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Gram had not heard the cries as he had dueled Mordred. Cries of fear, of joy, of excitement and of woe. He had not seen three figures huddled around a windowsill, tears in more than one eye.

In that bright flash, a thousand moments passed in perfect, crystalline clarity. Lidia was in one moment, banging on the window as Gram — oh her glorious Gram — tore his arm off, screaming and wailing as her father pulled her away. Frozen moments of worry, of terror. She was in another, there with them both, looking at them together and serene. At peace.

“We have time to say goodbye, my dearest ones.” Moira said, and the world already felt smaller. Lidia’s tear-reddened eyes were nevertheless, merry as she looked up to the mismatched pair, the towering woodcutter and yet-still more-towering fae wife, hand in hand together, both holding their daughter. “I have wronged you both in trying to be something… like you,” she stroked Lachlan’s face, then raised another hand to Lidia’s as well. “I have now only at the end, grasped enough of the edges of love to realize how I’ve hurt you.”

“I dinnae want tae say goodbye…” Lidia said softly, kneeling before her parents, holding their hands against either cheek. Her eyes were sober though, the tear-streaks be damned. “I… reckon we already did though.”

“Aye, Sprite.” Lachlan said, running a thumb across her cheek. “Ye were already out and on yer way tae a life o’ yer own an’ we made a mess o’ things. We’re just ghosts.”

Moira perked up at that, her eyes going wide and her lips parting in a little moue of understanding. “Is that it? Is that what it is about?” She asked and looked down at Lidia, eyes fluttering with the realization. “Oh… it is, isn’t it? We… we made a real life.” She said, her eyes turning to Lachlan’s, threading her fingers with his. He smiled.

“Aye love… we did.” He agreed, his fingers tightening in hers. “She’s real an’ vital as anythin’. She’s got me head fer figures, an’ yer ferocious tenacity.”

“I made her to be loved.”

“An’ look at her, she’s been so loved.”

Both of them turned their gazes to Lidia, and she couldn’t help but smile. Her mother’s eyes were wide, and there was a spark there, a glimmer of the vital, essential flame of what it was to be… human. Lidia wished she could stay here forever… but he’d said it himself.

“He needs me.”

Lidia’s answer was simple, and the two of them nodded. Their smiles could have lit the room on their own as they shared one last, passionate kiss. He slid his arms around her, and she cradled him close. They kissed as they should here, at the end of all things. Lidia felt herself wishing for a familiar embrace, she looked to the window. There was a faint tremor that drew her mother’s attention. Her loverboy’s timing was always impeccable.

“A dutiful Hound, I like him.” She breathed, stroking Lachlan’s face she stood up and the cabin slowly faded away around them, the empty white space returning as if all of it had been naught but smoke and solid ashes. She turned to the others and smiled, and for the very first time — it was genuine. A warm, human smile filled that alien face and she raised her hands. “I will make sure that all is well. I will not leave him broken after such service. I will make sure my greater self remembers at least that.”

“But what are ye goin’ tae do mum?” she asked, standing alone in the great white emptiness with her father. To that, Moira smiled sadly.

“I am going to give him to you. All of him.” Lidia’s eyes went wide as Moira continued, clenching her hands around the air, a shimmer enveloping them. “Every single scrap of memory, all the good and the band. All of it, I will give to you. I cannot keep him, not even a whisper or else it will unmake me thrice.” Lachlan nodded to that firmly.

“I’ll wait fer ye.” he said, and she laughed softly.

“For how long?”

“Forever. God’ll understand.”

She laughed at that, a long, genuine laugh that brought tears to her eyes as she wove the magics about the three of them, plucking and pulling at the invisible threads of the demesne.

“What a perfect final memory to cherish of you.” She said with a tearful smile, swirling the working into her upturned talons before them, raising her chin. “Eternity’s end then, it’s a date.”

“I’ll be there, in that shirt you like.”

She laughed again one last time and raised her hands to the sky, the little gathered mote of energy expanding wide — then suddenly snapping tight, into a tiny bead of impossibly bright fire.

“I love you.”

Reality cracked like glass. The little bead ignited in a wash of fire. The white became everything. There was a sensation of coming apart, like awareness of every fiber of what she was simply winking out like a snuffed candle one nerve at a time. There was no pain. There was…. Nothing.

Until there was something.

A floor. Coming at her face. Extremely fast.

She hit the stone floor with a most unladylike grunt, rolling with a groan into a tangle of limbs as she coughed and spat. Her skin was on fire with sensation. Her flesh and limbs all felt… correct and yet somehow too new. Like she’d just peeled off a full-body sunburn, and the skin was too fresh, too sensitive. She staggered to her feet, hooved legs jelly-like under the assault of sensation… and found herself standing next to her father.

“Papa.” She said in dull shock, and none seemed moreso than himself as he looked down at his body… and the he smirked as he saw the edges begin to dim.

“Figured… she’s still holdin’ onto me a bit… but I’m goin’, sure as sunshine.” He smiled and turned to regard Morgana. The Queen of Blood and Darkness lay sprawled in a heap, strung up by her velarium… quite aware. The massive, maw-like structure of her chest yawned lazily, horrific scorchmarks already rapidly healing where Gram had improvised their escape. Had they… actually come out of her? Lachlan took Morgana’s hand.

“Hey there, good lookin’…”

“My Love…”

“You know what’s happenin’, I’m just cobwebs and dreams now darlin’.”

“You were to be mine forever…”

“I will be, trust me. Jus’ let me go.”

She drew her hand back slowly, the six fingered digit shaking as she did, Lachlan smiled at her as she closed her eyes.

“What happens now, My Love?”

“You forget me. You remember you cared about who I was, what I was… but I fade away. You go back to being you.”

“I will never be ‘me’ again and you know it My Love.”

“Aye.”

There was a beat of silence and she smiled, turning her head to him she drew herself back up to her feet. Her powerful, alien frame rose again in all of its majesty, limbs unfolding from their tormented tangle, unknotting her great velarium mantle as she regarded the damage done. Seelie crumbled around her and she looked at it a last — with eyes that could see.

“I will miss you, even if I do not know it.” She said, and he nodded, turning to Lidia he looked down to where Gram lay.

“I won’t waste yer time lass, we said our piece. Have faith.” He said… and simply… fell apart. The bits of him that were, quite plainly… weren’t. Piece by piece he simply dissolved before them into golden tracery, swirling ever upwards somewhere… else. The White God came for his child even here at the edge of infinity.

As he swirled away, Dame Morgana drew in a great, shuddering breath. She held it, and with her so did all of Seelie. “There is much work to do, the hedgerows overgrown, the lanterns low on tallow… but first,” she paused and turned, advancing to where Gram lay, propped up against a bit of fallen debris. Lidia lit out at him in a sudden rush, beating her mother’s impressive strides with her mad scramble.

“Gram, GRAM!” She hissed, the sudden urgency of the moment coming to her. Reality at last catching up with the frozen moments she’d lived in. He stirred weakly, turning his head to stare out at her from within the visor.

“That was quick,” he remarked in a dull, quiet voice. “I only closed my eyes a moment and here you are…”

“Keep ‘em open loverboy, stay wit’ me…” she breathed, lifting his visor before spitting an oath and unlatching his helmet wholesale, pulling it free along with his coif. His black hair spilled into her lap as she cupped his feverish face in her hands, “Ye’re gonna be ok…”

“My arm is gone, Little Redcap.” He murmured plainly, body shaking a bit. “I am… fairly sure Tirrah’s Dew is killing me but…” he smiled, turning his face to her, eyes blown, pupils dilated as he looked at her. “Tirrah, is she well?”

As if on cue, the little pair of blue antennae popped up, one now bent and crooked. With a tired chirp, Tirrah, the littlest Knight of Seelie, stood up at a wobbly attention. Gram smiled and turned to her.

“As stalwart a companion as any I’ve served. Martin’d have liked you.” he wheezed tiredly at her, and the little fomori chirped in a resigned tone, laying down on her arms alongside the dying warrior. Both looked… utterly spent.

“It was a good death, Dagonet will have a great story.” Gram mused and set his head back in Lidia’s lap. Tirrah teetered and fell against him, the tiny fae’s frame slumping against the side of his head in exhaustion. Lidia’s breath drew in as he grew very still.

“Nae, nae, c’mon Loverboy, stay wit’ me…” she mewled, gently shaking him.

“It is not your death just yet, Black Dog.” Morgana’s voice rang out as she knelt down over the pair. Lidia covered him reflexively, but Morgana held up a supplicating palm or three. “Be at ease, Mine Child. My sight and mind are clear, and the Captain’s wounds are grave — mortal even — were he not dying where he is.” She said and drew her arm down. “Even diminished as this, I duly reward a faithful Hound.”

She drew her fingers down and then, tipped his head up to hers. Gently her mouth found his, and Gram seemed fit to be tied he had no energy to protest as Dame Morgana gently, lovingly kissed him. She drew back slowly, her tongue leaving after her lips, and her dexterous middle-limbs wound and wove those invisibly threads once more — and out of his mouth, spun a ribbon of glimmering amber.

“He was right, the Dew was killing him. Unfit for mortal consumption, it was filling him with boundless energy, infinite strength, all with nowhere to go. He was cooking alive inside of his own skin, heart singing for a deaf audience.” She explained as she spun the ribbon of the potent nectar out into a twirling golden orb, Gram’s body arching tightly, convulsing as it left. Lidia held him tight, stroking his hair with a quiet little cry, turning her gaze to Morgana.

“Could ye be a bit more… gentle, Mum?” Lidia pleaded and the Queen smiled.

“This is gentle, Mine Child. I am having to pull this out of his blood. He is lucky I am Sidhe.”

Gram coughed as the last of the glimmering fluid passed his lips up into that spinning sphere, which she then quite plainly swallowed like an errant grape on a plate of Richart’s delicacies. She seemed to glow from within, literally and figuratively for a moment, and she turned her gaze down to his arm.

“I don’t suppose you would happen to have the rest of yourself, Hound?” She asked glibly as she tapped her talons upon her saw-edged teeth in thought. Gram rocked with a dry snort, pale and clearly fading now that the Dew wasn’t stubbornly, destructively restoring him to a presumption of health.

“Check with Mordred, wherever things he… eats end up…” he laughed bitterly, and Morgana let out a sigh and smoothed back his hair, concern on her face.

“This will hurt, Hound. Yet I will endeavor to minimize it.” She said, genuine concern in her words as she reached down a hand and extended a single fingertip. One talon straight and true like a needle — which she pressed effortlessly into Gram’s brow. The talon disappeared bloodlessly, like she had dipped it past the surface of water rather than flesh — and Gram gasped. He stiffened in Lidia’s arms but no more, Morgana’s lips moving absently as her eyes flickered to and fro across the middle distance. “Tsk… without the member, I will have to improvise. You are ill-suited a mate for Mine Child unless you are whole.”

“What… do you propose?” Gram asked, and his skin was ashen. Lidia sucked in a terrified breath. Mum promised she’d fix it, she promised. Her eyes flicked up to the Queen.

“Do you swear fealty to Mine Child, my Daughter, Lidia Shaw?” She asked, finger still motionless within his brow. “Fealty not only of Heart, but of Body and Purpose?”

“She is everything.”

Morgana smiled at him. It had far, far too many teeth in it.

“Then I invest in you, Black Dog.” She stated plainly, and twisted her finger. Gram gasped.

The process was surprisingly… clean. Lidia watched Tirrah’s webbing fall off the ragged stump of his arm, tore ragged and horribly free right at the elbow. Morgana’s free hands began to twist and pull at the hidden weavings again, seeming to knit shadows together at the end of his arm. From there, his flesh flowed — Morgana’s free hands seeming to twist and sculpt it into place in real time. Like human clay she smoothed and sculpted the stump of his arm, and from the very air pulled new matter — new flesh — and twisted and pressed it into the forms. Her hands moved rapidly, inhumanly so. All in perfect sync until she was done.

“Seelie acknowledges your sacrifice, Black Dog. She gives part of herself in recompense.”

In place, his arm had been rebuilt from the elbow down. It was in all respects — an arm, human, even the appropriate number of digits. Yet it was made of a twisting, ridged black flesh. More of a carapace really, much like that of Morgana herself — or any of the Sidhe present. It flared down from an elegant spur at the elbow down to sleek, taloned fingers gleaming glossy black. There was a strangely… muscular sense to the interlocking plates and shapes that was at once unnerving and enthralling. Yet Gram did not stir, and his flesh did not warm. Ashen he remained, life continuing to ebb from him. Lidia’s eyes searched the middle distance.

“Wh… why isn’t he better?” She asked dumbly, looking up to Morgana with terrified eyes. “Ye promised, why isn’t he he comin’ back?”

“He is still incomplete.” She answered simply, raising an arch eyebrow at the little changeling, all of her limbs folding together in hypnotic unison. “Consider why you ventured to Brigadoon in the first place, Mine Child.”

Lidia’s eyes went wide, and she fumbled at the clasps of Gram’s gorget. Practically screaming as she unhooked it, cursing these damned soldiers and their damned, wonderful armor. She fumbled out the amulet with a small little cry of despair.

“Oh no… nononono…” she babbled as she pulled it free. The amulet was nearly entirely black now. The three-quarters it had been when they arrived long gone, now only a bare, bald patch of white at the peak of the egg remained untouched — and even then, she could see it shrinking, hair by hair, as she watched. “Nae like this… we came so far…” she pleaded, stroking his face as he lapsed back into sleep, his breath barely detectable. Tirrah quietly wept against his cheek, the exhausted little fomori’s tears tiny as her sobs.

“A promise is a promise. As I said, he is still incomplete.” Morgana said, turning Lidia’s weeping face to hers again. “It is however, not up to me to fit the last piece he needs.” She said, and raised that middle, six-fingered hand again. Lidia did not protest as she felt her mother cradle her face, and then those fingers darted forward — into her skull. It was as it had been with Gram, she simply… reached in. Lidia gasped much the same as she felt her flesh become liquid, her entire frame and form pliant to the will of this powerful entity. The Queen enacted her will on those in her realm.

“A simple matter, a snip here, a tug there… and we have it.” Morgana purred, her hands stroking Lidia’s cheek as she felt something shift inside of her. Her entire body shuddered as some part of her very essence realigned from the top of her head to the tips of her hooves. She suddenly… understood herself, staring down at her hands. She understood so much now. Intrinsically, she knew how to be all that she was. Her mother smiled at her with far, far too many teeth.

“What do I do?” She asked the Queen in a quiet voice, and Morgana laughed. It was a soft and gentle thing.

“Have you not read our tales? Kiss him!”

Lidia’s eyes went wide as it all suddenly made sense, she laid a hand on her belly for only a moment before she twisted herself atop her loverboy, taking his pale, ashen face in her hands.

She kissed him. By God and all his Angels, the Lady and her Knights — she kissed him.

Her mouth touched his and she Knew. The intrinsic understanding of what she was unlocked, unblocked with but a touch from the Queen of Seelie and she knew. Out from her belly swirled that bit of energy she’d kept. The bit of Gram that tugged at her from far away, that drew her back to him forever. The last bit of him that was incomplete. Her mouth met his and she kissed him proper and true, their lips met and so did their souls as she simply gave instead of take. It was so simple, and yet… so intrinsic. It was as natural as breathing, as blinking, and just as unlearnable. She gave that which she’d kept, and a little bit more for good measure just because she loved him so.

Gram’s new arm twitched, his new fingers clenched. His body arched. Breath filled his lungs as both hands, new and old rose to grasp her face, and he kissed her in return. His heart pounded and she felt its every thrum through their connection as she broke away from the kiss only long enough to giggle madly at him before he pulled her down again. They kissed like they had just learned how, they kissed like they were dying. Truly, they kissed like they would live.

“Just so.” Morgana said approvingly of the pair and turned her gaze to the whole of Seelie. Brigadoon crumbled and cracked around them, and further down Mordred stared with seething, unblinking eyes from where he had fallen. She heaved a sigh and raised her arms. “Long have I been abed, it was a restless slumber.” Her eyes flashed and she twisted all six limbs into a precise, arcane posture — each taunt as if wound tightly around invisible threads.

“A bit of work will do well by me.”

With a resounding click of a heel, she pulled and twisted. Power welled up from within her, those pulsing green hues racing out from her up the lengths of the velarium, shooting outwards far and wide until the whole of Seelie was wreathed in their viridian glow. With another twist of her fingers and another clack of her heel — her core unfolded again, within it a swirling vortex of red. Her green eyes flashed that same crimson hue and with an imperious raise of her chin she stamped her heel a third time, the clack loud in the air. Three times and done — her core slammed shut and that red glow blasted through her, overriding the green as she raised her voice in a song.

Out raced that red rush of energy, down the velarium and its veins, down the crumbling terraces and shattering monuments. Gram and Lidia broke away from the kiss to look up at the spectacle, as the red rushed past everywhere its light touched was suddenly whole. Suffusing them all in its crimson glow, the very cosmos suddenly seemed to take up a new gleam. Lidia’s eyes went wide as the surge of power revealed a truth to them.

They had not seen Seelie.

Curious it had been for a place called the Summer Court to have been in an eternal spring, cool and mild. As the red energy rushed down, the very essence of the place seemed to change, revert to something more pure — more elemental. The air warmed, the lurid stars in the distance suddenly blazed with cosmic fire. The soft spring skies washed bright with merry summer blue, and the bare branches that seemed eager to shed their late spring blossoms instead burst into furious, fruitful life. Everything was brighter, everything was more. The height of summer, its hedonism, the revelry of the balmy sun and dew-wet grass, it poured down onto every edifice beneath it. The stones themselves were cleaner, whiter in some places, blacker in others. The red gushed and flowed down and in its passage it washed Seelie clean, swept the cobwebs from its corners and the doldrums from its heart. This was Seelie, the Summer Court. Brigadoon at its peak. It was the raw, unfettered promise of Summer. Of new life everlasting, new love eternal.

Through it all, the Queen of Seelie sang, her voice carried impossibly far, and she turned her eyes down to the trio before her, her voice lowering down to a familiar song. It had no words at first, but she remembered hearing it somewhere. She knelt down to them carefully, and her voice softened to just a cooing tenor for their ears alone.

Sing little nightingale, sing, you who has a joyous heart

You have a heart for laughing… mine can only cry.

As her voice died away, the crimson glow faded from her eyes, receding back to her core… and for a fleeting moment her face softened with the last strains of the lyrics fading from her lips. Moira’s face smiled at them from Morgana’s flesh for just a moment, before she closed her eyes quite deliberately. When she reopened them, Morgana drew herself up before them. She raised her chin with a touch of defiance as the warm, eternal summer sunshine washed down upon them.

“And lo, my House is in order.” Morgana purred.

Gram and Lidia looked up together, Tirrah’s tiny, tired eyes joining theirs in wonder — when a sharp crack drew everyone’s attention. The amulet across his chest had fractured. Forgotten by everyone in the rush, the tiny, mostly-blackened egg had split straight down the middle. Lidia’s eyes widened as a second crunch of shell came to the ears. It wasn’t cracked it was hatching. Before anyone could react, the break widened, and a gleaming black beak thrust its way through.

“Blood of God.” Gram breathed, but Lidia stayed him gently. The creature within… it lived, it struggled. The little beak clacked and the egg bulged outwards, fighting with the binding it had been suspended in. Carefully, Lidia reach out and pulled the shells apart. A tiny head poked free, avian and sleek black, it struggled out of the egg and rolled free — laying trembling across Gram’s breastplate. It was stark white save the head, it’s plumage was wet and matted, and it was so small, and yet as it lay there, chest puffing and legs twitching… it grew. Its feathers straightened and his body seemed to fill out. It gave a harsh little caw of noise as it shook out its new plumage, already twice the size it had been before as it blinked open it’s black eyes. A tiny raven peered up at them, white as snow save for the black beak and head, its plumage stark and exaggerated — and looking perhaps a bit underfed.

“Hey there little one…” Lidia breathed, and it cooed quietly at her, tilting its head inquisitively.

“I could not resist tweaking that old hag’s nose a trifle,” Morgana explained as she smiled down at the tiny bird. “A life for a life, how trite. Life is abundant, let it bloom.”

The tiny bird tilted its head at the pair, Lidia covered her mouth as it peered at her with sharp, gleaming black eyes. “Ye… Ye dinnae hate me, d’ye?” she breathed between trembling fingers. It had weighed heavy on her heart and she had not even had to wear the damnable thing. Gram was spellbound by the tiny creature as it toddled on too-large feet with awkward wings across his breastplate towards Lidia, it paused to regard them both with curious eyes.

It lingered on Gram first, its little hopping gait taking it towards him as Lidia watched. It clicked its beak with little blunted cooing sounds at his armor, tapping it experimentally with its beak. Perhaps a bit judgmentally even.

“I apologize it is my only attire.” Gram said in a quiet deadpan and the little bird squawked a bit indignantly, turning its head back to Lidia. It hopped over a few more tenacious, wobbly new steps towards Lidia. Did it know her? It had lain against her breast only when Gram had, but the little bird hopped up her shredded clothing until it plucked at her hood. With an odd little coo, it hopped up to Lidia’s shoulder and burrowed down into the folds of that ever-present garment. Lidia blinked away tears as the tiny creature let out a whistling little caw and nestled down to sleep right there. She guessed she had her answer.

“Sorry, Tirrah. Yer spot’s occupied.” She said, and there was a snort from Gram as he raised himself to a sitting position — the little fomori even as hurt as she was, still chattering worriedly over Gram’s new limb.

“I would not fret, it seems I am under guard yet still.” He mused as the Queen herself turned her grand attention to the tiny, battered little creature.

“Yes, a dutiful thing. One that has an impressive litany of deeds in her short little life.” Her eyes flicked up to where Mordred lay, still quite envenomed and motionless, a bit of wickedness danced there as she returned her slit-eyed gaze to the tiny fomori. Tirrah stood at attention again, wavering on her ragged legs, still nearly half-severed even as she soldiered on shaking all the while. This of course, amused the Queen of Blood and Darkness, who tittered at her delightedly. “Indeed, even now attempting to stand for decorum. How formidable.” she held up her hands in a tiny litany of applause for the little formori girl, who looked at Lidia and Gram with worried eyes. Morgana however, simply chuckled.

“My daughter has by accident made a sort of Knight of you, and I shall instead make of you a proper one.” She said and raised a talon to her lips. Her tongue unraveled itself, and upon it rolled a single dollop of Dew, glimmering and golden. It caught suspended on that claw, and with a flourish she lowered it to the shaking little fae. Tirrah graciously imbibed it with her tiny little talons for aid — the effects immediate. She shivered and gasped, leaning on Gram’s arm for support as the Dew — the Queen’s own reserve, of a sort it seemed — rebuilt her. Cracked carapace mended, blooded teeth were again clean, her legs rejoined, straight and true. “A Knight of Seelie must have a Patron, good tidings that this one already seems to have selected one such to serve.” She turned her gaze to Lidia knowingly, who blanched a bit. Tirrah as well turned to her with hopeful eyes, her tiny chest puffed out with fierce pride. Gram followed suit — his gaze finding his beloved’s, carefully taking her hand in his good one with a small, personal smile. One of the smiles he saved just for her.

“I’m jus’ a wee little redcap.” She said quietly, and Tirrah chirped a harsh rebuke. Morgana laughed an arch little laugh.

“You are a creature of mine own flesh and fashioning, and in that alone — you are worthy of service.” She said in a moderately rebuffing tone as she turned back to Tirrah, her gaze calculating. “This one has chosen to rally to your banner of her own accord, and in doing so, felled the mightest Lord of Sidhe at risk of not mere death — but obliteration.” Her eyes found Mordred’s seething, motionless form again. Her eyes flashed with a certain sort of pleasure at that, returning to the tiny Fomori. “The least I can expect of any Knight of Seelie. Thus do I raise thee as such. Tirrah, Least Knight of Seelie.” she said with a smug little smile, her words rang with purpose, and the tiny formori girl shuddered as Morgana Named her such, and made it so.

“If you are the least of us, we are mighty indeed.”

Tirrah spread her arms in submission to the queen, but her excitement was palpable. Lidia noted in that moment, that despite being healed — that one antennae was still bent and crooked. Tirrah peered back at her with a fierce little grin. The Least Knight and her first battle-scar. Proper and true.

Morgana rose and strode across the room then, the business concluded with simplicity that would belie the fact reality had just been re-written before them. “It is proper regardless. An Heir Apparent of Seelie should have attendants.”

“Heir a-whatnow?!” Lidia barked, helping Gram to his feet as Tirrah swung herself onto her beloved’s sash once more, fretting at him anew, “What d’ye mean by that?”

“You are of my flesh and fashioning, Mine Child. Your innate nature has been unlocked, and with it your birthright.” She explained in an almost conversational tone as they crossed the throne room, to where Mordred lay crumpled still. Lidia shook her head.

“I dinnae want no more o’ this, mum!” She pleaded, her hooves clicking angrily as she kept pace with the towering fairy queen, her mother’s digitigrade legs taking one swaying stride for every five of her own.

“And you will have none of it unless you choose, but it will _ never go away Mine Child.”_ She said sternly, pausing and turning, looming down at her to meet her daughter’s gaze at an intimate distance. “You are Sidhe , Lidia. Whether you choose to truly be that or not, it is what you are, mortise to tenon.”

Lidia bit back a bitter rise of anger at the sound of her father’s words with such edge to them, but her mother’s face was serene, smiling even. “Not er’ry part.”

“No. Not every part.” Morgana agreed with a smile, rising and returning to their path towards her errant brother’s supine form. “Your soul is human yet, and will be until you decide it burdens you, and then I will welcome you.”

Lidia made a face as she followed along, a shiver running down her. “What ‘appens iffin’ I do that?”

“You join me as true Sidhe, as Dagonet has.” She explained as they came to a stop, looking down. “As he has.” Mordred glared up at them, the fact he had enough motion to follow them with his eyes a testament to his impossible might. Lidia stole a canny glance at Gram, what a champion her loverboy was to triumph over… this.

“I give up me soul an’…”

“Become Seelie, become Sidhe, yes. Embrace glorious purpose.”

Lidia frowned at that, she met her mother’s eyes. They both knew her purpose, that smile came to her mother’s lips, Moira’s smile, one last time… and she understood it. If all else failed, if all the world went to smash — she could still come home, in a Sidhe way.

“Thank ye, mum.”

The Queen knelt down before the fallen Sidhe Lord, her face somewhat amused — but her eyes were naught but disappointment. Pitiless eyes she passed over him, pitiless eyes that met his burning, hateful yellow gaze. Pitiless eyes that did not blink.

“Mordred, my faithful guardsman and doughty general,” she crooned in a tone edged with acid but gushing with faux civility, even care as she stroked his cheek, raising his ruined arm to her gaze. “Such grievous wounds — the Bane even — suffered, endured.” she cooed to him, caressing him, soothing him. His eyes did not calm as she lowered her lips close to his ear.

“It will pass. I will take great time and care making you whole again.” Her lips parted in a hideous smile around her saw-edged fangs. “It will be instructive for us both.”

Mordred’s eyes flicked to where Lidia had dropped back to Gram and Tirrah, and there was nothing but murder in his gaze as Morgana caressed his face with a soft, sinister titter.

“How are ye?” She asked Gram, turning her back from the uneasy tableaux of mother and son, he looked down at his arm — Tirrah stood on his forearm, gently prodding and pricking his new, black-nailed fingers as he flexed them experimentally at the sensations.

“As best as can be expected, I suppose.” He said in a small voice, just for her. He winced and Tirrah pulled away, skittering back up to his sash as he let the limb fall limp at his side, teeth clenched in discomfort. “The limb is… new, to me. It does not listen well.”

“That will come with time, Hound.” Morgana said, emerging from where she had left Mordred — Dagonet and Dearg having appeared with a small retinue and a litter, bearing the paralyzed Lord away. “Your body will adapt. You are tenacious.”

“Why does he ‘ave tae?” She said, doing a little turn on her also newly-grown hooves, “I can move about as iffin I been a fookin’ deer all me life.”

“Goat.” Morgana corrected gently, “You are of my flesh and fashion, child. I simply made you so. He is not, so he will have to learn the limb anew, worry not. It will pass quickly.”

“Ye an’ ye haven’t fixed th’ way ye made me yet either.” Lidia said with more than a little edge to her voice, gesturing at her tail and hooves. Morgana merely raised her chin.

“Nor do I plan to.”

Lidia stared at her. The Queen did not smile this time. No, her face was quite serious.

“But… mum ye said ye’d fix me…”

“I said I would make the Hound and you whole, and you are — but I am Sidhe, and taken by madness or no I still am unable to lie.” Her eyes grew intense. “You have grown far too comfortable in the pretty shell I crafted for you. Let your beloved men and their masses see you for a time, where you cannot hide your differences beneath a cowl and crooked grin, and then you and I will talk again of your place in that world.”

Lidia’s teeth set and she sucked down a sob, refusing to cry again over this as she looked down at her legs and hooves. She had no room for the anguish and anger, she turned her eyes back on her mother. She’d been warned, and yet she’d held out silly little hope. She was Sidhe. “What am I s’posed tae do then?” She grated, spreading her arms for emphasis.

“My Child, you are of my flesh and fashioning. Fix it yourself.”

Lidia stared at her again, looking down then back up, teeth baring more and more in anger as Morgana’s parted wider and wider in a smile.

“How?!”

“That would be the question, wouldn’t it? I’m sure finding it out will be quite the adventure.” She replied smugly, her grin only turning sharper. “You have the power within you to undo what I have done, learning how will teach you what it is to be Sidhe.”

“But what about my babies?”

“Consider that incentive to learn quickly.”

Lidia’s eyes misted with tears again, but she bit them back with a breath. No, no they had come so far. She was goading her, pressing her to make a mistake, to give in and give her all she wanted. Lidia loved this monster… but a monster she remained.

“Yer a hard creature tae love, mum.”

“I am Sidhe.”

Gram’s arm touched hers, somehow, even with the new carapace and flesh in its place, she recognized his touch, her eyes closed as he folded her close to him, the strange arm trembled, but the rest of him was right and proper. The smell of steel and sweat suddenly so, so very welcome as his arms enfolded her, his mustache brushed her scalp as his lips pressed into her hair. His voice was soft, and while not only for her — it may as well have been, the words were wasted on all else.

“I will love them, hooves, slit-eyes and all.”

Lidia made a soft sound, it was a quiet, desperate thing. Gram’s arms were strong, and as she grew weak he held her up, pulling her into his chest as she closed her eyes. Of course he would, fookin’ God’s Perfect Soldier, he’d love no matter what. He loved her, hooves, slit-eyes and all. Gram’s face was impassive, he looked not at her, but at Morgana. The scars of their adventure lay bare on his armor and flesh, dried blood spattered across his bare cheek, and God and Lady both only knew what had been done to his mind, her own was weary and ragged — yet his eyes were clear and shining. He raised his own chin at her and offered no further words, but the Queen of Seelie smiled at that, folding her smallest pair of hands together.

“It is time for you to go then.”

Lidia shook from her quiet reverie as Morgana stepped back towards the throne, ascending its steps with elegant poise, the remaining debris seeming to add a touch of defiance to her return — seating herself there, Lidia looked up. “So soon? But…” Laughter was the answer she got.

“No Mine Child, you do not wish to stay. Other places call to you, and moreover — what would you eat? What would you drink?” She challenged softly, folding her middle-most pair of hands beneath her chin as she leaned forwards. “I have no desire to see you harmed, but were you to sup upon the fare of Seelie, you would find yourself quite unable to leave,” she said, and her eyes gleamed, focusing on something behind them. “As others have.”

Lidia turned, and at their rear to door once again stood Dagonet and Dearg. Dagonet’s face splint into a broad smile. “Capitán! It is good to see you standing!” Gram smiled at that, and Lidia did as well. Dagonet’s cheer was infectious, and even the Queen of Blood and Darkness found herself smiling atop her throne. The dewkeeper gave a florid bow and spread his arms, “I am gleeful to be your companion once more.”

“Our irrepressible Dewkeeper Captain shall guide you back to the mortal realms, but have it noted it is a sad parting,” Morgana said, her face gently softening from her place on the throne. “I have… enjoyed, having you close again Mine Child. For all the turmoil, you are of my flesh… and fashioning aside, I have felt whole again with you here.”

Lidia gave a strained sort of smile, and she looked up at her mother atop her throne. There was a distance there by sheer nature, and it reflected the reality of things as well. They were destined to be apart… but she would be lying if she did not agree. “Aye… I liked getting tae meet ye proper, Mum.” Lidia said, taking Gram’s hand as she turned away just a bit. “… I’ll be seein’ ye then, Mum.”

“Sooner than you think, Mine Child.” Morgana beamed, and her smile lit up the room. Lidia decided in that moment, that is how she would remember her. That glorious, simple, happy smile. Lidia managed a smile back.

It was a long walk home.

~ ~ ~

They left far differently than they arrived. It was an unremarkable thing, simply… walking out. Seelie was in ruins, at least in part. No single place they passed as they left the throne was without scars of Seelie’s sudden, thankfully arrested decline. Crumbled stone lying weirdly misshapen and sloughed off, like chunks of flesh fallen and discarded. The weird, flexible masonry bending and yielding in its debris in ways that unsettled her senses. Even a place seemingly as impossible as Brigadoon was brought to startling, unwavering reality by calamity. She was sure there was a lesson in that, something that someone far more learned like Bart or Naima might glean from this, but for her — one seedy little redcap? She just wanted to be home. What was home now, anyways?

Baudelaire Keep. The Navel. She would be lying to herself and everyone else if she said different. She wanted to be home, where her family was. Save a few one-eyed, divinely-powered exceptions, everything she called family was there. Everything she called friend would come calling. Far as she was concerned, that was home.

The devastation was surprisingly extensive, but handled in a nonchalant manner. The various Sidhe of Seelie seemed more chuffed that the very bones of their realm had nearly collapsed under them than anything else. Lidia was forced to simply stare at it wide-eyed for the most part, her trek done in a great deal of silence. It had been a rather lot of adventure, and now to simply… walk out, felt odd. She and Gram were both struck to similar silence by the events, both bearing new passengers, the little raven still slumbering with faint, cooing breaths in the folds of her hood. Tirrah remained a constant presence, thought much like her new masters, she was content to be quiet and alert. Silence ruled the exodus from Seelie, the sounds of the realm a gentle counterpoint.

They passed through the terraces, and met few on their way. The masses seemed to be gone, their parties and perversions put on hold for rebuilding and repair. Truly, there was work for all as even the very structures themselves seemed to lend a hand — broken masonry and spires seemingly healing like wounds as the displaced bricks and slabs were pushed back into place.

“Hold.”

The words froze all of them in their steps, Lidia’s blood in her veins to boot.

Mordred’s voice was harsh, and he sat still quite battered but alive. Sitting astride his strange throne of teeth, flanked by a dozen or so sidhe attendants that were carefully ministering to his wounds, lancing out boils of the cancerous pus and bile from the places anathema had burned and poisoned. He was still quite paralyzed it seemed, his body save for his head and lone remaining arm slack and limp from the chest down. Tirrah raised her chin in a little prideful gesture that eerily reflected Morgana as the lord continued. “I would have words with you.” he grated from a dry throat, raising his remaining limb, he pointed it directly at Gram. “You, Hound.”

The group turned as one, but Gram, his arm now hanging in a sling fashioned from Tirrah’s silk and his own sash, walked at its head. Mordred’s smile was without a touch of warmth. Gram raised his chin in a short jerking motion.

“Purposeful. I like you.” The sidhe lord rasped, his voice an ugly thing. Truly the damage he and Gram had done to each other was murderous. This close, there were dozens, possibly hundreds of wounds scattered across the nearly ten-span Sidhe Lord. There had been no remains of their battle, no blood or bodies, all cleaned up long before. They had savaged one another. “It is a pity then, you are as you are. Dutiful. Unwavering. Defiant.” he almost spat, his lip curling in distaste… no, that wasn’t right. Disappointment was the emotion on his face as he looked down at Gram.

“Ever and always, is there a point to this?” Gram asked in a tired voice, meeting Mordred’s eyes directly. “I have found our measure once this day, I have no patience for a second round.”

“Not this day, no — but you will.” Mordred said with quiet sincerity, turning his arm as an attendant set about lancing pus and bile from the tortured flesh where Gram had severed it — the limb was already regrowing. the Sidhe Lord’s impossible constitution rallying as he leaned forwards, the creak of his cracked and battered carapace loud as he lowered himself to mere inches of Gram’s face.

“I bestow upon you the title of Adversary. In all things I shall oppose you. Obstruct you. Hinder and destroy you. All that you hold dear, I will reduce to ashes. All that you defend, I will grind beneath my heel. Bear no mistake, Hound,” He almost whispered — his eyes flashing with a tangible fire as he leaned closer, his voice intimate. Personal.

“You will live to see the end of all that you love.”

Gram’s face was impassive. Lidia felt anger rise hot in her, but swallowed it. She’d seen many people threaten her, or Gram. Mordred was different, he was blood… family.

“You are not the first to swear such vendetta at me, they did not shake my faith. You shall fare no better.”

“I do not seek that. I want you to prepare. To rest. To grow strong.” He said, reclining back again his voice resuming its conversational tone, “When I slay you, it will be face to face, with a weapon in your hands at the peak of your strength.” his eyes flashed again as he raised his stump once more, gesturing to Gram’s slung arm. “We have taken each other’s measure. You are the victor this day. For that, I will break you completely.”

“Why?” Gram asked plainly, his weariness giving way to simple, cagey logic. “Why warn me? Why make this score to settle so obvious?”

“I like you.” Mordred answered just as plainly. “I therefor will deal with you as an equal, rather than the animal you are.” He said and raised his chin. “I will savor the novelty of a worthy nemesis.” He turned his gaze away then, seemingly quite simply dismiss Gram’s presence as he lit his eyes upon Lidia. “Ah, dear sister. Do try to be a better heir of Seelie, leaving such vile detritus lying around is beneath our lineage.” He said casually, reaching behind his throne. There was a clack of metal and a rattle of fittings as he produced an object, and tossed it to her with a disinterested manner. She caught it reflexively, her hands closing around a now-familiar shape. Her saber.

“Ye dinnae ‘ave tae be this way.” She said softly, and Mordred rolled his gaze back to her with a look of absolute, miserable disdain.

“I can be none other.”

With that he turned his gaze from them entirely, and the attendants moved in to care for him as if they had simply ceased to exist. The topic closed. The Lord of the Gnash dismissed them utterly, and Lidia had little reason to complain. Dagonet lingered a moment, stepping to his Lord and touching his arm… she saw Mordred smile, a genuine smile for a moment before the Dewkeeper strode back forwards, ushering them towards the lifts.

Lidia paused a moment as they turned the terrace, letting her brother’s face linger in her gaze a moment longer. There but for the grace of God and Lady she sat… and perhaps she might still.

Perhaps. Perhaps not.

~ ~ ~

Gram was less than enthused to return to the lifts, but Dagonet promised it would be better. The trip was definitely less traumatic, the ride slower and less destructive. Seelie… yielded to her now, in many ways. She found herself with a more innate understanding of things, nothing to write home about but her feet felt more sure, she crossed the alien structures and platforms with more ease and confidence.

As they left the Terraces, Dearg bid them goodbye with more doting smiles and attention — and a deep, lingering kiss on Dagonet’s lips. Lidia felt positively voyeuristic with how forward the kiss was, practically devouring the man, almost climbing him.

“You have yet to kiss me like that.” Gram noted idly, Lidia flashed him a grin with every one of her pointed fangs.

“Wait til th’ weddin’ night, loverboy.”

Gram’s raised eyebrow was all the answer she needed.

“Come back to us before long, Hind and Hound.” The painted Sidhe woman purred, leaning her massive frame down again to peer at them both fondly. “You bring with you excitement… and are not unpleasant to watch work, either.” S_he added with an eager little chatter of her fangs. _“I am eager to see what new scars you bear next we meet.”

They left her on that eerie note, at the crest of the great stair leading down into the Glimmering Wode. She waved gaily, a strangely human mannerism on the towering, terrible fae.

“Is it strange I oddly like her?” Gram asked quietly, and Lidia turned a gaze on him full of alarm, a slight smile spread across his face. “She is elemental. Seeing her light up at the Good Captain’s presence is charming.”

“Ye jus’ like her ‘cause she ladles you in compliments,” Lidia accused him playfully, and he tilted his head thoughtfully.

“Her outfit is also nice.” He added. Lidia laughed. It felt good. Silence ruled after that for a time as they walked between the trees. Gram’s first words in a while as they’d traveled together. Dearg and Dargonet had prattled and conversed, but the two mortals and their strange passengers had been quite mute until this moment. She took his hand gently, lacing her fingers with his.

“How are ye, loverboy?” She asked, her voice low and only for him. Courteously, Tirrah chirped and sprang down from Gram’s shoulder, scampering up to climb atop Dagonet’s own shoulder — leaving them quite pointedly alone. Good lass. Gram turned his eyes away from her, to the strange, misty sky, watching the trunks stretch infinitely.

“Hurt.” He answered honestly, that one word delivered with more vulnerability than she’d ever heard from the stoic man. She didn’t press, simply paused and reached down. With careful diligence, she removed his gauntlet, taking his blood-stained, grime-smeared fingers in her own directly. He drew in a shuddering breath as she simply leaned against him as they walked, eyes on the woods. “I do not know how to describe what I experienced. I have never felt such pain, such ecstasy. I lost myself.” She felt the tremble he tried to stifle through his fingers. He finally looked down at her. “I lost you.”

She couldn’t bear that gaze. She understood what Dearg meant then. There were scars in his eyes, scars she’d put there. Scars that’d never fade. She could never take that pain away — but she could make up for it. “Ye dinnae lose me. Ye came for me, nae matter what.”

Gram blinked away a mist of tears as she spoke, and she squeezed his hand. Quiet fell again, it was soft and intimate like a blanket. Only the sound of the woods, and the occasional, sleeping movement of the little raven stirred for a while.

“I lost my sword arm.” He said softly after many minutes. There was a note of… shame, in his voice. A hollowness that tugged at her heartstrings. He flexed his fingers in the sling, they trembled but only slightly, the strange pads of his fingertips not unlike the hand she held. “This… alien limb, it is not mine… I do not know if it can be.” He was again, shockingly vulnerable here in the trunks. Eyes watched them as they passed as before, Fomori peering from the trunks. “A soldier is all I’ve ever been, if it cannot hold sword nor quill…”

“… then you’ll learn tae do it with yer left.” She answered softly, he jolted a bit and she smiled at him. “I know ye loverboy, an’ I’ll be here by yer side til yer strong again.” She said and reached out a hand to that new, ebon limb — just touching fingertips to fingertips. “Ye will be. I ‘ave faith.”

Gram smiled at her then, and he leaned down to her, and she up to him. It was not the most passionate kiss she’d ever given him, nor that he’d given her — but she’d remember that kiss for the rest of her days. She felt his heart knit back together through the brush of her lips.

There was little fanfare as they continued their journey. They paid a brief visit to Tirrah’s tree, the little fomori running out to greet a small swarm of her fellows… and Lidia noted, she was a little larger than them now. She had not been before. She’d had to furiously wave them off of Dagonet — the Dewkeeper’s presence bringing the ire of the colony before being soothed by her chirping vocalizations. Lidia pulled Gram back, the pair watching the exchange in silence. Dagonet bowing cordially to the crowd, and the skeptical chirps warming as she touched hands and antennae with several members of the crowd. The chitter-chatter of tiny voices was almost musical.

“She’s different, ain’t she?” Lidia mused quietly from their distance, the common fomori had to reach up a touch to put their arms around her neck now as they cheered for her, a tinny chorus of exultant voices.

“She is a hero.” Gram answered plainly.

That was answer enough, the implications were heavy in the air. The Least Knight of Seelie stood above her peers, in the sea of tiny faces, one crooked blue antennae stood above the rest.

“C’mon, we’ve got a long ways tae go yet.” Lidia said, pulling her loverboy along with her. Tirrah’s hero’s welcome surging around her as Dagonet watched. Better to leave on a high note, she had not intended to make so many friends — any at all, quite frankly. Now she had a few, strange, weird creatures she cared about. She’d said enough goodbyes for one day. Gram hesitated a moment, but muted followed, his eyes lingering on the valiant little fae. She tapped Dagonet gently, her tiny hooves proving remarkably quiet on the loamy, bare ground. She shushed him with a motion, and he frowned as they moved away.

A sharp chirp rang out. Tirrah’s voice raised in protest. Lidia felt her heart wrench, but she turned back to where the tiny little fae stood. The crowd swept back from her, her face was stricken — fearful even. She gave another trill of protest and scuttled forwards several steps with her hand outstretched. Lidia felt her guts twist up, and she slumped and raised her hands as if to soothe her when another chirp from the crowd drew Tirrah’s attention, cutting Lidia off. Another of the fomori, another female skittered slightly forwards, her carapace edged in teal accents and black antennae. She trilled again at Tirrah, taking her hand. The Least Knight’s eyes widened, and the teal-trimmed fomori chirped reassuringly, turning behind and raising a cry.

“What th’ cold hell was that?” Lidia asked Dagonet mutely, her eyes wide. The Dewkeeper just grinned conspiratorially. The crowd broke into a frenzy of synchronous motion and Gram’s eyes lit up with recognition and various items began to show up and pass their way forwards. Soon the teal-trimmed Fomori had several other females with her, and they surrounded Tirrah, little hands busy. The little Knight giggled a bit, and they pulled away, having replaced her improvised satchel with a small one wrought out of some pale fiber, having tucked away all her borrowed goods, Gram’s handkerchief and Lidia’s flint, as well as a satchel of obvious provisions. Lidia’s eyes got a bit misty.

Tirrah chirped brightly, clasping hands with the other little females, each giving her a grin and a hug. Above them a brassy chirp emerged from the fluttering males above, and the whole crowd cheered again. Tirrah turned and skittered back forwards with an inquisitive chitter.

“Ye could ‘ave jus’ told me,” she muttered to Dagonet, who only grinned wider. Wiping her eyes with her thumb she sighed to the little fae, “Are ye sure? I’m… nae comin’ back, nae fer a long time. Maybe ne’er again.” She said, and Tirrah raised her chin proudly. The Least Knight of Seelie nodded her head without hesitation. She glanced back at Gram, who only raised his eyebrows at her knowingly. She sucked in a breath and wiped her eyes again, threading her fingers back through her hair. “Lady’s Teats, ye’re gonna spoil me,” she admitted and smiled at Tirrah. “C’mon then wee one, nae sense walkin’ th’ whole way.”

Tirrah chirped triumphantly and surged forwards, the tiny formori vaulting up Lidia’s torn hood, she threw herself into the little changeling’s arm, and for the life of her Lidia was laughing, squeezing the tiny little warrior to her chest. The little raven squawked a bit in distress, poking its head from the hood. Tirrah was like a shot. She trilled soothingly and nestled back into the hood as well, the raven gave a surprised little noise but soon was chattering its beak contentedly, Tirrah’s little hands combing its feathers and singing wordlessly to it. Lidia bit her lip at the tableaux tucked behind her shoulder. The two weighed less than her shoes, Tirrah’s new size or no. She looked up to Gram to find him smiling one of those smiles. She bit her lip in a different way as they set back to the path.

~ ~ ~

Dagonet’s cheer cooled to a warm sort of companionship as they ventured further from the Wode, and soon they were once again in that long stand of impossible trees. The further they went from Seelie proper, the calmer things seemed to be until the mismatched party of fae and men were moving in naught but companionable silence. Lidia was welcome the quiet after the ribald madness of Brigadoon. Before too long though — a familiar turn of stump and rocks caught her eye.

“Well, Mum’s not all bad.” She tittered and reached down, scooping up her abandoned travel pack — still sitting right there where they’d left it. Pristine even, like they’d only left moments before.

“It was only a matter of time before the fae strangeness happened in our favor.” Gram agreed and sank tiredly to one knee and began rekindling the fire they’d left… what felt like days before. The ashes were even still warm. Lidia turned to the Dewkeeper.

“Ah’m expectin’ Mum tae do the whole wake up somewhere else bit like she did tae get us here,” she began, digging in her pack and letting out a happy sigh as she found her spare clothes — one of her dresses. She’d packed it for practicality’s sake really, it was a nice dress. The green one Gram liked. Dagonet smiled at her.

“I will remain to facilitate the ‘bit’, and as the final step of my oath. Besides, a quiet campfire under the stars seems a delightfully appropriate ending to such an adventure!”

Lidia smiled brightly at that.

The fire struck gamely and before long a cheery flame warmed the cold, misty boughs of the Black Forest, and after yet another long, terrible, wondrous adventure, she found herself around another camp in a faraway place, surrounded by new, familiar faces. Tirrah and the raven were nigh-inseparable, the little fomori had set about feeding him bits of jerky, and the tiny bird was quite content to puff its plumage up and be fed and doted on. She swore it was already a little bigger after just a few scraps of dried venison. Dagonet sat nearby, bright and attentive but far quieter than than usual.

Both Gram and Lidia were fresh and changed, the little changeling having slipped away into the trunks to discard her tattered clothing and slip into the calf-length dress. It fit far more comfortably over her new tail than the remains of her trousers had, which put a pout on her lips. She liked pants. Perhaps some of the seamstresses at the Keep could alter a few pairs. Gram had the worst of it. As they’d stripped him from his armor, he’d found in hissing discomfort that his new hand and steel were not friends.

“Are ye sure yer alright?” She asked him again, his armor stashed away for a spare shirt and hose in the Steppefolk fashion, a look that remained dashing on him. He smiled tiredly.

“I fear that I have inherited a bit of the native weakness, is all.” He said, and testily hefted the iron camp spoon, he bounced it every few seconds to no ill effect. “It was mostly a shock is all, it… itches and grates. Like the bites of an insect, or a slightly too-warm biscuit fresh to the hand.”

“Ye dinnae seem tae worried about it,” she pressed and he shrugged.

“If it will perform as a hand, I am already well-accustomed to fencing in gloves.” He said simply, and she laughed. Unconquerable, essential Gram. He was on the mend.

A hot meal of jerky and cheeses with bitter soldier’s coffee was by no means a feast of Richart’s favorite delicacies, but in the wake of such a brush with mortality, purpose, and the very mechanisms of the universe — there was no greater elixir. Colin surfaced once more in laughing, cordial gaiety, and the evening devolved to stories of he and Jean, adventuring across Northsea for God and country. Plates were cleaned, laughs were had, and for just a little while this magical faerie realm was a place of respite.

“We cannae rest tae much jus’ yet…” she said sleepily as she lay back in Gram’s arms, cradling his new limb in her fingers, still only touching it lightly — the soldier adverse to it still, and so she only pressed so far each time. “… Still ‘ave tae take th’ letter back, an’ rub Karnov’s nose in it proper…” she drawled and Gram signed at her, nuzzling his nose deep into her hair, his leg entwining with hers — making her own trepidation rise as she felt the firm muscles of his calf and thigh through the woolen hose tracing down her now… very, very different legs.

“We have earned a night at least.”

She couldn’t argue.

~ ~ ~

Sunlight stirred her from her sleep, blinking away the early morning glare she found herself, much as expected — in that said same field they’d been in before, just a day’s walk at best from the edge of the forest. Dagonet had been singing some soft, old song in High Darrowmite when she’d drifted away in Gram’s arms, where she still remained. The larger man stirred with her, his hair an artful mess about his face, the innocence of sleep having cast aside any hesitations his body had with it’s new limb, as she found it wound around her in a protective embrace. She did not find it unpleasant.

Tirrah and the little raven were still asleep near the embers of the fire, wound around one another in a tiny ball of white plumage and black carapace. Dagonet however, was nowhere to be found.

The party assembled themselves after a lazy morning letting the sheer normalcy of the sun wash over them. Gram’s armor packed and their campsite carefully cleared and covered, they set out again towards Blackreach. Lidia felt it was almost dreamlike after the too-real impossibilities of Seelie, to be on a normal path, feeling regular dirt beneath her hooves… ah, there was the rub. The walk gave her time to reckon with her new appendages proper, now wearing a proper dress and with proper time to think.

She had little trouble walking, if any at all. Damned be all but her mother had rewritten her brainpan to hooftips, it was natural as if she’d spent all twenty-and-then-some summers walking on them instead of proper feet and toes. The trek gave her more than enough chance to skip, jump, hop and twirl on them. They hadn’t failed her in the heat of struggle, and to her utmost chagrin she’d found herself enjoying the feel of bare soil under them. On that note, she also had the tail to contend with. Early experimentation yielded the result that it was wildly sensitive. A bundle of nerves that made sitting a bit awkward and didn’t totally seem to listen to her active brain, she wasn’t too keen on what it’d make trips to the privy like, but at least it mostly seemed inoffensive, but every time she wiggled it part of her brain caught fire at the dissonance of an entirely new limb. New feet were one thing, she’d always had feet. She hadn’t always had a tail.

Gram didn’t seem to mind, his eyes drifted back to her often as she tested her new limbs, dancing between stones and stumps, perching on various things. It was about midday during one such nimble, twirling hop between stones when he sidled up to her. “We have company.”

“Oh?” She asked, pausing mid-perch on but a single hoof, the two-toed claws of the limb strangely dexterous, easily keeping her affixed to the rough surface of the rocky jut she was balanced on. Gram nodded and continued moving, Lidia hopping along the outcropping alongside him as he went.

“Several hundred yards back, they are clever but I caught sight of them a few hours back. We are being followed.”

Lidia was savvy enough not to just twist around and look, but she raised an eyebrow to that and instead twirled gaily to the next spot on the stones, spreading her arms — and taking a deep breath of the prevailing winds. The scent of grass and late season flowers flowed into her nose, but their pursuer was cleverly downwind from her, which gave her more information all on its own.

“Clever enough a fellow tae keep clear o’ me nose tae boot,” she said, raising an eyebrow at Gram and he nodded in return.

“I had noticed that, few that know to be aware of your sense of smell.” He said, raising a brow in return. It did rather narrow the possibilities down, and she landed gamely next to Gram, glad for her returned saber now.

They made Blackreach without incident, Gram keeping tabs on their shadow, never quite showing themselves. They found themselves at the same door as before, Gram once more banging his fist on the gate just past evening, the sun beginning to dip below the horizon. The slot on the door clacked open and a pair of familiar dark-colored eyes looked back at them, a little bugged and wild nevertheless.

“Oh, it’s you.”

The slat slammed shut and the door swung ajar, the hook-nosed Warden from before waving them in with a sour expression. “Gave me a right start again, Holy Fire and Godly Gold what happened?!”

Lidia and Gram looked down at each other, then back at the Warden.

“It’s a long story.” she said, and the Warden’s bugged eyes did not have a shred of doubt in them.

“I can imagine.”

A bustle greeted them, and before they could even peel away their packs, Abbot Giles stumped around the corner, eyes wide, teeth set in that crooked grin — albeit with a note of concern.

“Giles!” Lidia burst out, and skipped several steps forwards to embrace the old, wiry abbot. The aged man laughed in spite of himself and clapped her on the back with a fierce strength that belied his age, squeezing her tight.

“Girlie! You made it back… but, I can’t say you did it in one piece…” He said, grasping her by the shoulders and looking down at her, tiny white hooves peeking from under the hem of her dress. His eyes tracked to the slung length of Gram’s arm as well before meeting her face with that curiously crooked eyebrow. “Did you get it done?” he asked, his face serious. Intense even, his hands squeezing her shoulders firmly. She grinned at him.

“It cost a bit… but I did.” She said with a bittersweet smile — and Giles only grinned at her wider.

“Never count the cost, girlie. It’s always worth it.” He said, but he didn’t release his hold on her as Gram approached, his eyes flicking to the man with wild concern as the cavalier smiled gently, moving to pass him into the commons.

“Come, we will sit with mother and Ser Lucian and give you the entire tale.”

Giles reached out and caught Gram’s sleeve. The soldier stopped firm, eyebrows going up at the urgency of the act.

“Boyo, you’ve been gone for nearly a tenday, we’ve been sitting here thumbs up our arses with worry.” He explained, still holding Gram’s sleeve tightly, the soldier pulled away with a decidedly firm manner about him, the soldier suddenly keying to the tension in the air.

“What has occurred?”

Giles’ eyes were hard, “You heard the Ser, a week passed and he began to set about plans… but your mother…” His gaze went to the courtyard. Gram’s did as well. His spine went completely rigid. Giles’ grip on Lidia’s shoulders tightened a bit and he reached for Gram but the soldier pushed past at a heavy stalk.

“Boyo, wai-”

Lidia followed, pulling free herself and Giles’ swearing following them as he spat an order at the Warden who tended to their dropped gear with a put upon roll of his eyes. Gram’s pace was determined, aggressive and Lidia had to just about jog to catch up to him when he drew up sudden and sharp, his breath stilling in an aggressive exhale. Lidia came to his side — and much like her loverboy — was drawn up immediately short, an outraged gasp leaving her lips.

Sitting before them at the very nook they’d last occupied before their journey, hands folded neatly, a cup of coffee steaming before him — was Mister Koval.

He was exactly as she had left him, unremarkable, unnatural. His dead-eyed face was as nondescript as ever. To her utter disdain if he had been gentled in any appropriate way by Karnov for his actions, it was not visible on his face nor body. Gram’s teeth set so hard she heard the clack of enamel.

“Now, now, Captain Baudelaire. This is a House of God.” He said in that quiet, mellifluous tone. “Hardly a place for violence.”

“God will forgive me.” The soldier grated, Abbot Giles catching up with them in that moment.

“Boyo!” He barked, Gram turning as he fixed them with a hard eye. Koval turned his face coolly to the Abbot.

“Had you not told me that you had not seen them?” He asked, and the old churchman curled his lip at the man but said nothing, looking to Lidia and Gram.

“I was trying to tell you, he arrived three days ago. Came looking around for the both of you, and your mother.” He explained, and Koval casually raised his coffee to his lips, pausing a moment before.

“Imagine my surprise to find the Lady Baudelaire not in attendance to the monastery to which she bound herself. Odd thing for a cloistered sister.”

“Where is my mother.” Gram hissed in a tone so cold even Koval turned to the quiet soldier in seeming surprise.

“I do not know. She was not present when I arrived. Nor was this ‘Ser’ you speak of.” He said, sipping his coffee with a look of gentle relish. “None would speak to me much at all, conveniently busy or lacking memory — save for Goodman Durin at least,” he mused. “Excellent coffee.”

“I’ll give the goodman your regards,” Giles said acidly, looking up at Gram. “This isn’t just God’s house, it’s my house. I’ve got a half-dozen frightened foundlings and war veterans here, no violence.”

“Yes, Captain Baudelaire. Do be a dutiful soldier and stay your hand.”

Gram smoldered once again beneath the yoke of Koval’s careful planning, and Lidia was right there with him. Of course he waited here, in the middle of a monastery full of the hurt, scarred, and afraid. Animal.

“Very well,” Gram acquiesced. “I will not raise my hand against you here,” he grit his teeth and narrowed his eyes. “What do you want?”

“Oh, just to pass word. I’ve discharged my duty here, no reason to be coy about it.” He said and leaned back in his chair, completely at ease. “The Baron has despite his displeasure, seen fit to check in on his recalcitrant concubine.” He raised an eyebrow. “Surely you did not think we wouldn’t look here, of all places?”

“A good thing we merely were stopping by.” Gram lied blithely. Koval smiled.

“Stick to the truth, Captain. Falsehoods trip clumsily past your tongue.” Koval said directly, eyes cool and calculating, “I am aware of your goals, and most impressed they seem to have succeeded.” He said, eyeing up Lidia’s bare hooves and Gram’s slung arm. “Albeit, at cost.”

“He’s been through the library, I swear he could smell where you’ve been.” Giles added irritably, folding his arms over his chest. “I’ve written a full letter of protest to the High Canoness for this boorish behavior.”

“A fair response. I will doubtlessly receive reprimand for my indelicate manner,” Koval responded, giving a delicate sniff of dismissal. “I have been reprimanded before.” He rose after that, wiping his mouth delicately on the napkin with a smile before he drew himself to his full height. He was taller than Lidia, and close to a size with Gram, but his posture made him seem to loom regardless as he stepped forward, smoothing his clothing. “A dangerous incursion into Seelie, and a royal lineage?” He raised his eyebrows and leaned closer to Lidia.

“All things I’m sure the Baron will find very, very interesting.”

“Ye said ye came bearin’ news. Spit it out.” Lidia rasped across the short distance. Gram was practically vibrating with barely-contained ire as the cold man smiled. It was a ghastly thing without warmth or emotion.

“Yes, how remiss of me.” He agreed, drawing himself up and reaching into his coat he drew out a small envelope, he casually broke the seal with his finger. “This had been intended for the Lady Simone, however seeing as she is… absent,” he let the word hang by itself ominously before unfolding the paper. “You shall do just fine, Captain.” He flicked the paper crisply and clearing his throat, read aloud:

“It is to be announced that one Louis Laverne Valis Baudelaire shall be wed to one Dula Mateviovna Karnov in ten days hence.” He read in a stentorian but cold tone, his face moving not from that vaguely self-assured smile as he folded it closed. “The rest is somewhat personal, reserved for Simone you see.” he said and folded the paper closed.

“Louis is gettin’ married?” Lidia snapped incredulously.

“Karnov moves his plans forward, if Louis marries he becomes heir apparent.” Gram spat, Koval confirming with a mild nod.

“Yes, the young master is still aware of where his duty lies. Baron Karnov would have had his mother in attendance, but alas she is…?” He turned his head expectantly to Abbot Giles.

“Gone. On sequester to the High Canoness’ Tower in the capital along with several of our Sisters.” The old man replied acidly, folding his arms. “As I told you before.”

“Just as well. She should be spared seeing her oldest shamed by the younger.” Koval said flippantly, Gram’s eyes flashing and Lidia’s teeth setting as he turned back to the two of them, meeting Lidia’s gaze pointedly.

“And to a proper, untainted woman to boot.”

That tore it. Gram advanced on the man with intent, and he stood his ground.

“Ah, ah, you promised me and the Abbot both, Captain. You would not raise your hands against me on Holy Ground” He said smugly, and Gram did not slow his advance.

“I did, however,” He added in a tone so icy cold even Koval’s eyes widened a bit, and then with a flourish he tore his arm out of the sling — the black carapace of his new Sidhe-wrought arm gleaming as his lip curled back from his teeth in a purposeful snarl.

“This is not my hand.”

Koval’s eyes went wide as dinner plates right before those black, chitinous fingers lashed out like a lance on the lists, and seized him about the throat. Gram was a big man, and he was strong. He did not throw his might around like Bart did, and he did not loom as imposingly as Karnov — but only a fool thought that was out of weakness. Koval gagged and flailed, but Gram’s arm bulged and he twisted, lifting the man right off the ground, feet kicking wildly as the blue-eyed soldier clinically squeezed.

“You are blessed, that I am not the kind of man my father wishes I was.” Gram added coldly as he pointedly pressed down on the man’s windpipe, Koval seemingly stunned by the outburst. Lidia herself stood wide-eyed in shock as the ever-patient Gram lashed out, Giles’ mouth was hanging wide as the soldier continued. “That man would not hesitate to simply squeeze until you ceased to be.” There was a creak of chitin and leather and Koval gagged anew. Gram’s head tilted curiously. “… Or am I? It has been a very traumatic few days. I have killed many monsters.” He added and squeezed even tighter, eyes narrowing to slivers of hateful blue.

“What is one more?”

Koval’s eyes bugged, and for the first time, Lidia saw an actual emotion cross his face.

Fear.

Gram’s eyes were hard. He did not look away. He did not waver one iota. Koval wheezed a weakening breath.

Koval’s body hit the embankment at speed — twisting and crashing into an out-of-control rolling tangle of limbs. The sound of the man was weirdly silent even as he bounced and jostled like a ragdoll before tucking himself into a ball to slow the fall before bouncing off several trees and then finally coming to a stop with an audible crunch against a stone. He stuck his head up, hair disheveled, a visible bruise already darkening above his collar, blood flowing freely from a grisly split in his scalp.

Gram had simply carried him from the gardens that way, and politely bid the Warden open the doors once more — where he had then bodily thrown him from the premises without anything resembling tenderness.

“Go back to your master, animal. Tell him that the next time he gentles you, he should use a sharp blade.” The cavalier snarled coldly. “We geld unruly stallions.”

Koval’s face was emotionless, but Gram simply raised his chin. The strange man gathered himself quickly, and fled into the woods in silence.

“Boyo…” Giles chided from his side, and Gram smiled tightly.

“I apologize, however — I confined most of the violence outside of the grounds.” He said, sniffing disdainfully. “All due respect, but this is also my mother’s house, and it would be terribly bad manners to gut a dog at her favorite table.”

Giles managed a half smile at that, and sighed. “Soldiers, a touch feral.”

“Guess we know who was followin’ us,” Lidia said and Gram furrowed his brow, shaking his head knowingly.

“No, I noticed them yesterday, Koval would have been here already.” He answered, and Giles confirmed with a nod. Gram’s eyes went up, and there came a cry from the Warden. The underbrush rustled. Gram’s eyes snapped to the spot down the road, and his hand snapped to Lidia’s hip, whipping her saber free with gritted teeth, making as if to advance into the brush.

“Peace, peace!” Came the mellow, too-sweet voice… of a Sidhe.

Gram halted, and out from behind the snarl of ancient trees, stepped Dagonet. No… he did not wear the guileless bravado, nor the wild gleam of sidhe madness in his eyes. No...

“Colin,” Lidia breathed. Abbot Giles’ eyes snapped to the figure. The blood left his face in a wash of pale shock. The tall Dewkeeper met his gaze, his chestnut hair flowing down his chest in leonine waves, his clothing still disheveled, torn from battle and adventure. He had not gone back to Seelie, to Brigadoon. He’d been the one following them — no wonder he avoided her senses so easily. Gram pulled back, handing back Lidia her blade with a mild shake of his tingling fingers. Neither of them had anything to fear from this fae.

“Jean… is that you?”

“Colin… Colin my friend…” Abbot Giles eyes filled with tears and he advanced a staggering step. Then another. Before long the old man had stumped out into the woods to stand before the towering sidhe, Colin’s green eyes softened and his smile grew broader as he knelt down.

“You got shorter,” The fae man stated, and Giles belted out a laugh.

“Not even by half, you’re taller you ninny.” Giles managed as he reached up and his friend reached back, their clasped eachother’s hands, Colin’s eyes wide and innocent as he turned his friends five-fingered hand over in his.

“You’re… so thin, and your hair, it’s all white as snow!”

“I’m an old man now, Colin. It’s been fifty-seven years.”

Colin seemed stunned by that, as if he had only just noticed, he reached out a hand and touched the Abbot’s face, ran a finger over his tightly-cropped scalp and its pale widow’s peak. The tall sidhe shook his head, and his face fell into an almost comical mask of anguish, the sidhe wearing his emotions naked on his features. “I… missed so much.”

“Aye, aye you did old friend,” Giles said, squeezing the six-fingered hand. Colin smiled through tears.

“Your new friends, they’re heroes you know. The Hind and Hound saved Seelie.” Colin added, and Giles turned an eye back on Gram and Lidia where they stood by the door.

“You don’t say. Seems we can’t let them abide just anywhere, they’ll set about solving everyone’s problems if you do.” The old Abbot grinned his crooked grin and then paused a moment before he looked around furtively. “Lady’s Teats am I the Abbot or am I not? Would you like to come inside?” He asked the tall fae. “God will forgive it, I think. I believe he’s still rather fond of you.” Colin laughed, and it was a sound of pure, distilled joy and his smile returned, wiping his eyes clear.

“Yes… yes, I would. Do you still like coffee?”

“Double strong, double sweet as always.” The Abbot answered with a grin, and Colin clapped his hands together before him.

“Let us go have some… I have not felt as thus in some time.”

The old Abbot grinned wider, and for a moment he looked twenty years younger, his spine straightened and his chest puffed out as he and the gangling fae walked side by side up the walk, Colin having to duck to manage the door — the Warden’s eyes alight with alarm.

“Swear to God, gonna have to rename this place Faehold at this rate,” the hook-nosed man groused in a wry but good-natured tone as he policed the door behind them. Tirrah peeked her head out of Lidia’s hood at this point, the little raven as well peering out, the Warden’s eyes simply growing a bit wider, drawing off his pipe with a sigh.

“Abbot,” Giles looked up to Gram’s no-nonsense face, he spared him a smile but Giles didn’t need it as he looked up to the tall man and hooked his thumbs into his belt.

“Koval’s in the wind. You mean to chase him.”

“I do.” Gram assented with fire in his eyes, Lidia caught up with him.

“He was searching and pouring over every scrap of the place you’d been, even rifling my personal papers.” He said, and the two’s eyes lit up with fear.

“Th’ letter.” Lidia gasped, and Gram set his teeth.

“I should have killed him.” Gram lamented, and Giles laughed.

“You probably should have, but God will forgive you.” Giles said, raising that palsied eyebrow a bit with a crooked grin. “Koval’s a menacing sort, but he seemed to be nevertheless, rather hesitant to put his hands directly on a man of the cloth.” He said with a faux confused expression as he reached into the folds of his apron — and out came a crisp, gilt-edged sheaf of papers. Lidia’s eyes lit up and Giles grinned all the wider.

“Ye sneaky ol’ git.” Lidia hissed in joy, wrapping the stumpy old abbot in a fierce hug. He laughed and clapped her back firmly.

“Oh it was nothing, I knew the moment I saw him at the gates he had to be one of Karnov’s men. Has that feel about him, of a tool.” He said and tapped his head with the sheaf of papers. “Put this right in my cassock that very second.” He grinned a bit wider, a mad gleam in his palsied eye. “I’m not as frail as I might look, I’d have welcomed him to rifle my person.”

“You’ll forgive us not staying for coffee,” Gram said as he glanced to the Warden, who with a long suffering gaze murmured something to a pair of younger sisters who dutifully rushed off. Giles and Colin both chortled at that.

“I have seen you on the hunt before, I know better than to impede you, Hound.” Colin’s musical voice laughed and Giles raised his chin with that crooked grin of his.

“I’ll pre-empt your next question and say yes, your borrowed horse is still here.” He turned his head slightly with a raised eyebrow as the Warden nodded with a tired gaze.

“Being saddled as we speak,” he added and held up another hand, “With provisions and such not, Giles may not have been martial in his focus but I was,” the old Warden said, the heavier rings under his eyes suddenly having quite a bit more context as he puffed off his long-stemmed pipe again testily, then added. “Mind the roads at the south fork. Loose shale after the rainstorms, every time.”

“We do not need catch him, merely beat him home.” Gram said, and the Warden blew a puff of smoke out his nose with a snort.

“Oh, that won’t be too difficult.”

“Why?”

“He left without his horse.”