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You Are Invited...
Faelan had been making her way home from Palisade, her well-loved cart creaking and lurching along the muddy road as Elanore, the donkey, plodded along. The wagon was empty of her usual wares, and Faelan expected to to make several such trips to meet the high demand of the well-to-do. The arrival of spring always meant good business, now even more so after such a gruesome winter. Folks bought-up her herbal and floral soaps as though they could wash away the horrific memories of that winter. But Faelan's goods, however potent, could not change history. And she wouldn't have it any other way.

A curious song brushed Faelan's heart, an impression sent by her ever-watchful Solace. The rook traveled well beyond view of the cart, serving as a scout of sorts for Faelan. The warning was not of danger, but it gave Faelan enough cause to be on the look-out.

Sure enough, a great black rook swooped down from the dim sky and landed with a hop on the bench of Faelan's cart. Elanore continued to plod onward, apparently unruffled by the new arrival. Faelan arched an eyebrow at the bird as if she expected the rook to introduce itself. It did not.

What the bird did do, however, was more than Faelan had expected. Standing upon what appeared to be a sealed letter, the rook make a great show of head-bobbing, wing-flapping, and caw-cawing. Faelan reached for the letter, and as she did, the rook flew off into the twilight without any further fuss. Curious indeed.

With only a glance to the royal seal that marked the letter, Faelan slipped the mail into her coat pocket and rode the rest of the way home undisturbed.




The Warden's Ball...
By the time Queen Anne made an appearance, Faelan had already sneaked her way into the ball -- with help from Solace. Though Faelan had been formally invited, she was more than wary of recent events and had not felt inclined to make her arrival public. Nevertheless, her invitation was carefully stowed away in the inner breast pocket of her waistcoat.

Her costume suited the festivities as much as it served to disguise her identity. In her youth, she had often forsaken dresses for trousers and had easily passed as young man, albeit a fair one. Now, at the ball, she hid her gender beneath the garments of a nobleman, which boasted an array of rich darks and splashes of lace. Most impressive was the black leather mask Faelen wore. With a long, heavily stylized snout, the mask's face might have belonged to a deer, a wolf, or some otherworldly creature. Though it was heavily engraved with knot-work, no other features -- neither fang nor antler -- hinted at the mask's inspiration. With her short hair slicked back beneath the mask's generous fringe of dark feathers, there was nothing obvious about her deception.

Strolling as a gentleman through the forest of guests, Faelan carried with her a goblet she had yet to drink from. As curious as she was of unfolding events, Faelan did not trust the motives behind the Queen's proclamation. Announcing the validity of Wardens and the Old Ways flew in the face of hundreds of years of so-called progress and scientific thinking, and Faelan did not expect everyone of modern society to willingly accept the truth, Queen or no Queen. These thoughts were tiresome, however, and had been haunting Faelan since she first received her invitation.

With a bit of a sigh, she let her worries go for the moment. If anything, it was nice being able to admire so many guardians at once. They had fascinated her, even in her childhood when they had only existed as the stuff of myth. Long had she wished to become a Warden, but fate lead her down a different path, one she was most happy to share with her familiar.

And beyond the walls of the ruins, Solace kept a careful watch.

Green eyes cut fiercely to the stranger as Faelan was addressed, but softened so quickly only the most observant would've had time to be taken aback. The event must have had made her more tense than she realized, or perhaps it was because a casual onlooker had seen past her guise with such ease.

Faelan made a bit of smile as she felt Solace sing inaudible reassurances to her from beyond. Whatever Soibhan had stirred in Faelan, it was receding. "I am pleased you appreciate my costume," she replied, tilting her head to the lady as a gentleman would. Her tone was lower than her normal speaking voice, devised to match the mask, which -- shaped as it was -- further distorted Faelen's voice. Remarkably ambiguous, as Soibhan had so keenly observed.

The gentleman Faelan straightened-up as the other woman remarked on the fool-hardy drunkard, "I would never dream to be so ignorant, so crass." Clearly, she was unamused by the wolf-man. She might have growled were she not in public. Faelan watched the wine swirl in her cup, still untouched. She looked up to the other woman again, and then toward the Queen and her company.

For a moment, Faelan listened for the song within Queen Anne. It was complex and largely indecipherable, but one thing that was clear to Faelan was a great sense of tragedy. Of course, it didn't take a Seer to know the kingdom was facing hard times. Heavy weighs the crown and all that.

She looked back to Soibhan, "How I wish I could fathom her plans, but isn't that so for most folks? Whatever this gathering is truly about, you can be sure it marks a change in the order of things."

After a moment's pause, Faelan made a bit of a laugh. "You must forgive my manner. I am not often so serious. Might I ask, where are you from? Your accent reminds me of my youth..."

"A monarch's plans are rarely her own," Faelan replied idly. She had always been loathe to learn the scheming ways of nobility, but her grandmother insisted. Her grandmother insisted, still. Regardless of her disinterest, Faelan appreciated the insight her grandmother's lessons afforded her.

Faelan smiled to Soibhan, unsurprised by her country of origin. "You did not come of your own will?" That much did surprise her.

As Soibhan glanced toward the Wardwood, Faelan took note. She recognized that look. The woman always felt drawn to that forest, but it was most pronounced shortly before Solace came to her. Perhaps the Tree called to Soibhan. Faelan continued the conversation without mentioning the Wood. For now.

"I was born in Gaels, though I was too young to remember leaving..." She paused for a moment, as if straining to recall her mother's homeland; Solace sang reassurances to her again. "Even so, my mother was very proud of her heritage. She never gave-up her accent, and she was keen to pass along all that she knew to me."


(I love the sound of Gaels. I could never think of a suitable name for "Scotland" when I created Faelan. Mind if I use it, too? biggrin )

Red smiles. A smirk tugged one corner of Faelan's mouth, hidden by her mask. Her clan history sang of many red smiles, though Faelan herself had managed to avoid any such conflicts. She was a healer of sorts, though she still admired fighters. In particular, those who know when to fight and when not to. "I wouldn't expect anything less from a Gaels woman."

She watched Soibhan exchange wine flutes and, for a moment, Faelan wished she could enjoy the party to its fullest. The sun was slipping into twilight, and Faelan hadn't eaten since dawn. Everything looked and smelled so good. Possibly too good. Faelan watched the servant walk on and allowed the continuing conversation distract her from her hunger.

Soibhan's question did just that. "No, I have no guardian. I longed for one as a child. I waited by the Tree for over a week once, but never did a totem call to me." She swirled her wine again and watched the dancing colors of it before looking back to Soibhan. "And I would not claim to be a hedgewitch," she seemed put-off by the suggestion, "I am not the superstitious sort." Faelan spoke the faeries' honest truth.

"What of you? How have you come to this affair?"

"Your companion sounds very generous. What does her guardian look like?" she glanced around to the wandering bucks, as if his arrogant prancing might stand-out on its own.

"I imagine any answers to be had here will only be the sort to inspire more questions." She glanced to the faerie, Llyr, who had spent a good portion of the afternoon addressing the questions and concerns of the Queen's guests. He had already answered Faelan's question, and was even so generous as to offer a bit of advice. Spirits do not lie...yet it does not necessarily follow that we are always entirely honest. Faelan had known this since she was a child, but found it curious that he should mention it as he did.

She caught Soibhan peering toward the Wardwood again. "Have you ever gone to see the Tree, yourself?" she asked, gesturing to the forest that seemed to interest Soibhan so. "Perhaps your friend has taken you? I've not visited it since the winter snows. I still go there from time to time, though I do not expect to ever find a guardian. Even so, I enjoy it there."

As she spoke, Faelan spied Llyr leaving his throng of curious well-wishers. She watched as he walked from one lamp to another and began to them with luminous faerie fire.

Faelan made a hidden smile. "You should try a visit while you're still in the area, if only to see it. Perhaps one day you'll need to find your way again, hmm?" Of course, chosen tended to find their way regardless of knowing just where the Tree was. But it wouldn't hurt to have a better idea of where to go, should the time come. "I intend to visit the tree soon, perhaps a day or so from now. After events here have had a chance to settle." Oldcastle had been abuzz before the ball, and certainly it would be when everyone returned home.

The masked woman followed Soibhan's pointed finger to the Awakened Oberon. "I see why he is so proud. He is a magnificent creature. I've never seen any of the Awakened before tonight." The moment of admiration was quickly shadowed by apprehension. Soibhan was right. Awesome as they were, the Awakened likely would not have returned without cause. Faelan's gaze drifted toward the sickly Queen. What is she planning...

As she looked away from the dais, Faelan dropped her wine. The ball blossomed into a sea of shifting colors and the air was heavy with the scent of life, new and flowering and ripe. It defied the natural order, the careful and progressive turning of two seasons compressed into mere moments. Inexplicable. Faelan's heart ached -- felt near to bursting -- and was overwhelmed with the songs she felt from every inch of overgrowth. Spring and summer's entire symphony compressed into a single, sublime crescendo.

The shap pinches of a beak to her ear brought Faelan back to herself. She felt the weight of Solace on her shoulder, felt the faint dampness of tears on her cheek. She heard the urgent concern of the rook's heartsong. Her mask on the floor was a distant concern. As her stomach began to sink, she put a quivering hand to her mouth and spat a cherry pit into her open palm. Faelan's eyes went wide, and she turned slowly to look at Soibhan, as though the stranger might honestly understand her dread. She only remembered feeling the song, but the horrific taste of a fruit so wonderful still lingered on her tongue.

Solace once more sang reassurances into her heart.

Faelan's jaw tightened as the pit in her stomach filled with a stinging fire. It was not often she felt the unwitting fool. In one smooth motion, she bent down, scooped up her mask with a clawed hand, and pulled it back over her head. Indignation and fury burned as gold in her hazel eyes. Faelan's mask was wholly the face of a wolf as she bristled beneath it. Her eyes did not quite touch Soibhan as she stood stiffly and took measure of her breaths. Solace puffed up his feathers and nibbled her ear, gently this time. The trees still sang, slower than before, and the rhythm brought Faelan's composure to the surface, if only that.

Her mask was inert, once more ambiguous, save perhaps in haunting memory.

"Beyond natural," she tried not to growl. Faelan moved toward a nearby bench. She needed to sit, and she motioned for Soibhan to join her.

Faelan avoided giving her name, as she had before. "I know only magic could have...done that," she faltered, remembering how sublime it had been to experience. Faeries were notorious for their glamour. Even her indignation at being so enthralled couldn't corrupt the exquisite memory of it. "Magic can do many things," her warning tone left the possibilities implied as she looked pointedly at Soibhan. Then was not the time to openly suggest Her Majesty or the faerie Llyr might be anything more than generous hosts.

The woman stroked the feathers of her beloved Solace. She did not want her companion to linger so close, not at the ball, but the rook always had a calming effect on her. After a moment longer, she gave Solace a final scratch under the beak, and the rook hopped from her shoulder and flew into a nearby tree, hidden from sight.

"Have you ever been to The Black Boar? It's an inn on the Northeast side of Oldcastle. The barkeep is a bear of a man, but good humored. Their stew is delicious and sure to fill you up when you're pining for all of this," she gestured to the bountiful feast that surrounded them. The single cherry in her empty stomach intensified Faelan's hunger. The thought had crossed her mind that it didn't matter now if she ate anything, but she refrained even still, if only out of defiance.

Faelan gave the woman a long stare. Perhaps she had been a bit too subtle in her effort to mask the invitation. Or perhaps the wine really was getting to Soibhan. Faelan said no more of the inn as she brought herself up to a stand and straightened her costume. "I wouldn't mind a traveling companion," she replied in regard to the Wardwood visit. And with a tip of the head, she bid goodbye to her fellow Gael, still not knowing her name. Perhaps when they found each other in Oldcastle, they might have a proper introduction.