then it wasn’t pretty…”

----

It was early morning when the guard arrived.

Joy had spent the night fretting, fear dogging her steps as she banked the fires and cleaned her kitchen to sparkling. That foolish, foolish elf boy, all full of hope and bright ideas, blind to just how cruel the world could be.

Or maybe he was just putting on a hopeful front, weaving a dream of a bright future for those around him, all to aware how brittle it really was.

He’d been a nice child. It was a pity he brought a monster with him.

She made her way out to the square as soon as she heard the wings, the rumbling buzz of a dozen fairies flying in formation audible only to those listening as close as she.

They ignored her when they landed, armor shining in the wane morning light, swords hanging at their hips and haughty authority in every stance. There were twelve of them, a double sized patrol, with a fairy mage bringing up the rear, obvious from the robes and overburdened satchels slung around their wings. The commander glanced around the town, the square filled almost to bursting with the mere presence of the fairies’ huge forms, a sneer on his face, before bellowing loud enough to wake the stars.

“Bring out the traitors!”

Much of the town was already awake - villagers catching a quick breakfast before heading to the fields or preparing their businesses for opening - but there were still perplexed glances shared around the square. For all but those who knew, the sudden arrival of the army was inexplicable. The guard wasn’t even awake at this time, normally. Fairies didn’t know what a ‘reasonable’ hour of the morning even was!

“No traitors here.” Dav’s son Cal said, hands still affixing his heavy leather apron for his smithy.

He was one of the few faces a fairy might recognize; the army patronized every smith along the border frequently, precious time going to buff out nicks on beautiful fairy weapons while plowshares went unsharpened.

Cal was a good, hard worker, and it was damn lucky that one of his sisters was not the one staring up at the fairy commander. Dav’s ornery nature had passed over his son…mostly. Joy breathed a private sigh of relief as she heard the back door of the smithy bang and as the man took himself off to the storm cellar and out of harm’s way. The boy didn’t even flinch at the sound.

The fairy commander stared down at the smith, sneering. “Our mages say different, elf.”

Cal returned the sneer with a level stare. It made him look slow, a fact that Joy knew he used to his advantage when dealing with fairies, but hid a steady mind that was unwilling to be swayed from what he knew was right.

Finding nothing but foolishness in his face, the fairy commander scoffed and turned, a gesture sending two fairies off to the pub. His eyes swung around the square, now ringed with curious - nervous - elves woken from slumber or hurried from the fields.

“A magical incursion was registered yesterday.” He explained, then simplified for the ‘ignorant’ crowd. “Magic from the dark forest came to your town. No one reported it.”

Shock and horror spread around the square, elves tittering to themselves. No one had seen anything. Certainly nothing like the grand magic the mages could call upon. It had just been a normal day. But would the fairies believe that? Was there something they had missed?

“A stranger came into town yesterday.”

Joy closed her eyes. Damn Charin.

The innkeeper followed after the returning fairies, legs carrying her three steps for every stride of the fairies. Her hand still held a bar towel, but her chest was fit to burst from the pride she held at being able to aid the wonderful army.

“He said he was from the Dark Forest.” She continued.

She came to a stop before the commander, and attempted a curtsy. He ignored her courtesy, the two fairies taking up position on either side of the diminutive elf.

“Who did he speak to?”

Don’t Joy prayed, but Charin proved her foolishness by cocking her head and considering. “Well, there was Mater Joy, and Smith Dav and - “

“Oh you mean the Ambassador!” A voice cut through, and Patti appeared, shoving her way through the crowd and landing before the assembly.

“I talked to him! Nice young man he was. How could you forget he wasn’t from the forest, Charin?” The shopkeeper scolded, looking for all the world affronted at the innkeeper’s patchy memory.

Joy caught the quiver in her knees, though, and wondered just where her friend’s courage had come from.

“Why, everyone has heard of Ambassador Sunny!” Patti continued, loud enough for the whole town to hear - even the fairies. “Son of the head chef at the castle! Consort of the Princess Dawn? Ambassador to the Dark Forest, sure, but one of us sure as sure. We all thought he was doing his job.”

Knowledge flowed around the square, and elves were nodding to each other. Yes, they’d seen the little elf. Looked just the same as them. Had he come from the Forest? They hadn’t seen that.

“Is that so?” The commander said, looking down his nose at Patti.

She nodded, a quiver still in her knees, hands wringing behind her back, but eyes steady.

“Then you spoke to him.”

Confusion crossed her face, but she didn’t have a moment to respond, before a fairy guard shoved her to the ground. A moment later Charin joined her, and a guard was yanking Joy forward. She hadn’t even seen Charin pointing her out, but the fool must have done so while Patti was trying to save them all.

There was a crash, and Dav’s boy turned to find his forge knocked over, spilling burning iron across the floor of his smithy. The fairy who’d done it shook his head towards the commander, indicating no sign of the elder smith, while two more were winging out to the fields in search of Stem.

The fairy holding Joy threw her to the ground, hard. There was a murmur of anger in the crowd, and a few elves tried to step forward to help, only to be shoved back, hard, by fairy hands.

Privately, she was grateful that her boy Eddie was off at Dun Town’s market, else Forest Side would have lost its mayor as well as its matriarch in this farce.

“You will tell me everything that creature said.” The commander was saying. “We will decide what traitorous thoughts it disseminated.”

And then Patti proved her heroism once again. “Well of course! We’ll tell you everything! We started with bread. I never knew bread could be traitorous, but that’s fairy business. I don’t know magic. Maybe he kneaded it in?”

There was a general scoff amongst the fairy guards, but Patti just kept on going.

“It was good bread. Evil maybe, if in you’re right. But then we talked about farming. You know all about that, right? Good fields around here. Stem talked all about our rotations, strawberries an’ seed grass o’course, but ol’ Jenny has some lovely violets every spring. He said the crown princess liked purple, and I said Jenny had the best purples, but also some lovely creams, then he said - “

She nattered on, retelling the evening’s conversation in exacting - if incomplete - detail. At her side Charin gawped, while the fairy commander stared, a tick developing in his jaw as she went on, and on, and on.

After subjecting the whole town to two minutes of unfiltered Patti, he snapped up a hand.

“Enough. What magic did he speak of?”

Patti looked innocently confused, only bolstered by a genuinely confused Charin.

“Magic? Elves don’t have magic, sir. We just talked about crops.”

“He wanted to know about us.” Charin added.

The commander’s eyes narrowed, speculatively. “Oh? About our defenses? The army movements?”

Again he received confused looks. “...no?” Charin said. “He asked how we would manage the burn. If we could harvest everything. What we make in the village. What we grow in the fields. The tax…”

“But that’s not important!” Hissed one of the guards. “That’s just elf stuff!”

The commander seemed to agree, because he held up a hand to silence Charin. Right before she spoke of sending in Dark Elves to help with the harvest, too. Joy hid a sigh of relief, and shifted under the hold of her guard. His gauntlets were cutting into the skin of her wrist, and she knew it would leave bruises.

“It must have done something else.” The commander muttered to himself. “Speaking to the villagers must have been a ruse.” He looked up, and gestured to the north. “We will follow its trail. Find what it left behind.”

The other soldiers dispersed the crowd, even letting Charin and Patti go. But the grip remained on Joy’s arm, as the mage indicated her home as a place the magic had remained. But they asked her no questions, simply dragged her back into her own home, uncaring of how fairy wings knocked spices from the shelves and shattered jars with errant wing beats.

The mage inspected every corner of her kitchen, only muttering occasionally to the commander, who hadn’t deigned to come inside the cramped space. The guard who held her developed a sour look, stooped in the elf-sized kitchen, only worsened each time one of his companions glanced through the door and giggled.

It was no surprise when, half an hour later, the mage departed with a shaking head, pointing down Sunny’s trail, leaving behind the fuming guard holding her, and the man snapped out.

In one blow, her beloved oven was shattered to pieces, followed by the table she’d fed her family on. He threw her on the ground in the wreckage, intending to hurt, then spat on the ground before her face.

“Don’t talk to strangers.” Was all he said, before he followed after his commander, returning to jeers from his fellows and a complete lack of care from his superiors.

Patti was at her side as soon as the fairies had left, easing her up out of the wreckage.

“Easy now.”

Joy gratefully took her hand, wincing when she sat up. In her youth, she’d tussled with goblins. Now she was too old for this, and felt the bruises already growing on her jaw.

Behind Patti, Charin fidgeted. Whatever illusions she’d had about fairies, they’d been rather sharply shattered by the casual cruelty the commander had shown to one of the oldest elves in the village.

“Joy…” She started.

But the older elf just shook her head. “None of that, Charin. I don’t need to hear it.”

“But…”

“You did what was right by you.” Patti said, a dark note in her voice but her attention only on the injured elf. “Don’t apologize for being right.”

The innkeeper closed her mouth, shifting uncomfortably. Then she seemed to reach a decision, and stepped forward to take Joy’s other arm.

“Just because someone is right doesn’t mean they should be mean.” Her eyes were dark as well, and she firmly guided the other women across the square to her bar. “Now you sit right there, Joy, and I will go get the rest of them, and we’ll decide what to do.”

Patti watched as the younger elf stomped out the door, and settled in next to Joy on the comfiest seats in the inn. Bruises were blooming on her wrists as well, but there was banked amusement on her face.

“Never thought she’d change her tune.”

Joy shook her head, equally surprised. “Talking to fairies is a fool’s errand. Suppose she learned it the hard way.”

Patti snorted, and accepted tea from a worried looking barmaid, who was hovering, clearly unsure on how to minister to her mother’s injured friends. “Thanks, Maisy. Best put another pot on. Those fairies will be back soon enough.”

An expression of dread crossed the girl’s face, but she hurried back to the kitchen. Joy watched her go.

“We all learn that eventually. Pity the children had to lose their wonder so fast.”

Patti shook her head ruefully. “Better now than later. I’ll be happy to take the bruises rather than them. Fairies in shining armor aren’t for the likes of us.”

Joy watched the saddened elf maid as she rolled another stew pot onto the fire, her expression going from disappointment to grim acceptance over the course of the meal. There was a girl who had preened while serving Fairies just a day before, who bragged to her friends when she caught a soldier’s eye, and who’d blushed at a fairy’s wink. Now her face was grim and her hand’s uncaring as she added whatever came to her hands into the stew, rather than carefully portioning out only the best for their overlords.

It was a little thing, but it was still sad to see illusions shattered. A pity, perhaps, that the sunny elf boy wasn’t there, to weave a better dream in its place.

---

Sunny sat back and sighed. The town he’d visited was demoralized, but intact. The fairies had finished their clear-cutting, and no one’s livelihoods had been ruined, though any field on his route had been decimated. Other than Joy, no one had been badly injured by the fairy guards.

But still. So much destruction, over his mistake. So much cruelty, and for what? A mark on a map, in a world these elves could barely imagine.

“When I feel like this, I’m reminded why they burn the Fields.” Joy said, pulling him from his brooding.

She was looking at her kitchen, her tea cup balanced on her knee because there was no longer a table to rest on.

“What do you mean?”

She smiled ruefully. “It's hard to be angry, when you have to work to the bone just to feed your family. The burns make sure no one gets…uppity.”

He stared at her. There had been four burns during his life. He’d never thought they were anything but random, decided by some high fairy magic that was just and logical and true. A frustrating reality that cared as little about elf lives as everything else in fairy society.

It was rare that anyone starved after the burns. But plenty went hungry. That was a side effect. He’d never considered that was the point.

But his mother and Joy did. They said nothing, kept working on, but quiet resentment grew.

And that resentment was something seemingly untouched by Roland’s power. It was too deep, too long-running, too real. A pretty parade could buoy the spirits, but worries about hungry children trumped that feeling every time. Roland might be beloved, but that didn’t mean the army as whole retained the same shine.

Maybe the Fairy Knight could turn his powers to controlling the elves. But they were so beneath him that he hadn’t bothered. Buff the image of the army just enough that he shined, stripping the higher thoughts from the fairy guards and inspiring them to act just like him, unthinking of what the consequence might be when their charisma didn’t match his effortless charm.

It wouldn’t just be [xxx] town. Across the kingdom, elves chafed against the increasing pressure from the fairies.

And of course if it came to open rebellion, the fairies would win, and Roland would turn it to his advantage. But if there was another way. If Sunny and Bog and Griselda could use this…

“Is Dav still mad about inviting in an army?”

Joy stared at him, and thought about hot iron burning the smith's floor. Then she smiled. “You know, Sunny. I don’t think he cares about that too much anymore.”

----

Griselda watched Dame Holly from the other side of the ballroom and wondered.

The fairy matron was cloistered with a bevy of her peers, other middle aged fairy ladies who all tended to the severe, pinch-faced, rail thin age that her people favored. They sipped wine and watched the dancing youngsters with predatory consideration.

Said youngsters avoided the group - and Holly specifically - rather like a frigid chill, spinning closer to the ladies then flinching away, eyes cast down and wings flicking with nerves as they made polite apologies then fled.

It was nothing like Griselda had ever experienced in the Forest, but the influence Holly wielded was blatant from the wide pool of empty dance floor surrounding her group.

But her Forest upbringing was not completely gone, and so Griselda had positioned herself at the exact opposite side of the dance floor. She didn’t bother to hide her chuckle as fleeing fairies dodged into her own gulf of distaste and found themselves floundering. With a few steps, she and Holly had managed to corral half the Light youth into a uncomfortably tight mass at the center of the dance floor, playing at dignity even as they instinctively attempted to find the furthest point from the terrifying new and the judgmental old.

Dame Holly’s eyes rose above the throng and stared straight at Griselda, raising a brow over tight-lipped disapproval.

The Goblin merely raised her glass in a mock toast, but relented at the ensuing glare and retreated to a more sequestered nook. No need to upset a potential ally more than necessary.

The Fairy sniffed, and turned back to her friends, and the oblivious youngsters still breathed easier when her spot-light regard shifted away.

And so, Griselda wondered. She was familiar with power in many forms; the flare of magic in creatures like Quez and Plum, the banked menace of predatory Toads and snoring Bats, even the terrifying, unstoppable might of a beast like Bear or Badger who could destroy a whole village and not even notice.

Holly was different. If she had magic, it was kept tightly leashed, buried deep and lending only gravitas to her words. But she was no Roland either, whose mere presence made others relax and smile and bow to the whims of beauty.

No one would call Dame Holly beautiful. Powerful, yes. Frightening, more so. A figure of awe and regard...but not envy. All of Fairy respected Dame Holly, but no one wanted to be her.

Griselda had done her best to find out why, listening in servant halls and tucking away her horns in a wimple and pretending to dust in Fairy chambers.

The rumors were at once ugly and strange, all the foolishness and cruelty of the Fairy world spelled out in sneering criticisms and whispered tales.

Dame Holly had accomplished what few other fairy women had; she had been made councilor on her own merits while remaining unmarried. Everyone had theories as to how that happened; using friendship with the former queen or sleeping with other councilors were some of the less salacious - but the fact remained that a reigning Queen was an unfortunate necessity but a female counselor had been unheard of before Holly stepped to the stage.

Griselda had heard it all; how the young Holly had come to the capitol to represent her floundering, unsupported Duchy in the far East, only to become fast friends with the woman who would become Queen. How she had given unwavering support to her friends, a doctor and a Queen, while building her own textile business, one that would grow into the premier Atelier for the whole Kingdom. How her skills with numbers led her to apprentice at the treasury, to rocket up the ranks, and to eventually represent half the government at council.

And she had done so by being an unfailingly perfect specimen of female fairy. Perfect hair, perfect manner, perfect everything. So perfect that there were plenty of rumors that she wasn’t even a fairy at all, but some strange automaton built to impersonate good, obedient fairy folk, who had gone just a touch too far and turned out cold and broken. That would explain why she had no lover.

Or perhaps she had some horrid secret. A disease, an imperfection, a blemish on that perfect figure. Other, darker, rumors pointed to the work of her kin, the protectors of the Eastern border, whose wide nets prevented any buzzing gnats or biting midges from invading from their aquatic neighbor. Fairies who hunted were anathema. The idea that they might eat their catch was a worse horror still. Never mind all that silk Holly sold had to come from somewhere; every fairy tailor seemed resolutely blind to the fact that there was only one source of silk on this side of the sea, and it didn’t come from worms.

Griselda thought all the fair Fairies and dutiful elves were blind as bats and half as smart. She had eyes to see and ears to hear, and if anyone had just watched they would have seen, exactly as she had, that Dame Holly had given her everything to this kingdom, but watched its King with pure hatred in her eyes. She’d made her position unassailable not through magic or subterfuge but through hard work and unyielding dedication, and the whole kingdom was the better for it. Certainly there were far fewer coins going directly into Dogwood’s personal coffers, and more aid sent to far flung manors and tiny keeps.

And in return Dogwood spread rumors about her sleeping with the King, and Buttonbush flinched away from her icy stare, while Gaillard acted exactly as respectful as any army officer should to a Lady, but no further. And the other fairy ladies watched with admiration, but few followed in her lonely path, too comfortable in their own gilded cages.

Dawn certainly had chosen the most difficult fairy for an ally.

But when Griselda passed her eyes down to the dance floor, it wasn’t hard to see why Dawn, of all fairies, could make a positive impression on the perfectionism that was Holly.

Dawn fluttered. Like any good fairy maiden should, she was pretty and kind and not too much.

Around the room there were whispers, ugly, cruel things that made Griselda grind her teeth.

Wasn’t Ronald handsome today?
The Crown Princess is a bit…
I adore the Parade. Roland is so…
She’s different. Ugh. Who could ever…

Had such words spewed from goblin mouths, Bog would be busting heads. Goblins were fools, but they knew better to insult their King where everyone could hear.

Then again, any rebellious goblin could just challenge her son outright, and her boy would prove his place, bloody scepter and all.

Fairies didn’t work like that. These fluttering children would never be able to challenge their future Queen in the ring, but they didn’t value such power. Instead, they played at rebellion, hiding treason behind poisoned words and waves of towering praise on the perfect, perfect Roland.

A good crack to the skull couldn’t fix that idiocy.

But there was Dawn. Fluttering through the crowd. Her smile lit up the room, and the fairy toffs couldn’t help but smile back.

The young princess circled the room diligently, joining conversations and eagerly discussing if pretty little Jan looked better with John or Yohan, and asked after pregnant sisters or army-bound brothers, prompting talks on recent fashion trends or fairy polo games. It was all rather beyond Griselda, but she could recognize as the girl artfully turned the fairies’ attention from merely snidely insulting their fellows and instead eagerly spoke on things they actually cared about.

Dawn moved like a fish in a pond, ripples of interest following wherever she surfaced, breaking the still water that held fairy society frozen with focus on Roland’s singular approved topics.

Even flighty fairy youth could be bored by months of only admiring one man's looks and insulting a single woman. They had lives, if only vapid ones, and when Dawn expressed interest in them they bloomed, eager to speak of steeds or game tactics, recent reading material or shy blooms of romance.

And she cared. She didn’t need to feign interest in the stories of her peers, she actually cared. Griselda couldn’t understand it, but she could recognize skill when she saw it. Wherever the flighty second Princess landed, smiles bloomed and venom dried. With words alone, she pulled minds away from the Wasp, and in its place encouraged individuality and creativity and courage, all within the confines of what these people knew and cared for.

She did it seamlessly. She did it just by being herself. The kind, sweet, seemingly vapid Princess Dawn.

Holly watched Dawn mingle, shrewd eyes following her every move across the dance floor, pinched lips softening into something that was almost a smile as Dawn worked.

Griselda could never have managed it, but she left the ballroom secure in the knowledge that Dawn had found her kingdom.

----

“Stop corrupting the Princess.”

Griselda jerked. She had left the ballroom after only an hour or so, comfortable that Dawn was in her element and unlikely to need help from any goblin. She'd rather hoped to finish the night with more of Ma Dai's delicious cakes and some light reading. She hadn't though she'd be waylaid by a demon in a service entrance.

But there Holly was, looming out of a darkened hallway. For just a moment, her eyes glowed red.

The goblin woman pulled herself together. “Corrupting? Me? How could I do that?”

Holly stared down at her, face frozen but still oozing distaste. “Fairies should care about fairies. None of this nonsense of elves and goblins. She was a perfect princess before you arrived.”

Griselda cocked her head, playing at innocence while surreptitiously probing at the woman’s glamor. “She doesn’t seem that different to me. Still needs a comb, just like her sister. But how would you know? You care about those girls?”

Holly sucked in a breath, and Griselda knew she had hit something. Enough that for a moment Holly’s expression flickered in the candlelight.

“Holly?”

Just as fast, the glamor snapped back on, and Holly turned to Dr. Ibis, who had come down the corridor, a carafe of wine beneath her arm and two wine stems caught between the fingers of her other hand.

Dame Holly flared her wings, just once, and strode past Griselda. But before linking arms with her friend she glanced back, distaste splashed across her face, and mouthed the word leave. Then she utterly ignored the goblin and strode down the corridor.

Griselda watched as she went, a thoughtful look on her face.

The fairy woman was certainly something. She was invested in Dawn, eyes following the princess around the ballroom and clearly approving of what she saw, and ready to warn away any corrupting influences.

It was a start. But whether Dawn's charm could sway her away from her hatred of the whole forest and her distaste for Marianne remained to be seen.

That would be an uphill battle.

Chapter Text

Marianne tried to remember the last time she'd slept well.

Perhaps the day before the equinox ball. She'd been miserable - at least, that was what everyone had said, bereft of her beloved Roland and wearing those hideous dark clothes and prickling at the whole world.

But at least she’d been able to sleep - pleasantly tired after evenings spent training, the rage of betrayal carrying through the tedious rest of the day, unleashed from the decorum that had kept her quiet and demure and ‘proper’ around her elders.

Now she knew better, and perhaps in another kingdom there would have been pride from her people at their fierce crown princess mellowing and returning to the proper path after having learned the wisdom and grace that comes from exploring too far.

Instead her peers scoffed and belittled her at every turn and she still couldn’t force herself into the mold her mother left behind.

It was wrong to look back on those dark days with nostalgia. She’d been rash, and arrogant, and unknowingly destabilizing her precious kingdom, modeling the worst behavior for the people she was supposed to lead. But the fire of rage had been so warm, so freeing, so supportive while the rest of the world looked in horror.

A bare three months ago, she could go to sleep confident that - even if the whole world scorned her - she was doing what she knew to be right. Justice and honor and all those things that her kingdom was supposed to stand for. Perhaps she had been wrong, but she didn’t need to go to bed each night ashamed of what she was doing and who she was.

It had been easier. So, so much easier. But now she was going to be Queen, and her only redeeming feature was the King who would rule at her side. A future rolled out before her, filled with hours spent in the castle library, researching on crop rotations and winter fodder, while her councilors’ eyes only ever traveled to her husband's effortlessly wise pronouncements and her kingdom flocked to his parades while sneering whenever they caught sight of their disappointing Queen.

This was what ruling was. She knew that. If it was easy, they wouldn’t need a King to do it, as her father often said. And it was a burden that had been chosen for her by fate and magic and the stilling of her tiny brother’s frail heart in her mother’s cold arms. Queen Juniper had died for her kingdom, her daughter could do no less.

And yet she still found herself grasping for the comforting feeling of her sword, and felt shame burn each time she did. That sword was at the bottom of a bog a whole kingdom away, as it should be. Yet she still woke in the wee hours of the morning, mind exhausted but body humming with the need to do something. She clutched at the bangle Roland had given her, desperately reminding herself of her duties and her lover and all the things that were important in her life, a million times more honorable than sneaking out in the night and asking an enemy king for a friendly spar.

Being a Queen wasn’t easy. The fact that it was so hard was proof that she was doing it right.

Right?

---

The morning found her groggy, but not so sleep deprived that she missed the conversation between her door guards about the upset at the border. After a light breakfast - weak tea and porridge, as a true lady didn’t drink anything as strong as coffee and she had to watch her figure - Marianne followed a different set of guards to the barracks and asked the commander there about what she’d heard.

“I heard a border town was invaded?”

The garrison commander glared at the guards, and their wings fluttered with nerves even as they stood to attention.

Commander Phlox sighed. “It was just a minor problem, Princess. Best we can tell, some magical creature crossed the border and visited an elf village.” At her worried look, he quickly added, “The elves are safe. Our mage confirmed they haven’t been ensorcelled. We’re clear-cutting the area to ensure no future incursion, and we’ve yet to see a second attempt.”

“Was it Sunny?”

He stared at her, completely blank.

“Ambassador Sunny?” She tried again. “The elf acting as envoy to the Dark Forest? The councilors asked him to explore trade with the goblins.”

The commander recoiled at the thought, but she barreled on.

“If it was him, I applaud the initiative. Speaking with border villages is well within the scope of his duties.”

“Uh…” Phlox hemmed and hawed. “We don’t…know?”

She stared at him, then huffed. “Let me see the report.”

He balked. “General Roland said…”

“Is there a reason why the Crown Princess cannot see her own army’s reports?”

There was little he could say to that, so he shuffled some paperwork and held out the report with sweaty hands. A glance confirmed all she needed to see, despite the frankly pathetic lack of detail. Were she in charge, she’d send half the garrison clerks back to school, since they clearly demonstrated a discomfort with the written word.

“The elves themselves said that it was the Ambassador.”

The commander scoffed. “Elves can’t be trusted. They can be fooled with parlor tricks, assuming they didn’t lie just to avoid the stocks. Anyway, there was magic in the Fields. It couldn’t have been the elf bast-” he caught Marianne’s look, and smoothly substituted, “ - elf Ambassador.”

She held back her own huff. “Did you ask?”

He looked blank, and she once again felt like she was explaining to a child.

“Princess Dawn has regular contact with Ambassador Sunny. Rather than clear-cut the fields, you could simply have asked him if he visited the village, and the reason for it.”

The commander gawped, half a dozen excuses coming to his mouth and dying in the face of the raised brows of his Princess.

He glanced behind her, and profound relief flooded his body, deflating him in an instant. “General!”

Marianne turned to find her fiancé in the doorway, silhouetted by the light and haloed by his perfect blond hair.

“Buttercup? What are you doing here?”

He looked genuinely baffled, and she hurried to his side. “I heard that there was some trouble at the border…”

It took a moment, and a glance over Marianne’s head at the commander, before his eyes cleared.

“Oh, that? Don’t you worry your pretty little head about it. All taken care of. No invasions on my watch, sweatpea.”

Marianne pulled away from his embrace. “What? No. It was clearly Sunny, Roland. There was no need - “

“Now don’t worry your head about him. The watch will keep our borders safe, and no nasty goblins will get through to ruin your day. Now, Phil, about the Parade - “

Again, he looked over her head, petting her hair idly as he smoothly transitioned to discussing the day’s route through the fields. In a few seconds, the commander was smiling and nodding along, half dazed from the mere honor of being in the future King’s presence.

“Listen, Roland. This is important.”

She interrupted, and both Roland and Phlox looked insulted.

“Buttercup. Can’t you see we were talking? The issue has been dealt with. The Parade - “

“Is not more important than our country’s safety, Roland!” She snapped, then clapped her hand to her mouth.

Her fiancé's face had gone stony, and a chill swept through the room, as if all the warmth had suddenly been blown away. For a moment, Roland looked genuinely angry.

Then his face morphed to worry. “I told you not to worry, Buttercup. Your Knight has everything handled. Both the border and the Parade. A girl might not be able to balance the safety and soul of a country, but your Roland certainly can. Now go off to do…whatever you do and let me handle this, hmm?”

It felt as though a force picked her up and walked her out of the barracks, overriding every disagreement that popped to her lips and instead suggesting that she do exactly as he said. The speed of her feet left her winded, and the half-caught looks of disdain from the training soldiers only added to her embarrassment.

Of course Roland had everything handled. He was the best General the army had ever had. (Never mind that he’d never fought in an actual battle). He won every tourney easily. (Mostly without a single blow, as his opponents withdrew at the mere sight of his shining armor) His tactics left his fellow commanders speechless. (Their minds could not keep up with his tactical brilliance of ‘aim army at goblin, go’). He’d come from nothing (a mere barony on the western frontier) and rose seamlessly to the top (with the help of every fairy he charmed).

Compared to all that, she was nothing. Of course he was right.

Still, she stopped by Dawn’s room to ask her sister to send a message to Sunny. Even a perfect general could use more intel, after all. At the very least, he’d be able to identify what the magic spike had come from, even if he hadn’t been the visitor everyone had seen.

Then she stopped by the office of Sugarbush, the chair of the planning board. “The army is clear-cutting an area of the Fields close to the border. We might as well use the stems in our Pavilion. Write up a remittal chit to reimburse the elves for their crops.”

Sugarbush balked. “Pay them? It was their lax - “

“We’ve had five incursions across the border in the last four months. If the army can’t predict or prevent it, how are our elves supposed to? Pay them what they are owed.”

Sugarbush’s mouth puckered, but he nodded.

“How is the progress on the Pavilion? I’ve heard the Dark side is progressing quickly. Will we be ready next week?”

He stared at her, and Marianne had a sudden sense of deja vu.

“...please tell me we have built something.” The blank look continued, giving her the only answer she needed.

Marianne remembered ordering Sugarbush and his builders to construct a pavilion the moment the talks had been confirmed. Before that, even, asking for plans on her desk shortly after she’d returned from seeing the goblins off at the border.

And they had done nothing?

“The General said…” Sugarbush started, and she once again failed all her trained decorum by interrupting.

“Do you really believe General Roland, my fiancé, would accept looking weak compared to the goblins? Imagine if we had to depend upon their hospitality, because the Fields couldn’t even build a mere pavilion in a month? It would shame the whole kingdom!”

The logic seemed to work its way through Sugarbush’s brain, and he agreed that it would be deeply embarrassing if they were shown up by those dirty Dark-dwellers. Plans were dispatched before Marianne even left the room, whispers of how important it was to impress both the goblins and General Roland going far to speed the wings of the messengers.

Marianne bit back frustration at the idea that her words meant so little, but even the hint that they might shame the General had her whole court willing to break centuries of tradition.

But it was effective, and she returned to her rooms feeling much better. Let Roland have his Parade, she had work to do before the first peace talks in nearly two decades.

-----

Grudgingly, Bog had to admit that his people had outdone themselves. In just under a month, the half of the Hawthorn that remained in permanent shade had been transformed into a vibrant tent city.

Far from the eyes of the Light Fields, goblins and Dark Elves squabbled over prime real estate, unleashed upon a project that most had been spending their entire lives dreaming of. The whole forest knew Alder was coming down, sooner rather than later, and that city was already bursting at the seams. The taste of profit and protection in equal portions drew half the forest to the project, and Bog himself had been called in to mediate disputes (or in his words, "bust heads") to keep the chaos to a manageable level.

He’d forced the guilds to send most of their members back to their jobs within the forest, honing down the numbers to a mere thousand or so Forest citizens crawling up and over the tree with predatory glee.

The Hawthorn had seven large roots and dozens of smaller offshoots that easily divided the base of the tree into natural squares and landing areas. Half remained in the light, clear to see for any passing fairy, but in the shaded darkness of the forest there were three easy divisions, in addition to the wide space that Bog had claimed for the initial pavilion.

The work there went on beneath the eyes of the fairy guards, but they never crossed the shallow root that bisected the square, nor did the Dark Forest creatures dare cross over. At least, they hadn’t since Bog had heard them chortling over ‘stealing’ ground cover from the Light half under cover of night and hung the most vocal perpetrators over the side of one of the branches until they promised not to do so again.

The result was wide clearings cleaned off fallen leaves and other detritus, all along the shadowed side. Bark had been placed down to create streets, and Bog had to knock more heads each time some enterprising elf or goblin moved it to give themselves more space, or angle more customers towards their store.

There were benefits to a planned city - wider streets and intentional open spaces for events or landing pads - but keeping to the plan required a King. At least, it required one in the Dark Forest, whose denizens defined ‘unclaimed’ as ‘no person is currently sitting on it'. He had let the elves call ‘first come, first served’ for the dark squares, and because the Alder council had been notified before he himself had known, they were happy - or at least smart enough not to irritate him into involving himself - in portioning out the general areas fairly, and only then let the free-for-all in. So elves and goblins alike more or less followed the grand plan and only scuffled over individual allotments or prime locations.

So now, three weeks after the initial rumor, Bog could rest on a burl knob looking over the three hidden squares and see bark streets trodden near to pieces as the guilds and prospectors enforced their claims.

The dung market was yet to move, much to the appreciation of all working in the muck. That would stay at Alder Town, even after the tree came down, the Toadstool clan already eyeing the decaying bark and soft wood with mercantile eyes. Eventually it, too, would move, but it was the smithies that had come first, along with the house builders and food stalls, and everyone else that found space on the forest floor safer for their work.

The meat market had taken the largest square, the one that held the direct route into the forest, such that their wares could cross easily from the forest to the square. Bog had needed to watch there the most carefully, as the open space for pens was constantly encroached upon by eager speculators, and there would have been blood on the streets had he and the butcher guild not carefully managed the space. Already there were goblins raking bark mulch into suspended pens for grubs, while the intricate lattice work necessary for beetle cages were being lowered to the ground by Songbirds and nets were going up for the gnat herders.

Everywhere there was motion. The flicker of Songbird wings, but so too the rumble of beetle carts and the hum of dragonfly-mounts. No homes had gone up yet - only because of Bog’s own decree banning it outright until an actual deal with Fairy could be made - but there were tents everywhere, staking claims in a more permanent way than a couple of pegs with string slung between.

If everything went well with the Fields, as impossible as that seemed, soon the Songbirds would be bringing whole homes over. Lights would go up and down the trunk, staircases already growing out of the squares, following roots to the bulk of the tree proper, starting with rickety bark steps, but inevitably being replaced with grown stairs and mushroom stanchions.

Already there was a huge contingent of Growers in the second largest square, dividing up their own market, but mostly working on the city building proper; coaxing roots to the surface to define walkways and market streets; rolling out water-vines along the roots to one day act as the city’s waterworks and vehemently defending their claim to be the only clan who could alter the tree proper.

Well, almost the only clan. Bog had not been shocked to see the Growers and Toadstool workers in deep conversation before blooming a line of mushrooms from the forest, through the meat market, all the way to the primary pavilion. The mushrooms might not be the best communication network, but they were vital to the forest nonetheless. And soon enough there would be mushroom homes ringing the Hawthorn as well, even if the Growers contained the fungal growths on the higher tree to ensure its health.

But what was a shock was who else had come. Bog had almost fallen from his perch when he spied the Toadstool Matriarch stumping her way over one of the root bridges.

The goblin woman was ancient, twice Griselda’s age at the least, and Bog was quick to glide down to meet her.

He was not alone. The planning committee, armed with whichever councilors were currently on call, appeared behind him as he landed. They clearly had expected her arrival, but they still bowed deep in reverence. No one wanted to get on the bad side of the Toadstool clan, and The Speaker was the Toadstool clan, in a way that no outsider could completely understand.

The woman who had once been Darleen Darkbrush stared long at the assembled elves and goblins. The whole left side of her face had been given over to a pale fungal growth, one eye completely turned milky white while the other still held fierce intelligence. When she exhaled, powder blew from her lips, and where she walked a putrid ooze followed.

She turned to Bog. “So this is your city?”

He swallowed, not afraid per say, but respectful as he should be to one of the most powerful creatures in the whole forest.

“If it pleases you, yes.”

She sniffed, only partially in irritation, more to scent the air of the tree. She considered.

“You have good roots. The tree feeds my kin well. But no city has ever stood so close to the border.”

There was absolutely no doubt in her voice. She spoke not from knowledge of history, but from experience.

Bog leaned back. “I am well aware.”

“No one else could replace Alder!” A piping voice rose from the back, well concealed from the terrifying gaze of the Speaker.

Still her eyes turned, as if looking right through the crowd to the tiny elf who had spoken. “That matters little to the trees, elfling.” She turned back to Bog. “Alder will fall, as many have before him. Do you wish to feed another to the earth as well?”

She spoke as if she did not care one way or the other, even as the elves and goblins shivered. The loss of any tree was a tragedy - the loss of two a catastrophe.

But that didn’t matter to the clan of rot and decay. Death was their domain, and they only grew stronger when horrors struck.

Still, the Speaker stared at him. Death was not the only domain of the Toadstools. So too was memory, recorded in the vast underlayer of mycelia that connected the whole forest as one giant, living entity.

The most visible portion of the fungal network was weak, easily confused and impossible to interpret, a tiny foolish part of an impossibly massive whole. Barely sentient, too strange in their associations to understand. Except, of course, by their representative, who was more fungal than goblin, now.

She had approved the expansion of the mushroom line. Yet she also remembered every monstrous thing Fairy had done, and every equal attack that the Dark had returned.

“The Light is no friend to the Dark.”

“That was not always the case.” Bog said.

She stared. Her eyes didn’t move, but it still felt as if she raked his face.

Then she shrugged. “On your head be it.”

Around him, the council elves sighed with relief, and Bog wondered why he was the one who had spoken the city, when he was also the one constantly reminding everyone of the danger and the fickleness of fairies. Cowards, every last elf and goblin of them, terrified a mere embodiment of the will of the forest itself.

Admittedly, perhaps it was the duty of a King to deal with such an entity. But he also knew that the Speaker didn’t particularly care about the minor details of the surface world. Fairies threatened goblins all the time. The Speaker only acted when there was danger to the forest itself, not the pathetic little grubs that scurried across her kingdom.

And as powerful as he was, Roland could not yet challenge the Forest. If he had his way, he might massacre the goblins and every Dark Elf he came across. But his little mind had yet to consider true destruction.

Some of his predecessors had. There had been Kings of the Light Fields who had directed infernos through the trees, or negotiated to hold back the River then drown the whole Forest in a deluge. There had been winter incursions, goblins slaughtered in their caves, saplings hewn to pieces, and plagues sent to decimate both fleur and fauna.

Only then Toadstool would act, the deep rot claiming its due and raining an equal death upon the fields, the power of destruction only empowering their strange fungal abilities.

If Roland really did take control of the Fields, and went on to become bored of his dominance of one kingdom, and further bored by mere slaughter of his neighbors, then Bog would beg aid from the Speaker and her kin. When all other avenue had failed, and the maddened drones of the Wasp King turned their eyes to the malignant power buried deep beneath their neighbor, and vowed to eradicate the ‘true’ evil as only fire and flood could…then the Rot would do its work.

But such a day was a long, long way off. And Bog would do his damnedest to ensure such horrors remained legendary, even if it required him embarrassing himself rather completely.

He turned to the still cowering crowd behind him.

“I will be gone for the next week.”

Immediately a cacophony rose, complaints and demands and idiot babbling. He ignored them all.

“You started this project on your own. You can survive a week, while I attempt to keep your sorry asses whole.”

“Where will you be?” Shouted one. “If you could just visit a bit - “

“Out of reach. Gone. Deal with this - “ he gestured to the whole tree, and the busy industry thereon, “ - yourself.”

“But - “

“Nope. Not hearing it. You got your warning. Now I’m gone.” And he snapped his wings loud enough that the assemblage tumbled over itself to get out of the way.

Behind him, the elves and goblins devolved into squabbling, and he didn’t bother to hide his smile. They were smart enough not to look for help from above, anyways. He could already hear Gale’s voice rising above the rest, hounding the onlookers back to work, while Stuff was grunting out orders on the pavilion. The tree shrunk behind him, and he glanced back and bit back a surge of pride at the sea of lit lanterns and thunder of rumbling feet.

It wasn’t his tree. Technically. So too it wasn’t his city. Technically. And just like everything in the Dark Forest the building was chaotic and random and full of far too many fistfights and expletives. But there, behind him in the Dark, was the first new city in five generations. Built with the same dogged determination and spitting in the face of every authority saying no that so completely epitomized the soul of his people.

He could let them work their magic. He could give them that much. And now he'd follow his mother’s advice, and Plum’s…and Dawn’s, of all things, and attempt something just as audacious as building a city on an active warzone.

Chapter Text

Sunny stared out at the Fairy Pavilion and contemplated the deep irony of the Field’s workforce.

There had been genuine speculation among the denizens of the Dark Forest as to whether the Fields would build a structure at all, or simply arrive and expect seats to magically appear from the ground. Then, a week before the proposed summit, a harried fairy had arrived and a flurry of movement had erupted on the light side. The bemused goblins (and Sunny) had watched a shouting match take place hovering halfway to the canopy, loud enough that the goblin workers with heightened hearing were wincing and glaring at the barely visible blobs in the sunlight.

But work had begun, and Sunny had to bite his lip as he saw faces he recognized from the little Forest Side town were press ganged into service of the Fields. Elves who, just a few days earlier, had been shamed and berated for daring to believe in the existence of Dark Elves were now resolutely staring at the ground lest they see the curious eyes popping above the shallow root barrier that barely differentiated the Dark from the Light.

Of course, the fairy overseers were furious that the elf laborers could not complete the work of four weeks in a single day, and loudly chastised any elf within earshot for their slow feet and small brains.

Sunny seethed, but it gave him an opportunity to test his plan for the harvest.

It took a mere distraction of a few goblin pyrotechnics, over on the other side of the tree, and the flighty guards who were supposed to be watching the wide opening where the pavilions proper would stand flew away to investigate. Sunny shepherded a dozen dark elves over the unmarked border, none of them unfamiliar with the area they themselves had cleared a few weeks previously, and walked straight up to the dozing fairy overseer.

“Reinforcements from Streamside.” He declared, puffing his chest up and imagining himself big - officious and proper and totally not bringing a small army of Dark denizens into the fields.

The fairy overseer snorted awake and fanned himself with a frond, squinting his eyes in the sun-dapple that Sunny had carefully calculated to blind anyone staring too long. Of course, had the meeting space been on the other side of the tree it would have been easier, but no fairy worth their wings woke early enough to be dazzled by morning sunlight.

Instead, the late afternoon sun shone in his eyes, and he irritably waved towards the exhausted elf workers who’d been ferrying stems from the Fields to the square.

“Well? Get to work!” He hissed, and Sunny bowed quickly and brought his team forward.

A danger arose instantly; though Sunny had chosen his team for their wits and small size, still Dark Elves raised on grub meat easily dwarfed Light Elves when it came to muscle. As they shuffled into the stem queue, anyone with eyes could see the difference.

But the Light Elves said nothing, keeping their heads down, accepting a murmured excuse of ‘backup’ without comment, and only looking grateful as the Dark Elves easily carried twice as much as a Light Elf could manage.

Streamside was only half a day’s walk from Forest Side, on the other side of the Hawthorn to the north. Plenty of elves from Forest side would have family, or friends, who had moved to or from the nearby village. A single look would prove these new arrivals as outsiders.

But the Light Elves didn’t care, and were too smart to go looking for trouble, when these new arrivals came with strong backs and brusk smiles.

Three days, and the light elves went from intentional ignorance to active friendship, as the Dark Elves brought over sleeping tents for the workers; a kindness that no Fairy had considered, expecting their workers to either sleep on the hard ground or make the trek all the way back to Forest Side at the dark hour the fairies finally released the elves from their labor. Whispered suggestions found Charin’s daughter arriving the second day with her stew pot, and a mini elf village grew on the Light’s periphery, the mirror to the one existing on the Dark side that catered to the Dark pavilion workers. When the wind turned, blowing from the Dark to the Light, carrying the scents of Dark Elf cooking across the paltry root fence, even the inn keeper’s daughter swallowed envy as the Dark workers slipped back over the root and ate grub roast from open stalls and drank hot stew from chipped bowls and laughed after a day of work rather than whimpered from aching backs and silently flinched away from fairy sneers, only to be shouted awake the next morning to weak stew and cold water.

A bare week, and every light elf laborer was thanking their dark elf cousins with every glance, only more so with each ‘gift’ across the flimsy border. Blankets, quilted patchwork from bright forest leaves, and trade spices passed from Patti’s stores.

She’d arrived too, winking at Sunny as she unhooked her wagon from a rented mouse mount, and got to work hassling the fairies until they let her set up shop beside the stew pot. Fairies didn’t care about elf business, as long as their work took precedence, so she had little trouble after a few coins changed hands and she bowed low enough to the fairy army sergeant, who still hadn’t wondered where all these extra elves had come from. She did a brisk business, and shared the wealth around with her tired kin.

Spices were traded back and forth, Sunny having to boldly step in front of every Grower who heard that to prevent them from sneaking themselves into the work party. He heeded Gale’s advice, though, and turned a blind eye to the blatant bribery of every hand-picked Dark Elf worker. All his instincts suggested that there should be a stodgy fairy marking down every transaction to ensure Fairy got its due. Or at least some sort of law to regulate such things. Instead, his workers made a killing completely independent from their actual pay of unfiltered sunlight healing the mold around their lips and freeing their lungs.

He hadn’t been able to offer anything better for the potential danger, but now he saw why his ‘mere’ offer had been met with chuckles and waggled eyebrows above his head.

He may be destabilizing the crown’s hold over their outlying regions, and he probably should feel guilty and apologize to Dawn, but it was hard to feel properly regretful when he saw small smiles grow slowly on the faces of the Light Elves, and friendly chatter grow between Light and Dark.

He did have to step on quite a few toes to prevent their cover from being blown, but that was only to prevent the Dark Elves from outright laughing at orders given by the fairy elite. But he’d chosen his team well, trusting his instincts and Gale’s solid recommendations, and his confidence grew as the Dark Elves merely raised brows at Fairy insults rather than following in Beau’s footsteps and jumping immediately to violence. The more hot-headed Dark citizens were much better placed manning the borders and glaring menacingly any time a fairy squad flew too close to the more obvious borders on the south side of the Hawthorn.

Admittedly, Sunny hadn’t seen the rabbit-fairy hybrid goblin anywhere near the border. Not had he seen many of the less familiar to Fairy eyes goblins. Just Dark Elves with green-tinged complexions or pure, stereotypical frog and fang goblins, none of the insectoid or odder types near the border. He wasn’t sure how the clans had assigned their vanguards, but he trusted their instincts. Give the fairies what the expected, with a bit of dark elf spice, and they would never wonder what else the Dark Forest might be hiding.

And now, a week after Fairy had finally approached the meeting site, both sides had respectable Pavilions. He recognized his pride in the scatter of fairy and goblin tents to be outsized, but darnit, he was proud of everything his people had done.

He nearly didn’t recognize Bog when the King visited to oversee the final plans the day before the proposed meeting. But he grinned at the fruition of Plum and Dawn’s suggestions.

The Light Fairies had no idea what was about to hit them.

And after seeing what they were willing to demand of his elf kin…Sunny was less inclined to feel any sympathy for his supposed masters.

---

The first official summit in two generations between the Light Fields and Dark Forest were heralded, of course, by a Parade from the Fairy Castle to the meeting place. All of Roland’s army, flying in glorious formation, sunlight glinting on fairy armor and dazzling all who glanced up, soaking in elfin cheers and perfumed bouquets thrown by tearful fairy ladies.

Desmond was carried by a dragonfly palanquin, Dawn eager at his side, Griselda watching the crowds from the back, the rest of the council following behind in conveyances of their own. Dogwood and Buttonbush shared a trained sparrow, side by side on the bird’s back to show off the Duke’s deference to his powerful Mayor. Holly flew serenely on her own, her dutiful bureaucrats flying below her in a formation almost better than that of the army itself. Gaillard brought up the rear, overseeing the supplies, while of course Roland led the whole procession with Marianne at his side.

Well, close to his side. If he kept edging a bit forward or higher, well, that just proved his indulgent enthusiasm for his bride’s silly ‘summit’ idea. The crowds around the capital, and in the towns they flew through in a wide, lazy arc before finally turning towards their final destination, certainly didn’t care for any minor insult to their future Queen when Roland was leading the procession.

So it was perhaps lucky that only the waiting goblins saw the expression Roland made when he saw the wide pavilion prepared for their arrival.

Sunny had to bite back a smile at the look. He knew Bog wasn’t doing the same, standing below with the representatives chosen for the Dark Forest and smirking.

Four weeks of work had done wonders. The wide clearing exactly between the Dark Forest and the Light Fields had been swept of all debris and the thorns sanded off nearby roots. The square was bisected halfway by a root that trailed along the ground at about hip height to most fairies, only widening to house height close to the tree. There, tight against the trunk, two elf outposts had grown, smoke curling up from the opposing cook pots, sleeping quarters hidden with colorful canvas.

As the eye traveled down from the trunk, it was clear that more had been done on the goblin side; bark paths running from tent to tent, glow worm lamp posts scattered through the camp with their lights napping comfortably in wicker cages. The goblin tents were colorful, leading up to the large, bark backed main stage which was less tent than full-sized building exactly abutting the dividing line between Fields and Forest. It was made of half a dozen different kinds of tree bark from all over the forest, a muted patchwork that would have easily camouflaged into the ground were it not for the colorful banners bracketing the wide open acorn-shell doors and the bright awnings stretched around the building, easily doubling the footprint of the embassy.

In comparison, the Fairy portion of the square was far less developed, tiny elf outposts not providing much commerce, but what it lacked in vitality it made up for in extravagance.

Marianne had planned well, not testing the castle budget by choosing to reuse the tents used for the spring flower festival. The fabric was light blue, shot through with spider silk to make it shimmer, and waterproofed to protect against spring showers. And though the petal banners were wilted, only half dried from being pulled early from storage, they still retained their color and faint perfume, mirroring the autumnal shout of the Dark Forest banners with a pastel glow.

Using the spring finery meant that the Field offerings looked as grand as that of the Forest, while taking far less labor and remaining easy to transport. Their pathways were made of green grass, popping against the dark dirt, and their space carefully divided by stem fences rather than the wild chaos of the goblin paths.

Roland saw this all, and fumed. He had told the guard to prevent any building. It would have been so easy to have arrived and then exclaimed at the lack of accommodations and turned right around and flown back, all this ‘peace’ business put firmly behind them and Marianne appropriately shamed for her foolishness.

Instead, Holly was nodding with grudging approval at the spendthrift pavilion. Buttonbush landed his sparrow on the nearest Light-side root, and easily dismounted on the prepared stairs. Polite elf attendants hurried to assist Holly’s aids to find space for their papers, while another elf waved down Gaillard’s supply train and indicated where a canteen could be set up.

They had even planned how to feed the delegation. Roland seethed, another avenue of escape snapping shut, along with his patience with the ever-cocky Gaillard. That man was going to see his career end soon. Along with every officer who had allowed this travesty to happen.

The Fairy general was already turning to his attaché, when he heard Marianne gasp.

“...Bog?”

She landed quickly, coming to stand directly before the Goblin delegation, not a thought of the danger.

The tallest goblin stepped forward. There was a murmur among the fairies, those who had seen the king of the Dark Forest a mere few weeks ago shocked at the transformation the man had undergone.

The Bog King of old had been a faded abomination, armor gray and chipped, scars crisscrossing his pale face and lop-sided thorns adorning his chin. His wings were tattered. His armor had never seen polish. His skin appeared chapped and flakey, while the one point of bright color remained his pale blue eyes. He looked old and tired. Exactly as Roland thought the king of goblins should.

He was different now. Oh, the same hideous form, same ugly, lanky build, but the color of him was different. Rather than gray and scared armor, his chitin was a deep, resonant brown, buffed to a shine libel to rival any fairy knight. His face and hands had darkened as well, no longer the gray of wet rotted wood but rather the light brown of freshly hewn ash. Thorns framed his chin, sharp and deadly, but imitating an even shave rather than scruffy protrusions. His pinecone hair had darkened like the rest of him, no hint of gray in the bark. Only the eyes remained the same, where they had caught on Marianne’s.

The future Queen of the Light Fields came to rest before him, and stumbled on her landing.

“Bog? You look…”

He smiled ruefully. “Different?”

She shook her head, still staring.

“Let me guess…and that’s what you like?” He suggested, tight-lipped amusement on his face.

Marianne seemed to come back to herself. “No! I mean - “ She flushed. “I like you not - “

She clapped her hand over her mouth, realizing too late what she said, but now it was Bog ducking his head and coughing.

A portly goblin at Bog’s side rolled her eyes and kicked him, hard, on the ankle.

“Ah. Right.” Bog stood to his full height and explained. “I thought your people might be more comfortable with an envoy that looked more familiar to them.”

“Is it…” Marianne fretted. “...permanent?”

“Oh no, just a few weeks. Unless - “

“No, no. I’d hate if you changed the way you looked just for us.”

Bog’s face quirked a smile, and Marianne cautiously smiled back, cheeks still pink, and the moment held as they stared at each other.

Roland coughed, loudly, and ensured that there was a clamor of armor as he landed, tugging his fiancée backwards away from the monster that she was being distracted by.

“So. You came to meet us. With this?” He sneered at the assembled goblins, who didn’t have the dignity to drop their eyes and cower at his feet.

Bog leaned back, resting easily as he looked down at Roland. “Aye. A welcoming party, just as written in the protocols. Now we just need to wait for the King.”

Roland drew himself up, ready to step into his rightful place, when Desmond pulled him back. An expression of affront crossed the General’s face, but he forced himself to stay silent as the King of the Light Fields bowed - bowed! - to the King of Dark.

Bog returned the bow and gestured to an aide. A small frog-goblin stepped forward, a scroll nearly as large as he was in his hands, coughed, and began to read.

“Commencing the 347th meeting of the Light Fields and Dark Forest, on July tenth, fourteen centuries since the Great Migration from Avalon, eighteen summers since the ascension of our Bog King and thirty five since the ascension of King Desmond of the Fields. We have been brought here under the flag of peace so that we might…”

Roland tuned out the droning formalities, focusing his mind instead upon attempting to make the idiot goblin stutter in its recitation, grumbling to himself as his power hit the familiar wall of the primrose barrier and the little goblin resolutely read on. Worse, the councilors were nodding around him, as if the droning was proper protocol, rather than some idiotic farce. As if the Fields would ever have dealt peaceably with the Forest!

But even perfectionist Holly was thoughtful, famous distaste for the goblins abated by their exacting formality. Her brows inches higher as the goblin easily read out an incantation in the old speech.

Roland saw his opportunity.

“Stop! How dare you utter foul magic in the presence of a King! How dare you attack - “

“Roland, please be quiet.” Marianne’s voice cut off his words, shame rising to her face, as if he was capable of a faux pas.

“That’s the traditional peace blessing.” Gaillard's whispered to Roland. “Surely you recognize it from the migration?”

“How dare they use such holy - “

But Gaillard was tugging him back, away from the proceedings, as if he had embarrassed not only himself but all of Fairy as well.

“There are protocols.” His fellow general hissed, face white above his beard. “Traditions that must be followed.”

“Traditions are for equals.” Roland shot back, attempting to return to his Queen’s side and end the farce.

Gaillard yanked him back onto the path with surprising strength. “We will not give the Dark Forest an excuse to retaliate.”

Again Roland attempted to turn back. “Retaliate? Then I need to be by my Marianne! What if - “

“You are endangering all of us!” Gaillard snapped back. “There are rules for this. Protocols that have stood for a thousand years, and you will not harm the Fields by interrupting.”

The older fairy deposited Roland on the other side of the clearing, next to one of the other fairy commanders, and cast around for something to distract the General.

“Where are our baggage trains?”

The portly fairy quartermaster blinked, then glanced at Roland and shifted quickly into a salute.

“General, sir! We have no bridges, unlike those damned goblins. So the elf attachment had to go the long way around…”

“Oh no.” Gaillard made an outsized expression of worry. “What if they are attacked by goblins while our guard is down? It could ruin the peace talks - “

Roland snapped back to himself. “Those fiends! Of course that’s their plan! I’ll take a platoon and protect our lesser soldiers! To me!”

The circling army fairies fell over themselves to obey, and within a few moments Roland was gone, winging off into the afternoon sun.

Gaillard breathed a sigh of relief. How on Earth had Roland managed to forget his officer training? Stranger things than a mere meetings had happened over the long history of the war between Forest and Fields. There were rules for sieges and cease fires, protocols for dealing with envoys and war prisoners, rules written in blood and iron over the centuries of unrelenting battle.

And the Dark hand answered their overtures exactly as the protocols stated, laying out the rules in their own document and reading out the binding contract, invoking the old magic of honor and hospitality and begging the gods for a temporary peace, exactly as every fairy knight had drilled into their heads at training.

Protocols had to be followed. Not simply because there would be chaos otherwise, the terror of Total War libel to override their careful detante, but because those rules were written in Old Magic into the very earth they stood upon. To challenge that invited retribution, swift and absolute, from powers beyond what any single fairy could command.

The arrogance to interrupt it was stunning. To recite the old words had been an overture of faith on the part of the Dark Forest denizens, and to return it with anything less than respect was an insult of high order, justifying violence of such severity that such an intentional insult hadn’t been given in five hundred years.

At least, not by fairies from the light side. Gaillard wasn’t fool enough to not notice that the denizens of the Dark would have more difficulty following the exacting formality and enunciating words built for fairy mouths with the proper number of teeth and tongues. It took effort from a fairy to fail in formalities, while the dull-brained goblins struggled to merely array themselves in the proper lines.

And the idea that Roland endangered that - Roland, the perfect specimen of fairy knighthood, who so easily followed the protocols of the tourney or the dance, but apparently had no memory of the exacting protocol of war…that seemed impossible. These protocols were important, momentous in a way completely unlike that of dance or duel - an insult there could only shame the two on the field, while an insult in war talks could endanger the whole kingdom.

It was beyond arrogance. And Gaillard wasn’t blind to the other insults as well. To step forward into the place of the King, though Desmond still ruled and Roland had done none of the rites? To speak over the Crown Princess while she represented her people before a foreign King? Arrogance did not begin to cover it.

One did not air a marital dispute before the neighbors. If simply to not look weak before creatures that would take every advantage they could get. Beyond arrogance. Near treason.

Gaillard shook his head. Someone needed to re-educate the General. He prayed it wouldn’t fall to him.

---

Dawn had to work hard to keep her feet on the ground as the goblin skald recited the incantations. Her Sunny-bunny was right there, standing stiff and formal next to Bog, and she wanted nothing more than to leap across the clearing and swing him into her arms.

Given the way his eyes hadn’t left her face since she’d landed, it seemed like she wasn’t the only one.

But everything had to be proper. She understood that. Technically, Sunny was a hostage. As was Griselda, who stood at Dawn’s side and was examining the change in her son with a critical eye.

Dawn could only guess how fast the goblin woman would be attacking her son’s beard as soon as she had the ability, so perhaps it was not a surprise that the little frog goblin at his side was being exacting with each of the half dozen incantations he needed to read out.

The exchange of the hostages was the third section of the formalities; Griselda beating out her skirt before stepping across the invisible line between the forest and fields exactly at the moment Sunny crossed from the other side. They exchanged places, Sunny breaking protocol only enough to squeeze Dawn’s hand, while Griselda beamed at the fairy councilors who had put up with her for the last month.

Dr. Ibis stood besides Marianne, waiting for her portion of the exchange, wings flickering in impatience as she waited to be allowed access to her patient.

Cabby was barely a minute away, Dawn knew. Somewhere high in the Hawthorn was a caravan of moths, their most valued negotiator kept close to the sun to improve healing while below her doctor tried not to pace.

Dawn had briefed Ibis as much as possible, with updates on Cabby’s condition sent on from Sunny, as well as detailed notes as to the healing the Dark Forest offered. Ibis had already caught the eyes of two moths waiting in the wings for the instant of transfer.

At various points, each of the main councilors on both the Light and Dark sides were brought forward to be introduced to the proceedings, Bog first, then Desmond, followed by Griselda and Marianne, and on down, the subtle binding of the incantations settling on Dawn’s wings like a light dusting of pollen - barely noticeable but libel to make her sneeze if she wasn’t careful.

It was the first time she’d ever undergone such magic outside of the trip to the winter lands. Beyond the initial incantations specific to the Dark Forest, the introductions and exchange of intent was common to any official diplomatic mission, but they were rarely visited by their peaceful neighbors, so this was the first time Dawn had heard the words spoken with power behind them.

Their neighboring kingdoms mostly kept to themselves, the Deep Woods to the south and the Lake to the west rarely sending emissaries, their way of life too different from the Fairies to encourage much trade. The fairy castle’s seneschal mostly read out the incantations then - the wishes for damp skin or silky fur causing rolled eyes among the fairy elites - and the visiting emissaries quickly returned home with everyone agreeing to keep things exactly as they’d always been.

Thinking back on it, perhaps it wasn’t much of a surprise the foreign ambassadors always left so quickly, given the sneers the fairies gave for anything lesser. Dawn's fellows had no patience for anything less than perfection in their visitors, and no interest in the stories and trade goods they brought. Why listen to a mermaid songstress or a mouse knight when there were fairies who could do much the same, with no need to sweep fur off the carpet or mop the floor afterward? And there was more selection in the Winter Lands, an endless bazaar of the best every fairy nation had to offer, with no need to think of the lowly craftsmen or silversmiths who had tithed their labor to their fairy masters.

And Dawn would have been content with that, had she not fallen for an elf whose songs were different than that of the fairy elites, and made friends with a goblin whose magic was different than all that known to Fairy. She would have never considered that rabbit-wool coats could go a long way to warm her elves in the winter, or naiad-raised midges could feed half a tree in the Forest. No wonder their neighbors seemed so confused when fairies only wished to negotiate for trinkets when they could offer so much more!

Sunny squeezed her hand again, and she drew herself out of the pout threatening to show on her lips. This was the first step. Prevent a war now, and they could make friends later.

Chapter Text

After the near-disaster at the ceremony, the rest of the day was a relief. Masters of Service on both sides exchanged discussion topics, and the Fairy nobility were offered tents from which to escape the heat.

Dr. Ibis pushed forward, medical bag slung over her shoulder and ire in her eyes at anyone who would delay her from seeing her patent a moment longer, and without a single hesitation stepped over the invisible barrier between Light and Dark when Bog called for her guides to show her the way to the moth caravan.

Cycla rushed forward to meet the doctor, and fly and fairy were in deep conversation almost before the fairy woman’s feet left the ground.

Buttonbush pouted as the fly left to minister to her wife, but spied a Dark Elf landing a finch on the Forest’s landing pad and started forward eagerly.

As the meeting broke up, Sunny turned to Dawn, and within moments the Princess was gathering him into her arms to the shock of all the watching Light Elves and vague disgust from the Dark.

Everywhere there was a hum of activity, and the Bog King and Crown Princess were pulled back to their respective sides to oversee. But both looked back, and grinned when they caught each other's eyes, mirrored in amusement and like-spirited action.

---

It was very, very lucky that Roland did not see the smile the Bog King and the Fairy Princess shared, because he might have broken every protocol imaginable and struck the Dark King down right then and there.

At least, that was what several of the councilors privately thought. Then again, their General truly was a go-getter, jumping at the chance to fight the Dark again. Not surprising in such a young man, of course. But there was a time and a place for such things. Any potential peace between the Fields and Forest was temporary, of course. A thousand years of history attested to that. He’d have his chance to be a hero soon enough.

In the meantime, if their Princess could win concessions from the Dark with her smile, then that could only be good for them, so they said nothing when the General returned leading a parade of tired Elf soldiers. The baggage they carried was rather beneath the General, but the rest of the council fell upon the stores with eagerness, demanding succor in various forms and commanding their own contingents to bring forth their trade goods, descending upon the trains rather like magpies jostling for the shiniest trinkets.

Dame Holly pursed her lips, disdainful of the chaos, but more so in the way that Fairy displayed itself before the goblins. The beasts had prepared well, the chaos in their camp wrestled into a semblance of propriety while the Fairies embarrassed themselves at their lack of preparedness.

The Dark pavilion, open only on the side that faced the Fields, housed plenty of shiny trinkets that the fools Holly shared council with would be entranced by, while behind the main pavilions tents lined the root selling the disgusting, overly spiced filth that the goblins ate.

Holly shivered as the thought of what possibly could be contributing to the rich, spicy stench. She’d seen the way goblins ate, devouring their rations like beasts, no etiquette crossing their tiny minds. Worse still were the traitorous elves that poked their heads above the far root wall, then skittered over to eat beside the goblins, knocking elbows with them as if they were kin rather than natural enemies.

And a glance behind only showed how such disorder could affect the fields. Elf soldiers and laborers alike glanced into the Dark, then froze as they saw creatures like them. More than once Holly saw an elf soldier sniff, then lick his lips and casually glance over to the other side…and then drop their polearm in shock when they saw elves stuffing their chubby faces with Dark Forest fair.

At least they would shutter and flinch away when they saw the goblins, but the scent was so tempting they would look back a few minutes later, then back again, and back again.

It was worrying, and she had a quiet word with Gaillard, prompting him to position the elves further upwind and back and ensuring a fairy leader watched over every elf squad. Already both councilors could see the danger of idiot elves sneaking off across the border merely for food. Perhaps this what what the Dark had planned all along.

Holly sniffed, and considered other ways of ensuring compliance, when the fool Dogwood went and splattered his ignorance all over the proceedings by hassling one of the Goblin attachés over those very same elves.

She quickly took herself to his side, hoping her presence would be enough to silence him…with little success.

“Why have you allowed elves into the Dark Forest?” Dogwood blustered. “Are you stealing our people?!”

The goblin looked up, an idiotic, confused expression on her face. “...eh? I mean - “ She bowed deep, with such exaggerated care that it was obvious the moves had been near beaten into her. “To whom is the Lord referring?”

Dogwood gestured to one of the food stands, where half a dozen elf laborers were laughing at some private joke. Holly felt her face contort into similar disgust, but she pressed her lips tight and held back her contempt.

The goblin’s brows screwed up. “Those are Dark Elves, sir. We ain’t stealing nuthin from em! They bite!”

Dogwood’s mouth dropped open, as if shocked at this information. “There are no elves in the Dark Forest! How dare you - “

The fairy Lady resisted smacking her hand to her head. Dogwood had always been an oaf, but did he really need to demonstrate his idiocy quite so clearly to their inferior enemies?

“You want me to take it from here, Stuff?”

Holly glanced down, only to find a small, brown skinned elf staring up at the two nobles. She was taken aback when the elf met her eyes and did not flinch away, instead jerking her chin up in a clear challenge.

Dogwood blustered at the disrespect of an elf presuming to speak to a fairy, with none of the obsequious deference that was his due. Holly was more concerned with the clear intelligence in the elf’s eyes, and the way they narrowed in recognition. Perhaps these Dark Elves had never been taught to mind their betters, but what was more concerning was the idea that they knew she and Dogwood as the power brokers they were and still acted as an equal.

The goblin breathed a sigh of relief. “Oh. Thank you, Gale. Please.”

Then the green thing hurried off, calling orders with a much stronger voice to her fellow goblins and avoiding every fairy in the area.

The elf woman - Gale - stared up at Dogwood. “...well?”

The Fairy lord sputtered. The - the audacity of this elf! “Have you not been properly educated?”

Gale snorted. “Damn. Sunny did say y’all didn’t know about us, but he didn’t say you’d be rude!”

“You cannot be rude to an elf.” Holly informed her.

The Elf’s brow rose higher. “...Sunny said that no one talks down to Council fairies. Then he said I have the same rank. So shouldn’t you be polite to me?”

Holly started. “An elf cannot be a counselor!”

“Can too.” She returned. “Representative of the Songbird clan, responsible for all transport in the Dark Forest. Equal to…” Her brow knitted as she tried to remember a name. “...some guy called Secretary Sugarbush? Flowery-ass name.”

Holly was about to respond, but the man in question appeared at her elbow, curiosity blooming on his face. “You fly your goods around?”

Gale peered around Holly to answer. “Not all transport. We still use ‘peeds for short hauls. But our Songbirds can cross the whole Forest in a few days, carrying quite the load. Plus, they fly, so raising freight up to the canopy is no trouble.”

Sugarbush shifted closer. “Fascinating. How do you maintain your hold on them? Hardly anyone in the Fields can retain a bird, much less train them.”

Gale laughed. “We feed ‘em more than grain! Good worms win wings better than any magic ever could!”

Sugarbush looked horrified, but a moment later his face screwed up in consideration. Dogwood huffed at his side.

“Never mind that! Why are there elves in the Dark Forest?!”

Gale looked up, clearly far more interested in talking shop with a mere flunky. “...sir, you’ve been leaving babes at the border for as long as there’s been a border. Did you really think we ate them all?”

Dogwood sputtered. Frankly, he’d rather hoped they had. He’d paid for enough girls to take the trip to get rid of little ‘problems’. The idea that they might, even now, be running around, spreading their twisted heritage…

He coughed. And kept his eyes on the elf woman rather than glancing around to see if he could recognize himself in any face in the crowd.

“Still. Every elf belongs to the light, no matter if they were….temporarily misplaced. Where have their tithes been going, if they have no fairy masters to serve?”

“Serve?!” Gale hissed, then took a moment to force herself to breath. The angry flush on her face faded, but she still was stone-faced when she continued. “Dark Elves do not serve. We work, and are paid for our service. Just like every other goblin in the forest.”

Dogwood sputtered. “But you cannot be trusted to care for yourself. Without fairies, you’d be starving in winters and gluttons in summer. You need - “

“We have a city with fifteen thousand elves, and not a single fairy lord taking tax. Tell me, is your city so strong, Lord Dogwood?”

The Fairy lord sputtered, the number she threw out casually ten times what his own city boasted. Of course, his elves were well behaved. But how much tax could he collect if he tripled its size? How many more pretty elf maids could he bring to his chambers? How many could he tempt away from the Forest, if he eased his hold just a bit…

Dogwood! Holly hissed into his ear, and he shook his head free of the fantasy. Roland had spoken of conquering the forest. No need to change what he was doing; in instead he could simply take the city, and return it to its proper rulers.

“And what’s the name of this so-called Free Elf city?” He prompted.

Gale stared. “...Alder Town. It has stood for five hundred years.”

“Hmm.” He stroked his beard. “I’d love to speak to its L- oh, you said no lords. Its owner, then?”

“...I could put the request in. But our…” she spat the word, eyes going to their proper height, glaring at the ground with unseen hatred “...owner rarely leaves the tree. I’d doubt he’d come here.”

Dogwood sniffed and puffed his chest. “I am sure I could make it worth his while. What elf could resist what I can offer?”

At that moment, Bog appeared and pulled Gale away, saving Holly and Dogwood alike from a violence they could not even conceive.

After all, no Light Elf would attack a fairy, even in defense of their 'owner'.

---

The afternoon faded to evening, the camp filled with the hum of preparation, and the army fairies began to return to their posts, leaving only enough of a contingent behind to protect the pavilions and ensure no Forest incursions.

Gaillard left them to it, confident that the older soldiers, at least, knew how to prepare such a base.

The rules allowed for base camps, after all. Places to bring the wounded or feed hungry soldiers, during lulls in the agreed upon battle times. War was something that was regimented, after all. Perhaps the goblins struggled to follow the rules, but they existed for a reason. Rules of Engagement kept things civilized and allowed weary soldiers enough time for a hot meal and a good sleep between skirmishes. And now, it allowed for him to return home, confident that his men knew what to do, even if Roland did not.

And that was the concerning thing, wasn’t it? Roland was the best the army had ever produced, and yet he showed no knowledge of one of their most vital traditions. It was…disturbing, to think that their officer training had produced a commander with such a dangerous gap in his knowledge.

So Gaillard did not turn his flight towards his tent, or even to small room at army headquarters, but rather took a straight path to the High Tree Citadel, the premier academy for officer hopefuls. Every fairy officer in the current army had flown through their doors, and Gaillard felt a warm wash of nostalgia every time he landed before the huge doors and paid his respect to the stone door-guards.

The Citadel watched over the kingdom from an ancient hickory tree, far enough from the border to remain safe while near enough to the castle as to offer easy aid. The ground was speckled with little towns catering to the students, while the Citadel itself sat in the saddle of the tree, with dorms and training halls flaring out and up along wide branches, forgoing walkways in favor of forcing students to fly at every opportunity, performing tight ariel turns and exacting landings to enter the narrow doorways and windows. Excellence at every step was the school’s motto, and until that morning Gaillard had thought they’d done admirably in that goal.

His feet took him up winding stairs to the familiar office of the chancellor, an old general named Oxeye that had seen fifty years of cadets through the doors, and would likely see another fifty more.

The old general seemed surprised to see Gaillard, but was happy to host, summoning an elf attendant with a bell and bellowing an order for tea and crumpets.

When he’d settled back into his desk chair and Gaillard was sipping the thick tea, he spoke.

“So, what brings you to my door, Gaillard?” Oxeye was a grump by nature, but held fondness for all his old students who had made good. “Thought you’d be busy with the Princess’s idiocy.”

Gaillard sucked in his tea too fast, a sour note playing against the sugary over-steeped brew. Did everyone find the crown princess foolish?

He coughed. “I was. But something bothered me.”

“Her fool thought that the goblins can be talked with?”

Perhaps he should be honored that his old teacher would drop formality with him enough to question orders. Every soldier thought their command was filled with fools and idiots who knew nothing of the situation on the ground, and grumbled loudly whenever they could get away with it. A bit of a surprise coming from a former general but…

…But it still felt wrong. They all served at the King’s pleasure. And soon Marianne would take that role. He and Oxeye were sitting in a school, not a dingy bar only frequented by other old soldiers. What if the students hear him talk?

“It was actually something else. Something Roland said.” Gaillard started.

“Oh? Our proudest son? He came around just last week, and damn if the kids didn’t shape up just for him!” Oxeye smiled indulgently. “Wish they’d do the same when I talked. Hah!”

“He didn't know the Cease Fire Incantation.”

Oxeye froze. And Gaillard watched as the old man fought to find an appropriate explanation, expressions of confusion then outright refusal chasing themselves across the man’s face.

He settled on, “Well, I suppose we all get rusty on the stuff we never use, eh? Nice to know that even a man like Roland isn’t perfect. Probably couldn’t stand listening to those goblins butchering the words!”

“He interrupted the Incantation for Peace.”

Oxeye blanched. There were dozens of ceremonies the army oversaw - from welcoming the seasons to prayers for fair harvests and silly elf festivals. While the mages were responsible for the magic part, it was always useful to have a bit of muscle as a reminder to keep the ceremonies correct. Else the elves or flighty fairy youth might forget how important it was to keep the protocols and call down a curse on all their heads. Incantations were finicky things, gaining power from repetition over hundreds of years and libel to snap back forcefully if tampered with.

Most weren’t the responsibility of the army to maintain, unlike those dealing with the Dark. The Royal Family dealt with the migration and seasonal festivals, mages dealt with warding and the creation of new incantations, while no one really cared what the elves did, as long as their piddling little ceremonies did nothing more than nudge a harvest or decimate an unimportant village. But the Army incantations were important.

They kept the Dark at bay, and fed the Primrose Border, and ensured that their chaotic neighbors kept to the rules and didn’t murder them all in their beds. This knowledge was drilled into the brain of every soldier and student, repeated ad nauseam until most students could recite the most obscure incantation in their sleep.

To interrupt an incantation was beyond a breach of protocol. It invited retaliation, right at the moment when they needed all the protection they could get to ensure no fairies were murdered in their tents during the peace talks. It had happened in the past.

Oxeye jaw worked, clenching on nothing but over-steeped tea.

“...perhaps he interrupted to prevent the goblin skald from doing something truly heinous?”

Gaillard shook his head. He wished Oxeye was right. He wished any of the excuses he and the older man could imagine could explain it.

“I wouldn’t be here if it was so simple. The goblins were practiced. Dame Holly couldn’t find fault with them.”

Oxeye winced, hard. Lady Holly could find fault with anyone. If she went so far as to criticize Roland…

“...so why are you here?” Oxeye finally said.

It was Gaillard’s turn to wince. “Ah. Well. I was wondering if I could speak to his teachers. Just to check…”

“...you think we’ve been failing our students?”

“Do you have another explanation?”

“Roland is our best.” Oxeye insisted.

“That’s exactly the problem. Everyone knows he aced all the tests.” Gaillard gestured behind him, through the door and to the trophy case at the base of the stairs, where Roland’s name sat with other achievers of academic excellence. His written scores had not broken the mold in the same way his physical ones had, but he still stood at the top of his class, out-pacing children who had come from far more prestigious backgrounds.

Oxeye hissed. It was a problem. He could follow Gaillard’s logic easily - either Roland had completely forgotten his schooling in the ten or so years since graduating, or somewhere along the line his schooling had failed. And if they had failed their best, it was important to ensure that they weren’t undercutting their normal students.

A lesser man would have spent at least another hour going over other possibilities, but Oxeye had always been direct, so he sent a few elves scurrying for archived exams and another to summon the free teachers.

When he was done, he turned back to Gaillard, but dropped his eyes to his teacup and swirled the swill around, chewing at his lip.

“Kids never appreciate their heritage, y’know.”

Gaillard nodded, and Oxeye continued.

“It’s been fifteen years since the last skirmish. Most of your soldiers now…”

“...have never actually fought in a war.” Gaillard concluded. The old teacher had a point. It was possible that Roland and the rest really had forgotten, simply because they had no need to call upon the old magic, and had never seen the incantations used to set up a battlefield. Oh, there were plenty of mock battles during training, and fairy knights played at war each time they fought in a tourney. The lengthy, tongue-twisting incantations could seem quaint and stodgy to youths eager for blood and excitement.

But it was different when one felt the clang of a goblin dagger ricochet off of your back, protected by rules etched into reality, saving lives by preventing dishonorable back-stabbing. Or seen a fire-ball slide harmlessly down the side of a medical tent, or watched a blood-crazed mob of monsters pound against an invisible wall while post-battle negotiations were held.

Oxeye was right. There was only so much a school could do to instill respect for the old rules into their unbloodied officers.

Sir Rosa and Vlad Oxeye arrived a few minutes later, as Galliard was still considering the problem.

Vlad was Oxeye’s eldest son, a teacher in his own right, and in charge of cadets’ physical training. He was a wall of a man, his wings secondary to the muscles that filled his uniform almost to bursting. Rosa was thin in comparison, muscle tending to wiry and wings sleek, hair pulled up in a severe bun and scowl permanent on her face. She was one of the only female teachers at the school, all others in the clerical or healing corps. She oversaw flight school and enforced discipline.

When Oxeye senior explained the problem, Vlad laughed in his face.

“Roland, making a mistake? Surely not!” He chortled. “Never seen a cadet more capable. He charmed the whole school, teachers and students alike.”

Gaillard nodded. He’d heard much the same from every officer who’d spoken to him. It would have been ludicrous for any other knight to make general at such a young age, but with Roland there was not even a peep of complaint. The man was beloved by the troops, and a darling to the brass.

“That could have been the problem.” Rosa said, quietly.

Vlad looked at her sharply, frown on his face, but she was speaking more to herself than the room. Her eyes had fallen to the sheaf of papers spread across the desk, irrefutable proof that Roland had known the Incantations during exam season, at least.

Gaillard followed her eyes, skimming the questions and glowing complements on Roland's answers. His long-ago teachers had spoken of clever turns of phrase and exacting knowledge of history, totally unlike the paltry knowledge the man had displayed earlier in the day. His eye caught on a particular question, and Gaillard realized abruptly that he could no longer answer something so specific, his grasp of history and theory fading to be replaced with mere route memory of the words of incantation. No wonder all of Roland’s teachers had considered him such a gifted student, if he could see beyond the mere routine and into the minutia.

“Don’t look at the answers, look at the hand.” Rosa said.

Gaillard knitted his brow, but did as suggested. What she insinuated was quickly made clear.

“...these were all written by different students.”

“Or Roland practiced with a different hand.” Vlad tried, but his excuse was weak even to his ears.

The proof seemed damning. There was Roland’s name, written clear across the top of each exam, but the answers were all in different scripts. Roland wrote with a dashing confidence equal to his looks - thick lines and with heavy ink and perfectly rounded letters. The hand that had penned the rest of his exams varied, most with light, chicken scratch typical of those who wrote prodigious notes, comfortable with long words and the strange, runic script of the old world. The words were clear, but between different exams there were some with looping cursive and others with careful block letters, and still others who shifted between the two in a way the ever-perfect Roland would have never allowed.

Gailliard winced. Oxeye looked sour, and Rosa seemed grimly satisfied, as if finally finding proof of a long-held complaint. Vlad simply looked confused.

“So…what does this prove?” He asked, looking between his father and Gaillard.

“That Roland had others write his exams for him.” Oxeye Senior said.

“It wouldn’t be hard to find who.” Rosa added. “From the looks of it, we just need to find the smartest student in class, and check to find which exams they failed.”

“Surely he wasn’t that bad!” Vlad argued.

Rosa raised her brow. “The problem is, we don’t know. We’ll have to check every exam he ever took, and search for his actual answers.”

“Is that actually necessary?”

The three others stared at Vlad, and he coughed but continued.

“So he cheated on a few tests. He probably ain’t the first. But you can’t fake physical prowess. He excelled at that. Earned his place in the army on that alone, I can tell you.”

Oxeye chewed on his beard, considering what his son said. “...its true that most students try to test the rules. It’s up to us to catch and discipline them so they know better. If no one caught him….”

“Would you have done anything if they had?” Rosa said, and Gaillard got the feeling he had inadvertently intruded on an old argument.

“Of course!” Oxeye swore. “No one’s above the rules here!”

She stared at him, and the big man slowly wilted. “Though…exceptions have been made. For students that excel in other fields.”

Gaillard’s brows rose, but Oxeye barreled on.

“However. I would have remembered if that had been true of Roland. No one ever brought a complaint to me about him.”

“Only boys mad about losing girlfriends, right pa?” Vlad chuckled, but Oxeye flinched.

“I do remember promising female cadets dropping out during Roland’s years.” Rosa said, and now there was flint in her eyes.

“Well, it wasn’t as if they were actual officer material.” Vlad said.

Rosa stared at him, and at least he had enough shame to add, “Of course, they’re not like you Rosa. But you’re foreign. Not like our girls here.”

Gaillard winced. He could hear Rosa’s teeth grind from across the room.

Rosa hailed from the Winter Lands, dark skin and vibrant wings marking her apart from most Light Fields nobles. But migration between fairy lands was common, near everyone having a family member who had returned one spring with a new spouse, or who sent letters from their far-off new home through traveling merchants. There were years when half the army recruits were newcomers hoping to make their mark in a foreign land with an interesting war and possible heroics.

Female recruits were far less common, but most were like Rosa, hailing from places with fewer restrictions as to who could join the military. Of course the woman was protective of the girls under her care, and if Roland had run them off in some way (and Gailliard had suspicions there) she would hold a grudge.

“Do you remember any other promising recruits dropping out?” He prompted, redirecting the topic.

All three teachers considered. Roland had graduated ten years before, so it was hard to remember specifics.

Still, Oxeye said, “There was one lad - can’t remember his name, but he had a genius mathematical mind. In our ballistics program. But he failed two tests in a row, and went home when his patron cut his support. Think he’s farming out north, now.”

Four sets of eyes fell to the table, to where mathematics tests were shuffled under the other, more wordy exams. But two of the five end-of-year exams had been marked with clear 100%s.

“Roland sent a few fellows home in casts.” Vlad said carefully. “He was never the best at pulling his punches. We knew well enough to keep him with his equals, but occasionally the there were joint exercises with squires or the non-physical departments and…”

He trailed off.

“I wonder how many of those dropouts helped him with his exams?” Rosa said.

Gaillard swallowed. He had not considered that - Roland was too honorable. But…if he stooped to cheating on exams, he couldn’t be considered fully honorable, could he? And while he doubtlessly had the best intentions at heart…

The good of the kingdom might not encompass the good of a few overly bright but underly physical fairy cadets.

“Eh, he was probably just thinning the herd.” Vlad insisted. “Gotta have the best if we plan to take on the Goblins soon! He must have been thinking ahead!”

“...right.” Gaillard drummed his fingers against the table, disquieted by everything he’d learned.

“Well, at least we know we’re still teaching most of them right.” Oxeye said, shuffling the papers into a rough stack. “We might need to take more care while proctoring exams, but we don’t need to rewrite our curriculum.”

Gailliard nodded, but Rosa seemed unwilling to let it go.

“Would that have prevented this?” She asked, pointedly.

Vlad rolled his eyes. “Yes, Rosa. We’d have caught the brats switching tests, and that would have been that.”

“But you didn’t stop him from beating his classmates blue. Would another have stopped the test, simply because the perfect Roland asked a lesser student to aid him on something unimportant?”

Vlad gaped his mouth, rather like a fish, and Rosa seemed to take it as her answer. She cast her eyes to Oxeye. “Well?”

The old general rubbed his brow. “You’ve made your point, Rosa. We’ll remind our teachers that all the students need to match standards.”

She sniffed, but seemed to take the dismissal for what it was, and the topic shifted to how rather than if the standards needed to change.

An hour later Gaillard left them still debating, and stretched his wings on the main hall landing pad. The last hour had been enlightening, but frustrating at the same time. Rosa had made it clear that her problem centered primarily on the way the children of powerful families could bully the lesser, subtlety getting the same results that Roland’s charisma had achieved - promising students leaving and talent left unused in favor of bolstering the image of the school and the higher royals.

Gailliard had been naive to think it otherwise, but he’d spent most of his time at the Citadel with his nose stuffed in books and ignoring the political currents that swirled around him.

But wasn’t that what Roland was best at? Buffing things to a shine, caring little for the underpinnings. Gailliard had left the Citadel, and still Vlad was insisting that Roland had been the best thing to happen to the school for a hundred years, inspiring the students and bringing in new recruits who wanted to be just like him. It didn’t matter that the awards on the walls were based on lies, it made everyone look good, and the only ones hurt by the whole fiasco were long gone and didn’t matter anyways.

No wonder Rosa fumed. Gailliard couldn’t find it in himself to get angry in the way she had, but he did wonder if Roland could be kept from the border doing….other things, rather than involving himself in the fiddly, imperfect negotiations with their strange neighbors.

Fifty years ago, the fairy court would have jumped at the chance to enact a cease fire for a few months, much less imagine a world where they could shake hands with goblins over a table and plan something new. A hundred years before that, his ancestors would have laughed him out of the room at the thought that goblins could even be spoken with.

He wasn’t sure which one he would prefer to return to. It was clear which the future Queen preferred.

Duty suggested he should stop thinking about it, and just follow her orders. But then again, their supposedly perfect Roland wasn’t letting that happen either. It put the whole army in a bit of a bind.

A pity there was no way to follow the easiest solution, which was just distracting the man for a bit, while the adults talked among themselves.

Chapter Text

Marianne was cautiously optimistic about the talks. The Pavilion had gone up without a hitch, at least once the building got started. There were tents for each of the councilors, and a whole field one root over for the army to set up camp for all the soldiers that couldn’t simply fly back to their homes for the evening.

The bulk of the Parade had dispersed, uninterested in the working of diplomacy, leaving behind a contingent of fairy guards who merely glared at the goblins and dark elves and swelled with purpose every time Roland glanced their way.

Not that Roland did that often, instead spending his time ‘scouting’ around the tree and discussing ‘army work' with the remaining soldiers. He’d rushed to help when one of the tents had accidentally broken a rod, and spent a happy hour berating the elf attendants, but beyond that he’d not done much.

In the meanwhile, her councilors spent most of their time in deep discussion with the Dark ambassadors.

Not that the goblins and dark elves looked much like ambassadors. But they demanded the same respect, and with Bog hovering in the background most were willing to put aside their disdain for a chance to clear up bothersome questions that had plagued the border since it had closed fifteen years before.

Dogwood was badgering Dark Elves for information on trade, while Buttonbush had fallen in with a mixed bevy of Dark Foresters from elves to goblins to moths, deep in discussion about his sparrow-mount. Everyone knew Buttonbush adored his bird, taking every chance to show off his pet and always eager to find out new techniques for caring for it. Even now he was listening with rapt attention as a small elf pointed to different feathers and offered grooming tips, the respect for a fellow enthusiast overwhelming any thought of species.

Holly’s whole brigade of attendants had overtaken the main hall, the one cobbled together between the Dark Forest and Light Fields tents, covering the huge central table with maps and going into deep discussion of the border. Little surprise there; the without the Primroses, it was difficult to be certain of the border proper, and it tended to shift over time. With new bushes sprouting up and streams changing course, it was useful to update the maps, and there were several goblin scholars with thick glasses peering down at the maps Holly had brought. Surprisingly, they seemed content to discuss things civilly with the fairies, the sheer amount of land needing to be covered stalling the usual arguments. Whenever tempers flared, fairy and goblin alike placed hands on their colleagues shoulders and moved them swiftly along, disputed territory merely circled on the maps and skipped over.

And everywhere, there were elves. Dark or light, within moments the fairy elite stopped noticing, content to let their gaze pass above the heads of the lesser unless directly confronted by an elf Ambassador. Her fellow fairies were so comfortable with their superiority that they missed the revolution happening at knee height.

Several enterprising light elves had set up stalls along the back root, mirroring ones already in full swing over in the dark. They remained respectful around their fairy lords, but called out their wares at any chance, tempting Dark Elves with Fields crafts and spices, jams and berry wines, flax and linen fabric and food of all kinds. Marianne recognized a few of the sellers - Sunny’s letters had mentioned the Forest Side peddler, and Marianne saw Misty, one of Sunny’s siblings, as well. Dogwood must had sensed profit as well, as he’d snuck several of his elves indentured into the Parade as well, trundling along with the supply train and setting up shop with wares no field elf would be able to afford on their own.

He apparently hadn’t considered that fairy coin was in short supply in the Dark, as his servants remained morose while their companions did brisk business bartering with the Dark Elves that had snuck over the soft border.

Probably Marianne should do something about that. It was a danger to security, having all these elves from who-knows-where scampering all over the roots and bartering for spice and cloth. Already someone from the army had realized, and hounded the army elves away from the fray and back to their barracks, but there was only so much that could be done without orders from higher up. The curious local elves more than made up for the lack of army trade.

But Roland was more interested in baiting the goblins with insults and barely veiled threats, and Marianne herself didn’t care to run the elf merchants out for the crime of fraternization. That was the point of the talks, after all. Holly and Dogwood could spend all their time trying to win concessions from the goblins and get nowhere, but at the end of the week there would be a whole kingdom of elves eager to discover what their Dark brethren had been up for the last few centuries.

If they were lucky the Dark Elves would be equally interested in the Light, but Marianne had her doubts about that. She’d read Sunny’s letters, and seen the way the Elf Ambassadors took the jibes from the fairy representatives and narrowed their eyes. The Dark had no interest in fripperies from the fields - all her kingdom could offer was the bounty brought by sunlight.

A single bowl of soup could not transfer that. It would require open trade and open borders, something that even Dogwood might balk at, no matter the potential profit. But those arguments would be for later in the week, during talks with the whole council and all the Dark representatives.

It was a start. Enough of one that Marianne found a small, satisfied smile gracing her face.

Across the clearing, Roland felt his hold on her falter, and narrowed his eyes.

---

“I just don’t see the point of all this.” Roland said later, back in the castle and comfortable in his power.

“What do you mean?” Marianne asked, setting down her crown and shaking out her hair. She quietly thanked her handmaids as they rushed forward to collect it and turned back to her fiancé.

All the fairies had returned for the evening, no need to stay in the uncomfortable barracks when their wings could carry them back to far more comfortable accommodations in half an hour. The elves were left behind to sleep on the cold ground, while the councilors luxuriated in their well-appointed castle chambers.

Marianne had asked to stay, but she’d been shouted down. Plus, there were no beds in the supplies, and a Princess could not take a bedroll.

The tent set aside for the royal family had included two luxurious divans and a lovely sitting area, full toilette and servants quarters, but apparently that wasn’t enough. Marianne had wondered at the luxury, but Roland said she needed it to keep herself 'cute as one of my buttons' and the councilors agreed.

Dawn had remained behind, spending the evening with her Sunny-bunny, but apparently that was beneath the notice of the rest of the nobles when there was a future Queen to hassle away from filthy goblins.

The result was this - back in her rooms at the castle, shoved back into exacting formality, listening to her fiancé whine at what had become her life’s passion.

“I mean really, Marianne. We’ll be at war in five years anyways. Sooner, probably. What’s the point of listening to them now? They’ll just use everything we say for their vicious little plans.”

She flopped into one of her chairs and rubbed her temples.

“This is preparing for future war, Roland. Holly’s people - “

“Those are just bureaucrats. What do they know about war? About honor?!” With each word his chest swelled, and his hair sparkled with passion as he spoke.

It washed over Marianne, and would have kindled fondness, were it not for how tired she was.

Not from the flight. She’d been fine - giddy even - then entered the castle airspace and felt all her nerves hit her like a rock from above. She’d almost been grateful when Roland had helped her to her rooms.

But now she just wanted to rest, and he was nagging. Beauty did little to erase the headache pounding in her ears.

“Roland - “

“And those goblins. They’re planning something, I know it! They’re just pretending to be civil - before the week is through, they’ll attack us all, I just know it.”

Marianne rubbed the point between her brows. Roland nagged her constantly about frowning, about wrinkles ruining her pretty face, but it was hard not to make a face when he said idiocy.

“The opening ceremony took care of that. It was a good show of faith, to invoke the Peace Incantation for the full week.”

Roland scoffed. “Goblins are dishonorable by nature. They’ll never be able to last a whole - “

“Then it’s good that they tried! Our people are safe, and we’ll see our enemies for what they are! Roland, why aren’t you supporting me on this?”

Roland flinched, as if slapped, and he looked insulted at her words.

“Buttercup. Sweetheart. If you dove into a snowbank, would you want me to support you on that too?”

“Roland - “

“Answered the question, love.”

Marianne sighed, hating the trap she was walking into. “No, I wouldn’t want you to encourage me to hurt myself.”

“Then why would I do the same when you’re hurting the kingdom?”

Because I’m not! She wanted to say, but the words stuck in her throat, and she just sighed.

Roland took his win with relative grace, patting her head indulgently.

“Don’t worry. In a week this will all be over, and we can spend our time preparing for war, like we should.”

She forced out a tiny protest. “But not until the talks are done.”

“Of course, sweets. Of course.”

And he left, and she felt like she could breathe again. As usual, he just ignored everything she’d been doing, undercutting her every idea and acting as if she was nothing more than a naive child.

She was tempted to hurt his bracelet across the room. But she couldn’t do that. Instead she just wished, long and hard, for the feel of her sword in her hand and his face in the mud.

---

There was a party at the Pavilion.

Bog should have known. Of course his goblins and elves couldn’t resist doing something regrettable at the first opportunity. Technically, he should be happy that this only happened after the majority of the fairy nobles had returned to the fields, leaving behind a skeleton fairy guard and all the servants they had dragged across half the kingdom.

He’d had to slap heads to prevent his citizens from invading the light area, endangering the delicate fairy tents. Instead, he’d redirected them into turning the Forest main pavilion into a stage, elves and goblins alike bringing forth instruments and noisemakers. The Light Fields elves seemed overwhelmed at the speed of teardown, and the noise that grew ( and grew ) as soon as night fell.

But then Brutus rolled out a barrel of ale, and Sunny directed some of his undercover battalion to construct make-shift tables from extra lumber, and Grubby started hawking grub-skewers, and Bog could do nothing but just shake his head and watch from the sidelines. Within half an hour the wide square around the main tents was full of food and music, elves of all sides sneaking over and mingling.

Soon there would be a fight. Sooner still, something would be one fire, and Bog would be back to work, trying to salvage everything before morning. But in the five minutes before that happened, he could lean back against his tree and watch two worlds realize they weren’t so different after all.

Dawn appeared at his side, Sunny in tow, with grub skewers and Fields beer, and he smiled at both of them.

---

Marianne stared. It was an hour before dawn when she’d snuck out, leaving only a note for her handmaidens to say that she’d gone to the pavilions.

The grey morning air had felt invigorating on her wings, still warm but without the cloying heat that seemed to weigh her wings down whenever she flew during the day. She made it to the meeting area in record time, planning to make her own tea at the royal tent before the morning meeting began.

Instead, she found Bog bellowing at goblins, seeming far too happy to be yelling.

Goblins and elves alike winced at his shout, shooting glares at their King even as they scuttled around, clearing debris from what had clearly been a raucous celebration the night before. Tables were being broken down, full baskets of trash tossed over to the Dark side, and some morose Light Elves were dabbing at a stain that had been dashed across the Field's pavilion entry.

Had Roland been the one to arrive early in the morning, there would have been hell to pay. Instead, Marianne spotted a familiar face among the army servants, and directed a castle laundress to aid in the cleaning. She, in turn, bustled the two local elves out of the way, rolled up her sleeves, and began calling out orders for hot water and vinegar.

Bog seemed shocked when he turned and saw her, but she just nodded and turned back to aiding elves on the Light side. She hid a smile each time he bellowed, and another when the fairy guards finally realized she was there an hour later, rushing over to aid as the Crown Princess helped re-hang banners and move tables.

“The fool elves had a party.” One of the guards hissed. “We tried to stop it, but Princess Dawn said it was fine.”

“She was right.” Marianne said, and the knight sputtered. “We want the elves to meet their fellows.”

“But isn’t that…dangerous?” The younger knight asked. She vaguely recognized him as one of the castle guards, but the stick up his ass seemed to have shifted enough to allow him to speak to her without a sneer.

She cocked her head, and asked innocently, “How?”

The older knight blustered. “These dark elves don’t know their place. What if their thinking infects the rest?”

Marianne looked out over the clearing, where all the elves were easily falling into line beneath Bog’s bellows, and admitted that could be dangerous. No one wanted citizens comfortable with following an enemy leader’s orders. But dark elves were audibly grumbling at Bog’s direction, and occasionally stood their ground and refused an idiotic order, while hers meekly obeyed.

If she could encourage that kind of independence among her people, it would be worth a few more complaints in council.

They all watched as one elf stomped up to Bog and shouted over the King’s orders, pointing out a portion of the stage that needed repairs before the walls went up. Light Elves looked horrified at the man’s arrogance, but despite Bog’s initial scoff, the King listened and then shouted to move the wall he’d just gotten built.

The fairy knights at her side shook their heads in disgust at such weakness, but Marianne watched further, and saw as Bog gestured to the Dark Pavilion, clearly offering to cede authority to the hungover elf. Who immediately, vehemently, refused and hurried back to work.

The difference, Marianne was beginning to realize, is that no one wanted the job of King in the Dark Forest, specifically because of the ornery nature of its citizens.

In comparison, Roland coveted the easy, obedient citizens of the Light. While Marianne found the council a bit like a herd of cats, Roland could simply smile and they’d get in line. And the rest of the kingdom seemed equally besotted.

But she didn’t want a zombie populace. She wanted councilors and citizens who would speak up when something was wrong, and could be trusted to at least attempt a solution should orders not arrive.

If that meant arguments with elves rather than just change-averse councilors, she would celebrate.

“I like independent elves.” She said, watching the bustle of work.

The younger knight perked up. “Like your sister’s beau?”

She nodded, but the older knight shook his head. “Bah. If it weren’t for his dragon we wouldn’t be in this mess. See? That’s what happens when little people bite off more than they can chew.”

Marianne flinched. There wasn’t much she could say to that. No matter that Sunny was nowhere near the lizard when it escaped nor the fact that someone else had been punished for the chain failure, somehow the whole castle pinned sole blame on Sunny. It was ridiculous. But could she say any of that to one of Roland’s loyal servants?

“Lizzy’s actually here. Pare’s got her moving army freight over at the field base.” A small voice piped up.

Marianne turned, and found Dawn wiping sleep from her eyes and Sunny bouncing on his heels beside her.

Dawn yawned widely and continued. “The Moths requested to see the beast that attacked their representative. Holly’s second wrote something into the schedule for tomorrow. But Cycla said they’ve got worse monsters in the forest, and as long as Pare can show he can control her, Lizzy will be pardoned.”

“...worse monsters?” The younger knight quailed. “Elf, that potion gave you a dragon.”

Sunny scratched the back of his head. “...yeah, but she’s kind of…dumb? They’ve got sentient snakes in the Dark Forest. And hawks. And weirder creatures besides. That’s not to mention their dumb toads and the plants that can eat you and all of the poisonous everything.”

The two knights stared at him, then squinted into the shadows of the forest, shivering.

“You say that there are monsters in there, but why haven’t we seen them in battle?” The older knight asked, as if probing a chink in armor.

“They stick to their territories, apparently. From my impression, our war is kind of beneath them. I guess when you can eat a whole battalion in one chomp, you don’t really care about where said battalion thinks a border should go.”

Given the rueful shrug Sunny gave, it seemed that he knew this from experience rather than hearsay.

“Sunny said he met a snake!” Dawn confirmed.

The knights gawked, and stared down at their least impressive ambassador.

Sunny flushed. “So has like…every dark elf here. Nero’s the protector of Alder Town.” He glanced up at the shocked fairies and added, “They feed criminals to him. It’s barbaric. But I wouldn’t want to send an army there, that’s certain.”

A matching wince passed across both knights’ faces.

Marianne wondered about that. The maps of the Dark Forest Sunny had sent back had been pored over by the army, and of course Roland pushed for any plan that involved a grand army and heroics. She’d hoped these talks might have stalled that idea, but she’d seen Dogwood in deep discussion with army command the night before. Of course he would see unclaimed elves and grow greedy, and if he threw the idea of an invasion around then it became more of a reality.

Though it was possible that the army saw this whole exercise as little more than a scouting mission, sussing out the Dark Forest’s forces rather than any actual attempt at peace.

Barely a day in, and Marianne wondered if she’d made things worse by letting the worst of Fairy see the reality of the Dark Forest.

Then again…

“A sentient snake, you say?” The older knight asked again.

“Yeah. Like Lizzy, but bigger. All black. He keeps a burrow beneath the town. And - “ Sunny glanced to either side, then leaned close in to whisper, “ - I heard that he might move here if Alder falls.”

The fairy knights jerked back, horror flashing on their faces.

“I should - I mean - “ The older knight blustered, then spun. “ - I need to speak to the commander!” He hurried off towards the Light barracks.

The younger knight looked confused, suddenly abandoned by his superior and now surrounded by two princesses. “I - uh - I should get back to work.” And he proceeded to wade into the scurry of elves, clearly preferring to get his hands dirty rather than consider the terrifying implications of the words he’d just heard.

Marianne stared after him. “...is Bog going to be fine with you telling us about the snake?”

Sunny quirked a smile. “He suggested it. After Dogwood insulted one of the representatives from Alder by suggesting a fairy should be running the place.”

Marianne pressed her lips together and tried not to laugh. The information about the snake would make its way back to Dogwood, and she would pay good money to see the expression on his face when he realized that he’d have to fight a snake to get his hands on a free city of elves.

“Why are you up so early, anyways?” Dawn complained, hooking her arm into Marianne’s and pulling her towards the royal tent.

Marianne shrugged. “I just…wanted to get out of the castle for a bit. Before…” before Roland comes to berate me, “Before they’d stop me from getting my hand’s dirty.”

Dawn laughed, bright and happy and Marianne felt something ease in her heart. Nevermind the cloying castle, this was her home. Her sister and someday brother-in-law, and the buzz of her people all around.

And, at the end of their walk, a tureen of black coffee with no judgment staring over it.

She settled down into one of the chairs and grinned at her friend.

“So, Sunny. Tell me about your month.”

The elf swallowed a pastry, and grinned back, the only other person in her kingdom who was just as eager as she to break the border.

Chapter Text

“She what?!” Roland bellowed, making his companion wince and hide her head beneath a pillow.

Marianne’s handmaidens fled and hid behind Marianne’s Lady in Waiting, Lady Pansy. The woman’s wings flickered as she, too, wilted beneath Roland’s glare.

“She left before dawn to return to the pavilion.”

“And you didn’t stop her?”

The older fairy flinched at the noise, even as Roland’s bed partner made a grumble from beneath the covers. Neither of them were wearing a stitch.

“I came as soon as I knew, Lord.”

“Well? Bring her back!”

The woman stared. Did Roland expect her to go all the way out to the barbaric frontier by her lonesome and drag back the Crown Princess?

When she asked, he scoffed. “Do I need to do everything myself?”

He stood, not a shred of modesty, and stormed over to his expansive closet.

Lady Pansy’s eyes widened. Sir Roland was certainly…endowed. Explanation enough as to why his bed companion hadn’t strangled him for shouting in her ear before ten. But one generally didn’t flash the aides, no matter how libertine the master.

“Shall I call your valet?” She asked, wondering where to hide her face.

“What? No. Help me with this.”

Pansy wrung her hands once more. It wasn’t proper for a female servant to attend to a man’s toilet. Were she an elf it would be one thing, but for a fairy to attend to the opposite sex? A noble Lady? One of high Rank? It was shameful. She should be standing a span back, directing the elves to dress her mistress, not holding up pieces to the fair skin of her future master as he primped before the mirror.

And for a Lady in Waiting to care for someone other than their assigned mistress could be seen as a high insult. One worthy of her being hounded from the castle and ostracized from every high society function by a vengeful future Queen. It would be a social death sentence, near treasonous should it get out that a servant of the Crown Princess gave such an insult.

But it was Roland who had hand-picked her from a crowd and elevated her to the status of Lady-in-Waiting. She owed all her current status to him…so it was perhaps no surprise that he could take it away equally quickly.

And…he and Marianne were soon to be married. Soon, he would be her master, along with the Princess. Surely, she would be seeing just as much skin then as now, as he and Marianne shared rooms, and their servants would work side-by-side to dress their masters. This was merely a bit…premature.

And she was old enough that no one would assume the handsome knight had any interest in her, so…it was fine. Not something to brag about, and sweep under the rug as best possible, but still. Fine.

She held up another elegant undershirt, far softer than anything Marianne currently held in her closet, and tried not to stare at the way it stretched across Roland’s broad shoulders. He discarded it on the floor, creasing the silk, and she bit back irritation that he couldn’t even call in an elf and instead she had to kneel to save it.

If only her mistress had such beautiful clothes. It would make up for all the indignity of serving such a disappointing princess, and being placed in such treacherous social waters.

Really, this whole thing was Marianne’s fault!

---

Roland flew straight to the pavilion, intent on berating his fiancée back to the castle, then into one of her uglier dresses, then into a council meeting that would drag on for the full day and prevent her - all of them - from actually getting to any of the idiotic activities that had been planned for the peace talks.

Instead, as soon as he touched down, he was accosted by Phlox who was in an idiotic tizzy about some piddling Intel dropped from an elf mouth.

“What does it matter if there’s a snake in the Dark Forest? We’ve fought off snakes before.”

“Small ones.” Phlox said. “Ones with no minds. And still they’re the most dangerous thing that comes to the Fields.”

Dogwood was equally frustrated. “I had my elves ask around, and apparently those Dark Elves all know about it. The snake sleeps beneath their city!”

This brought Roland up short. “Don’t be daft, man. No elf would be able to feed a snake. It would eat half the town in a season!”

Dogwood and Phlox shared a look, then Phlox said, “They say the whole city pitches in. The Songbirds feed the snake excess eggs. The butchers tithe their goods, just like our elves do their produce. And they feed it criminals.”

Roland had no head for numbers, but he flew over the castle town every morning.

“And how big is this town? A few hundred elves? They probably made up some silly lie to protect themselves once they saw our army!”

“Roland…” the army commander shifted unwilling to go against his words.

Dogwood had no such hesitance. “There are that many elves in this town, Roland. This Alder town apparently has twenty times that, just of Dark Elves. I’d be able to feed a dog, had I that many elves!”

Roland barked a laugh. There were fairies in the Winter Lands who claimed that dog mounts waited for them back home, but he’d never believed them. They mostly came from places closer to humans, anyways, giving up their connection to magic in exchange for living off the waste from the mundane world. What kind of fairy would live like that?

“There are more concerning powers at work in the Dark Forest.” Gailliard landed next to them, clearly having overheard the conversation as he was flying in.

“How so?” Phlox asked, looking grim.

“I saw a strange elf yesterday. One the others avoided. I had one of our elf soldiers ask and…”

Roland was rolling his eyes, but Gaillard continued,

“They have a guild dealing with decay. From the way the elves treated them, it seems that they can bring down whole trees if they desire. The Dark Elves are terrified of them.”

“Elves are scared of the dark beneath their beds.” Roland countered. “What of it?”

Gailliard stared at him, not quite glaring but simply looking with level, clear eyes.

“The soldiers believe you want a war. They think we should invade the Dark Forest, breaking hundreds of years of treaties and destabilizing our border protections.”

Roland grinned. “If that’s what the rank and file want…who am I to deny them? Why don’t we show those goblins what for?”

Gaillard stared longer, and now Dogwood was shifting uncomfortably as well. The merchant fairy had been all in favor of Roland’s plan when they’d spoken of it while ensconced in Dogwood’s own comfortable manor, under low lights and with several bottles of fine wine to share. But in the crisp morning light, after hearing of snakes and hawks and plagues…it did not seem so simple.

“It is clear we do not know enough about the Dark Forest.” Gailliard said. “It would be foolish to attack when it is clear that they have far more forces to call upon than we have ever yet seen.”

Roland snorted. “Then call upon the Hales. Or one of those other mages that is all on fire for destruction.”

“Wanton destruction will not protect us from a reprisal from The Sugar Plum fairy, or stranger forces we know nothing of. It would be sensible to - “

Roland’s expression chilled, and Dogwood shivered. More and more often, it felt as if even disappointing Roland was a dire emergency, and the merchant racked his mind to find any way of returning that brilliant smile to that beautiful face.

Even Gailliard stuttered, but he continued with, “If you wish to invade, it would be best to wait. We are getting good information from our ambassador - if we ease the border just a bit we will be able to smuggle in elf spies.”

Roland scoffed. “And what will those do?”

Gaillard blinked, wondering if he needed to return to the citadel and check on Roland’s strategy papers as well as his incantation tests.

“...spies can give us information on more dangers. The most dangerous thing is to go in blind. With good information, we can protect ourselves and counteract these tame monsters.”

“That has never been necessary in the past.”

Gailliard bit his tongue. “We have never seriously considered invading in the past. There is nothing in the Dark Forest that Fairy has wanted. Border skirmishes over honor and slivers of territory is far different than a total invasion.”

Roland didn’t look convinced, so Gailliard continued, “Our armies are essentially equal in size. Ours is better trained, and now bolstered by our elf corps. But if the Dark can call upon fifteen hundred elves simply because we pushed too close to an uncharted city…that changes the strategy of war completely.”

Roland’s eyes narrowed, and Phlox hastily added, “Which is not to say we shouldn’t invade. But your princess has given us a great opportunity. Why not take advantage of it?”

That, alone, seemed to sooth Roland’s temper, and both Gaillard and Dogwood breathed easier as he considered deeply (while in truth he was basking a moment in the admiration of the troops to settle his temper) before nodding.

“Do whatever you need to get that Intel.” He commanded, as if a moment before he hadn’t been laughing at the mere thought. “Then get me a new invasion plan. Get the geeks back at base command working on it, if needed.”

“Y-yes sir.” Phlox said, bowing to a man half his age and hustling off to get started.

Roland smiled, and turned to Dogwood. The older man shivered again.

“Now. Where did my future Queen go?”

---

The second day of talks began with the first round table discussion with the full Light and Dark councils.

It started well enough, with another recitation of an ancient blessing to prevent the two sides from simply murdering each other over the table.

It went downhill from there. To start with, Roland was irritable, having been unable to find his fiancée before the discussion, having looked across the whole army camp, assuming that she might have tried to sneak out a sword, then across all of the light elf encampment, thinking that she might have been mingling with the lesser creatures. Nor had she been in the tents, or speaking fruitlessly with her ensorcelled councilors.

Instead, bare minutes before the conference began, he caught sight of her on the dark side, standing before an elf vendor and nodding at Sunny as he gestured expansively about the wares and spoke with the merchant.

She was even asking questions, and the dark elf wasn’t even seething at her in the way that the dark elves eyed the other councilors.

He’d stormed over, tripping over goblins and dark elves alike, to grasp her arm and tug her back to the light. But by then it had been too late to cancel the conference, and Marianne had dragged him into the large tent and sat him down at the round table.

A round table! Not even one that had a clear head from which Roland could loom over the inferior goblins. Instead he was placed directly across from Bog, who was taller than any being had any right to be and dared to smile at his Marianne!

At least the councilors fell in line behind Roland’s stubborn resistance to any change.

But the Dark Elves weren’t much better. They refused to bow to their betters, glared whenever they were spoken down to, and shared dark looks whenever Dogwood proposed trade deals with terms all of his elves would have been forced to accept.

At least the future King got the pleasure of watching Bog’s teeth grind as another fairy councilor spoke directly to him, rather than the small elf at his side who claimed to be their Dark Forest equivalent.

“Glave is more knowledgeable about berry harvests than I.” The goblin king forced out, nodding to the dark elf. “He oversees the gooseberry and cranberry harvest each year.”

There was a chuckle among the Fairy councilors. “Must have his pick of workers, then.” Dogwood snickered.

The elf in question looked blank, until Sunny hustled around the table and whispered a quick explanation.

Apparently, the idea of elf children being sent for fictive berries and never returning was not a source of amusement to Glave, because the elf’s expression turned stormy and his small hands clenched.

Then another fairy councilor spoke up about the impossibility for any berry to grow within the shade of the Dark Forest, and chided the goblins for lying in such important talks, and it was Bog’s turn to scratch gouges into the table.

Things were going exactly as well as Roland hoped.

Though he only really paid attention to his pet councilors and the way they looked down their noses at the goblins, and missed the way, out on the edges of the table, Holly’s minions were still updating maps and one of Buttonbush’s secretaries was hard at work writing down lists of what one of the merchant Dark Elves was willing to ship off to the light, putting discussion of payment off until later in the week.

Beneath Roland’s nose, secretaries hustled around, clearing fifteen years of backlog of the kind that was deeply, deeply boring, but went into running two kingdoms that abutted each other. No matter how hard the border, the reality suggested that there had to be a way for some communication to get through.

The minnows in the stream passed unhindered, and branches from Forest trees fell into the Light, while berry bushes required care and promises not to poison the roots. It was boring, tedious work to go over each such question, and there had been times in the past where a week of such meetings were held every year between the dark and the light, even as intense violence raged on battlefields a bare flight away.

Most of the councilors remembered times akin to that, even as Desmond and the Dragonfly King had fought bitterly over slights a century old.

Then the border had closed, and those same councilors had sighed with relief, before finding themselves frustrated at such foolish things as losing a beloved hat in the steam and having no recourse at all to retrieve it. Or wanting to purchase a fallen branch, but having no avenue to even inquire if it fell outside the boundaries. Endless frustrations that could be easily ignored, but still built until Holly’s secretaries approached the pavilions with near desperate hope in their eyes, reams of unfilled paperwork disappearing in their hopeful minds.

All of that was beneath Roland’s notice, so he simply sat back and fanned the flames of enmity, while on the edges of the table fairies did not look upon goblins with respect, exactly, but grudging relief that could, at some future date, grow into comradery.

—---

Roland was feeling pleased enough with the disastrous first official meeting that he didn’t bother to drag Marianne back to the castle. The dark looks the elves shot the council fairies and the grim expression on Marianne’s face was balm enough for his soul, and after such a boring day he deserved a bit of a treat.

The three girls he called to his room were happy to entertain, and it was only several hours later that he realized that Marianne had never returned to the castle.

With deep frustration he found her still at the hawthorn, standing beneath an awning of the grand pavilion and talking about something unimportant with Bog.

One look at the broad smile on her face, and Roland rushed in.

“Marianne! Stop wasting your time with that - that thing!” He jerked her back away, and she stumbled against him.

A few fairy soldiers glanced his way, and the sight of a pretty fairy maid clutching his armor as the last rays of the evening sun caught his hair was enough to bolster his hold.

He held her close, despite her attempt to wriggle out of his grip.

“As for you.” He glared at Bog. “I should slit your throat for delaying my future Queen! How dare you act so informally to a Princess!”

Bog raised a brow, clearly unrepentant.

“I should kill you where you stand, and save us all the hassle!”

The goblin snorted, and Marianne made a sound as if she’d been the one insulted.

“Ay’d like to see you try, Fairy. Didja think our Skald’s words were just pretty?”

He stepped forward, into Roland’s space, forcing him to release Marianne enough to shove her behind him.

Roland jerked his chin up to glare directly into Bog’s eyes, but the goblin did not back down.

The fairy’s eyes narrowed, and he was grasping for his gauntlet before he’d fully realized what he was going to do.

“Roland don’t - “ Was all Marianne got out, before Roland had slapped Big across the face with one green glove.

The goblin’s head snapped to the side with a satisfying crack. One was supposed to declare duels with soft fencing gloves, but a goblin didn’t deserve something proper, he deserved reminding of his place in the most brutal manner proper.

The goblin lapped at a trickle of blood from his nose and huffed. (Behind Roland, Marianne watched the gesture with something disturbingly close to hunger, but Roland was too focused on the perceived insult to feel his hold waver).

“Armor dinna count. Huh.” There was amusement in his tone, and it rankled across Roland’s shoulders.

He drew his sword in one fluid motion, practiced over and over before the mirror to dazzle and impress. It received an appreciative gasp from the not insubstantial crowd that had grown up around them, filled with fairies and elves alike.

Bog stared at him, still dabbing at his lip. “Ye canna have a duel till the end of the week, Knight. At least then you’ll have reason for it.”

Marianne made a confused noise, but Roland leveled the sword against his foe, ignoring her.

“Stand, coward. Don’t hide behind words when - “

Bog rolled his eyes. “You’ve never fought in the war, have you?”

Roland sputtered, but Bog continued, glancing around at the fairy knights who’d ringed them, cutting off exits.

“None of you have. So I suppose a demonstration is in order.”

Then he walked directly into the sword.

“Bog!” Marianne screamed. The sword had been aimed squarely at his heart.

But the second the tip touched his chest, Roland’s sword was flung violently away, wrenching itself from the fairy’s grip and clanging into the armor of one of the knights a good five wings back.

“Wh- “ Roland sputtered, looking at his empty hand as if it betrayed him.

Before he could log accusations of vile sorcery, Bog turned to the crowd. “Peace means peace. Your weapons don’t work here.”

Confusion rippled through the ranks, then Marianne was stepping forward. “Really, Roland! What did you expect would happen? You heard the skald! The goblins can’t attack us, and we can’t attack them for the whole week! That’s what the incantation is for!”

There was a mutter among the fairy knights. Shocked, just as Roland was, at a demonstration of power they hadn’t thought possible, for all that their fairy instructors had drilled the words into their head over and over during training.

“Really!” The fairy princess threw her hands up. “It’s like you’ve never seen a real battle before!”

“They haven’t.” Bog said, again glancing around at the group, and confirming them all to be the fresh-faced recruits that so often flocked to Roland’s light.

Marianne opened her mouth to disagree, but closed it when she followed his eyes.

“...none of you went to the encampments with your fathers?”

The fact that their princess apparently had made quite a few mouth’s drop, this time with light elves included. The last battle had been when Marianne was twelve. Yet she spoke as if there was no surprise at all at what had just happened.

“They clearly weren’t on the field either.” Goblin children acted as squires as early as ten. Bog had been younger, carrying arrows and carting the injured from the field as soon as he could toddle.

He had been on the field, at fifteen, to take control when Desmond struck down his father.

Fairy knights shifted uncomfortably beneath the eyes of their future Queen. The idea that she knew more than them was galling. She was supposed to be the pampered princess, not some kind of warrior queen who’d known the Incantations better than trained knights.

“We’ll have plenty of practice soon enough.” Roland hissed, shoving his gauntlet back on and gesturing for his sword. One of the knights hurried up with it.

“Aye?” Bog sneered.

“And we won’t need any pretty words to beat you!"

It was the goblins that now spat with affront, shoving their way through to stand with their King.

“Those ‘pretty words’ are all that let you win.” One said, glaring.

“Yeah. They’re too hard for us.”

Marianne recognized the speaker as Thang, his hand clenched tight in Stuff’s, jaw shoved out even as he remained dwarfed by the others around him.

“Can’t eat tasty fairy wings ‘cus of the words.” A huge goblin said from behind the fairy knights, making several of them jerk in shock.

“Can’t stab nobody in the back.” Complained a small, beaked goblin.

“Can’t do the fun magic. Only stupid fairy magic.” Said a goblin lass with thick horns. “Can’t fire-ball the tents. Or set their stupid robes ablaze.”

The knights balked. Goblins would attack the mages? Or the supply tents? That would be dishonorable!

“As dishonorable as starting a battle without an incantation, I’d say.” Marianne whispered, and knight eyes widened beneath pretty fairy armor.

But Roland blustered. “We don’t need - “

“Roland, can’t you just leave it for tonight? We’re not making friends here.” Marianne snapped, sharply enough that her fiance gawped.

She nodded a bow to Bog, then dragged Roland out, past the circle of deeply uncomfortable knights.

“Marianne, what - “

“Good job, you’ve embarrassed us in front of the goblins.” Her wings snapped out, and he had to take a running jump so as to not fall on his face.

“Those, those things were - “

“Dishonorable? Sneaky? Rude?” Her face was grim. “You’ve said all of that yourself, Roland! Why do you think we have the incantations? It’s to protect us from all of that!”

“C'mon, Buttercup, you don’t think we need some old - “

“You would have dueled the Big King in his own territory, with a handful of fairy guards watching, with half the goblin army in the wings. We were damn lucky their skald knew what he was doing!”

She turned to him, hovering in the air. They were above an elf village, so he had plenty of power, and he pushed it on her, attempting to ease the anger in her heart.

She sighed, and caught his hands. “Roland. I understand you don’t agree with me. Maybe I am being foolish, thinking that we can make peace with the goblins. But if everything you say does happen, and we go to war, can’t you see how this disadvantages us?”

He puffed up his chest. “We don’t need any old - “

“Even so! Roland, I don’t want you to get hurt. You heard them. Without the rules we agreed to a thousand years ago, goblins could murder the army before the battle even began. They could poison the camp, or set the field alight.”

“Exactly why they - “

“Roland, all of that happened. Before the incantations, things were ugly. The goblins fought like they’d been personally betrayed by the Light, and did everything in their power to protect their border. I don’t want to go back to that time.”

Roland pulled her forward and into an embrace. “None of that will happen on my watch, sweatpea. We’ll protect the Light. And get rid of anything that endangers us.”

She tried to pull away, then folded into his arms, burying her face in his chest. “I…I love my country, Roland. I remember what it was like. Father gone every summer, fighting on the border. Elves losing their homes. Trees dying. I don’t want any of that to return.”

He kissed her hair. “War makes Heroes, Marianne. Your father did great things. We’ll do better. And get rid of them for good.”

She went cold in his hands. And there was steel in her eyes when she raised them.

“War makes dead bodies. Goblin. Fairy. Mothers. Sons. If you don’t understand that, you don’t deserve to be King.”

Then she curled her wings tight, and dropped. He hadn’t anticipated it, and she slipped from his arms, ripping her dress even as she escaped, leaving him gasping at the whiplash of all his power snapping back to him.

She was gone by the time he came back to himself.

How had she done that? His words always worked so well on the army. Every soldier loved the idea of crushing the goblins once and for all. The commanders, the councilors, the rank and file; they’d all praised his plans. Until now. Now they still cheered at his grand ideas, but shifted uncomfortably when they heard of silly little problems like snakes, while Marianne flinched away from the simple idea of a few dead elves. A fairy knight would never fall to a stupid goblin, so why did it matter?

Roland flew on to the castle, girding his loins for the rest of the week, and planning his revenge for as soon as the stupid incantation ended. If the damned goblin king was just gone, no one would be getting these stupid ideas, least of all his docile, precious Marianne.

Chapter Text

Day three, and Dame Holly found herself conflicted.

The goblins were hideous. That had not changed, even as their leader had somehow buffed himself into an approximation of Fairy fashion. The fly goblin had comported herself excellently, even as she stared down the creature that had nearly murdered her wife, before declaring it innocent according to the rules of the Dark Forest and citing some highly technical Light Field’s legal jargon that meant the same. The other fluttering creatures that surrounded her eyed the lizard warily but agreed easily enough when Pare demonstrated his control over it.

Holly would have been mildly put off if the lizard had suddenly snapped and eaten the whole delegation, but she wouldn’t have been distraught. For all that they shared similar wings, the moth goblins were still goblins rather than fairies.

But the Dark Elves gave her pause. They were crude creatures, so like their goblin counterparts, and her fellow councilors sneered every time they saw them, more so when they were forced to interact with the lesser beings.

Holly had already had her fill of complaints from Dogwood and his ilk about the lack of decorum when it came to dark elves. Their manners were atrocious, so unrefined even when they attempted a Light Fields greeting or snuck glanced across the table as to which fork to use during the midday meal.

Holly kept her lips tight, but wondered how many of her fellows remembered the long years it had taken for them to learn Fairy etiquette. Most fairy children had special tutors, aunts or grammar teachers who would spend long hours drilling them on the correct angle to bow or how often to praise a host.

Certainly none of the councilors had taught etiquette, given that she was the only fairy matron on the council. And she was one of the few fairies who was famous for raising proper servants, who never had to be criticized for failing to polish the silver or putting out riding shoes rather than dancing slippers. Her elves were valued members of any household, proving that any elf could learn the etiquette, should they apply themselves.

These Dark Elves clearly had no such desire. They were brusque and rude and arrogant enough to stare any fairy in the eye.

And yet. They held cool heads, restraining their goblin companions when a fairy insult was clear enough for the goblins to understand. They were forthright, and blunt, but showed clear mastery in their fields and took pride in their expertise. They were unfailingly rude - but only so far as they expected the same respect from fairy lords as they gave in turn, and returned insult with insult. An unthinkable thought to any Light Fields fairy, but these elves claimed to be guild masters and city leaders in their own right - were they anything other than elves that respect would have been given without thought.

Dame Holly had ears. She’d heard that the main elf city was ten times the size of Dogwood’s. And she's seen the protective fury in the elves at any threat to their beloved tree. Fury that had been banked and controlled, but simmering just beneath the surface in every conversation since, as Dogwood insisted that there should be fairy control over such a city.

Any fairy leader would wish for that kind of loyalty from their elf attendants.

And for Holly, who had earned such loyalty by being a stern but exactingly fair master, she could not help but look at the heights that these Dark Elves had reached - mayors of cities, leaders of guilds, merchants with thousands of wares - and wonder if her favored proteges would not be better served within the Dark Forest than by the restrictions in the Light Fields.

It was a horrifying thought. The idea that surly elves could be preferable to obedient servants.

But she watched as her dear Moracea traveled round the meeting table, filling tea and replacing pens, and received quiet but respectful thanks from elves and goblins alike, and wondered.

---

That did not mean that, at the end of the fourth day of the conference, Dame Holly was not vowing private revenge on every elf and goblin in the Dark Forest, starting from the King and working down.

Never mind their rudeness, never mind their cheek, what galled her the most was the easy way they adapted to this new possible alliance, while her own people took every bit of progress her aides had made and replaced it with...with this.

She stared down at the reams of paper, spread across the wide meeting table, her lazy fellows long since having flown home and left her with the tedious planning, and let herself agree with Roland for just a few moments.

It would be easier if they just murdered all the goblins, shut the border completely, and went back to the way things had been for the last fifteen years. No trade deals, no runaway elves, no mess.

Then Dogwood wouldn’t be openly bribing any Dark Elf he laid his eye on, preempting any attempt at tariffs or trade controls. He wouldn’t be bragging to everyone who could hear what easy marks the goblins were, all the while robbing the Crown blind. Buttonbush wouldn't be inviting any bird-raiser to his castle, flaunting every sensible border patrol Holly's people had proposed.

The Army was at least better able to fall in line with Roland’s scorched-earth tactics, but now any attaché with a lick of sense was running scared about rumored monsters in the Dark, ruining the usual united front presented by the armed forces.

Roland wished to treat the meeting as a formality, only useful to draw up battle lines or enact concessions from an obsequious forest.

That world was a much simpler one.

Instead, years upon years of broken unfinished business was spread before her, too much to complete in a month, less so the single last day of the conference. It would be all she could do to barely cover the most pressing concerns on the next day's agenda.

Behind her, one of her fairy clerks coughed, and her brow twitched, knowing there was nothing good from that sound.

Charles stepped forward with guilt in his eyes and a sheaf of papers thicker a grigamore in his hands. A glance confirmed the worst of her fears.

Each missive was a request from a fairy merchant or guild to meet with the dark forest representatives.

Word had apparently trickled back through the Fields that there were plenty of trade opportunities in the Dark Forest, and now it wasn’t just the fairy peerage that was making requests, but rather the elf craftsmen and lower nobility who had reached out.

Their queries were more precise than anything the Fairy Council had time for. A mere glance at the request from the weavers guild had Holly herself tempted to attend a meeting, the careful proposal penned by the familiar hand of a former apprentice, requesting a date to discuss export of Forest autumn leaves in exchange for Fields wildflower petals.

It was well considered, and difficult for any Council representative to deny, given how little headway they’d made on a general trade deal, while Dogwood and other councilors had negotiated for their own private businesses.

A further glance showed the Mages demanding a conference over changes in the magic of the border, while the weavers, masons and her own family’s spider herders all sent in polite requests, and several local elf villages asked for permission to establish permanent stalls at the meeting point.

Holly ground her teeth. Had Dogwood not boasted to every fairy that could hear of his personal coups, she would have been able to delay further negotiations until the council had banned trade outright. Instead, she had no grounds to stem the outpouring of interest.

Her aide had, of course, included a proposed schedule for the requested talks, a schedule that stretched out all the way until the fall migration, and even then massed some of the guilds together to provide enough time.

Because of Charles’ damnable efficiency, the schedule had already been tentatively approved by the Dark Forest representatives. Given the notes on the proposal, said representatives were far more interested in speaking to these specialists and craftsmen than the fairy councilors. That only burned a little - obviously the elves and goblins couldn’t appreciate the honor they were being bestowed by even being allowed to speak to the High Council - but the idea of actually getting something done more than made up for the slight.

Plus, Holly didn’t like her fellow councilors any more than the elves did, so it would be a tad hypocritical of her to judge them for the same emotion she felt. In general, she felt snobbery better suited towards keeping rambunctious Princesses and poorly trained servants in line.

She came back to the request from the Mage’s college. It was penned in Anthony Hale’s neat hand, and laid out the specifics of a half week meeting to introduce the Mages of the Fields to the Sorcerers of the Forest. The Sugar Plum Fairy had agreed to represent the Forest, and Holly knew that the army had been trying to reach her for years.

Even if she wanted to earn the ire of the Merlin, she could not deny his demand. It was reasonable, pre-approved by the Forest, and useful to army Intel.

It would also set a dangerous precedent.

But at the same time, Holly could not imagine that a meeting between the mages who’d killed the last Forest Queen and the embodiment of blue chaos could go well.

She signed her approval, and hoped desperately for a spectacular debacle that would finally send things back to normal.

Charles nodded as she passed over the approved document, too professional to indicate either excitement or disappointment.

However, he carefully inquired about who would be overseeing the Pavilion. They could not keep using the temporary tents, and already the army was asking about permanent barracks while merchants wished to construct long-standing stalls.

She resisted hissing. There needed to be someone on site, remaining at the meeting point, a kind of permanent ambassador who could also oversee ongoing construction. Said ambassador would need to be smart, with a strong stomach and polite enough not to start a war.

No fairy would volunteer for such a role - far from home and forced to see hideous goblins daily. Not to mention deal with surly dark elves and unknown magical dangers.

It would be a terrible punishment to send one of her aides to do the work, immediately after they had performed so well at the conference. There wasn’t a one who she’d be willing to punish so.

Perhaps a military aide could be spared. But already she could hear Roland’s denial - citing the necessity for every available officer to assist in either the Parade or preparations for his imagined war. It was unlikely the General would allow any army officer out of his sight, given his loud disapproval of the whole exercise. No, if there was a commander assigned, it would be solely to see to the construction of a military encampment.

Dogwood would be pleased to lend staff, but then Holly would have to accept rampant corruption at the border, all trade flowing directly into Dogwood’s coffers and no thought to controlled economic strategy. The rest of the councilors would be no better, representing their own interest long before that of the country or crown. And who could blame them? The job was thankless and equal to social, if not literal, exile.

If only there were elves trained in trade and politics. It was as good as banned, of course, written deep into the culture that elves were allowed no sliver of power or ability to raise themselves above their stations, but it was damned irritating more often than not. Holly chafed against the pure waste of half of their populace, whose hereditary place prevented dozens of bright elves every year using their knowledge for the betterment of the kingdom.

Really, the only one who had bucked the trend was Dawn’s pet, the elf Sunny, who was even now making enemies of the council for daring to look beyond his place. Already Holly had fielded several rather pointed requests to find some way for the boy to be banished from the castle, if not out of the kingdom all together.

Well. There was a thought.

Dogwood and the other councilors saw Sunny’s effect on Dawn, their sweet-hearted princess who could all too easily be swayed by a sob story of cruelty towards her beau’s people…and they planned murder rather than risk a change to the status quo.

They would be appreciative if Holly found a way for the boy to simply…disappear. Ideally in a way that didn’t result in a mopey princess making everyone’s life difficult.

The border was only a fifteen minute flight away. Banishing her beau would disappoint Dawn a bit, but not enough to ruin her budding relationship with Holly.

The fairy matron nodded, thoughtfully, and wrote up an order for her aide, including the list of changes needed at the pavilion and the schedule for upcoming events. If the boy embarrassed himself, then it would only be an excuse to ostracize him further. A perfect solution for everyone.

Charles did not question her when she passed over the order, though his brows did raise when he saw the name of the new overseer. But his wings fluttered in relief.

He had a young wife, Holly remembered. She’d trained him well - he’d given no indication of his terror as he’d waited upon her to decide his fate.

Proof that her methods of training far surpassed that of the army. She won her loyalty with more than magic or duty.

Something that the General and Crown Princess could learn from.

---

Sunny was hard at work calming some irate dark elves when a fairy loomed over him.

The man was vaguely familiar to the elf - enough that he’d seen him around camp for the last week and polite enough that Sunny was not flinching instinctively. Of course that could change, and some perceived slight could force even a kind fairy to strike out, so Sunny was cautious as he waited for either orders or a tirade.

He was not prepared for a paper to be shoved in his face.

Sunny stared at the missive. It was very official looking. The bright green seal - a crown held between a bough of wheat and roses - was that of the fairy government.

He glanced up at the impassive face of the fairy who had handed it over.

He could have imagined a summons coming from the army. Or maybe one of the councilors, wanting more information about his experiences in the Forest.

But Dawn, Desmond, or Marianne could have just asked him if they wanted something. So the order couldn’t be from any of them.

He slit the paper with his belt knife, and nearly dropped it once he saw the first words.

Dame Holly was demanding he remain at the Pavilions. As official overseer.

A job in which he could command fairies. One where he could request supplies, and servants of his own. One where he could keep in contact with his friends in the Forest, while also enabling Dawn and Griselda's plans.

He tried not to show his excitement in front of the stoic fairy aide. Instead, he controlled his shaking hands, begged a stick of charcoal from a fellow elf, and wrote an exceedingly polite acceptance, and bowed as he handed it over.

The fairy looked down his nose at Sunny, but there was an odd thankful note in the man’s eyes. Sunny decided to wonder about that later, instead dashing off to tell Dawn the good news.

Apparently, all her work in wooing Holly had finally born fruit!

---

The final day of the conference came faster than anyone could have anticipated. Nothing major had been settled; no trade deals struck, no agreements on roads crossing the border or treaties on banned weapons.

But the bureaucrats were happy, Holly’s aides packing up their cases and shaking hands with their dark elf and goblin counterparts, equal in formality and respect. Future meetings had been tentatively planned. The elves with the stalls were cautiously hopeful, as no one had demanded they tear down their work. And there had been no plan for new battlelines.

Plus, Doctor Ibis had given Cabby a clean bill of health, and insisted upon follow up visits wherein she’d show the moth how to recover the strength in her wings.

So the talks had succeeded at their most important goal, and expanded into tentative plans for a future. Not perfect - never perfect - but a step towards something.

There had been a feast - not in the way of the Dark Forest, with laden tables and riots for choice items, but rather a stately dinner with Light Fields elves serving a twelve course meal. The Dark Elves shot appreciative glances at their Light fellows when they whispered suggestions on which utensil to use next, while the fairy councilors looked on in despair when the goblins acted to their type and abandoned silverware entirely in favor of devouring plates whole.

Then Bog coughed.

“There is one more matter to attend to, before we end.”

Dame Holly sniffed. There had been no additions to her schedule. But the other councilors were just rolling their eyes. It didn’t matter what the King of the Dark Forest proposed, it wasn’t as if they would agree to it now.

A goblin hurried up with a wrapped package in its hands, while Dawn and Sunny squeezed each other’s hands beneath the table.

The Bog King stood, and bowed deep to the whole Field’s delegation.

“Aye have a gift. We found it, after we dredged the castle.” He paused, and began unwrapping the parcel. “I had it repaired by the best smith in Alder Town. The enchantment still holds pure.”

Marianne gasped, as he held out the sword of the Heir to the Light Fields.

Several council fairies muttered. The enchantment Bog spoke of ensured that no evil could touch the blade. Yet a goblin held it out.

Roland glared, but was barely surprised that the cockroach had managed some final dig at his hold over the princess.

But it was Holly who stood up so fast her chair clattered to the ground.

“NO.”

There was more shock at her break of decorum than the gift. But her horrified expression caused the quicker fairies to wonder what, exactly, had shocked her so.

“You cannot - “ She bit her words off. “We cannot accept this gift.”

“But that’s the Heir’s sword!” Hissed Dogwood, clearly confused at Holly’s words.

But at his side, Buttonbush was nodding thoughtfully, as if suddenly something made sense.

“It is exactly because it is the Heir’s sword that we cannot accept it.” Said Holly, her wings quivering with tension.

“To return one of the most precious relics of the Fields is a great gift, indeed.” King Desmond said, quiet voice still ringing across the room.

“It is a gift that must be answered.” Holly said, eyes riveted on Marianne’s hand, half stretched to take the sword, paused as the politics surged.

Bog took the sword back, resting it on his shoulder. “Aye. An appropriate gift, given the circumstances.” He winked at Marianne, who’s eyes were wide, and whose face was caught in realization. A tiny, cautious, hopeful smile played on her face.

The King of the Dark Forest turned to the King of the Light Fields.

“Eighteen years ago, you granted me a boon. Today, I am calling it in.”

Desmond nodded, as if he anticipated this, while Holly shook her head and whispered no, no, NO!

Bog looked around the room, at all the most important people in both the Dark Forest and Light Fields.

He placed the sword squarely in the hands of the Crown Princess Marianne.

“I am declaring my suit for the hand of Princess Marianne.”