The walk through the forest proves to be delightfully free of trolls and troll-like rabbits. The worst the party has to endure is the near constant pampering of Hannah's horse, Peaches and the occasional pixie that tries to braid Sir Tristan's hair. After about an hour of walking, the group finally reaches the heart of the forest
Tristan gave up on brushing off the braiding pixies after forty-five minutes, and now about a third of his hair is in an unraveling herringbone braid down the back. He looks at the house. "I wish we'd gotten to finish dinner now," he murmurs to Hannah.
"Ah! Dessert," observes Minstrel Sam drolly, as he follows them, lute forward and playing idle walking music. "But it might be poor manners to literally eat our hosts out of home and house."
Peaches whinnies, and eyes the marzipan and fondant trim on the house with barely-constrained longing.
Souhait shows the restraint and dignity of a warhorse. Besides, he's not that big on sweets.
Hannah sniffs the air with a bit of a hungry look in her own eyes. "I'd have to agree with you, Sir Tristan" she says wistfully. "But it truly would not do to start nibbling on the home of someone we haven't even met!"
"They seem hospitable here; perhaps he'll offer us the leftover construction materials." Tristan turns his head to thank the pixie flitting around his hair and discourage her (him? it?) from doing any additional braiding. He lets Hannah be the one to knock, as the group's leader.
Minstrel Sam manages to make his lute sound a little like the fanfare of trumpets as they stand before the house.
"Anyway, let's see if this caretaker is at home, shall we?" Hannah steps forward and knocks as loudly as she dares upon the gingerbread door. It wouldn't do to break the thing down through sheer force, either.
The disgruntled braiding pixie gives Tristan a raspberry and flits off.
The is no answer to the knocking for at least a minute ... but finally those gathered outside the door head footsteps approaching. "Who is it?" comes a rather cantankerous sounding voice from the other side. "Do you know how late it is? If you are traveling merchants I'll feed you to the hellhounds! We're closed! Closed! Cloooooosed!"
We could eat the door, Peaches suggests to Souhait. I once ate an entire wedding cake by myself.
"And don't even think of taking a bite out of my house!" the voice adds.
"Our apologies, sir," Tristan says, his voice projected but not shouting. "We've no intention of eating your home -- " he gives Peaches a pointed look " -- and the dryads suggested we come to you. Regarding the trolls, sir."
Hannah quirks an eyebrow at Tristan. "Couldn't have put that better myself," she says to him in an undertone. "Sure you want to remain a knight? The Hawks could use someone with your kind of diplomacy." She smiles at him, just a little.
"Eh, what? Trolls? There are no trolls here. Haven't been for an age! Not since, well ... blast. Great, now you've gone and depressed me," the voice grumbles. "Damn wizards and their damn drunken spells."
He smiles back at Hannah, encouraged. "I've been practicing," he murmurs back, then continues to the caretaker, "That was not my intent, sir. We were hoping you might share the secret of your success in repelling trolls, as we were attacked by a particularly vicious one on our way here."
The minstrel looks down at his lute, then over at Sir Tristan. He starts singing in a soft voice, just for their entertainment, "o He's a little gingerbread man, he is, likes him some privacy, he's a little gingerbread man, he is, with a gingerbread home that's right cozy ... o"
Gingerbread man? This thought gets Peaches' attention, such that she stares at the door now.
Don't even think it, Souhait tells Peaches warningly.
Door bolts slide back and the front door opens, light spilling forth. Out shambles a rather ancient and twisted looking ... tree? Man? Something. His face seems to be stuck in a perpetual scowl, too. "Wasn't me. I'm just a by product of the spell wot did it," the old creature grumbles. "I was just a happy sapling till that buffoon of a wizard cast the 'cute' spell over these woods. Right poison to all creatures of ill will, it is. And bloody stupid if you ask me. But get a wizard drunk and they'll do anything, I tell you. Or fall for anything. Can't believe he listed to ..." The tree then stops and stares at Hannah. "Oh no. NO! No Golden Hawks allowed here!"
"o/ He looks so good in his gingerbread clothes, he--" Minstrel Sam breaks off just as the door opens and smiles innocently.
Hannah takes a step backward at this outburst, almost walking right into Tristan. "Uh...how did you know I was a member of the Hawks?" she asks warily. "And why aren't we allowed here? What have we ever done to you?"
I think he's had one too many visits from the woodpecker, Peaches wuffles softly.
Tristan mouths "Lord Thomas" but doesn't say anything, waiting for the tree-man's reply.
"Ya smell like one. A fey that lives often in the wilds. Ya also smell of House November. And I know that smell well," the tree rambles and pokes at Hannah with a stick-like finger. "And it's because of your founder I have to live, surrounded by ... happiness and ... pretty things." The tree somehow manages to turn even more green after mentioning that. "I was a weeping willow! It's against our nature to be happy."
Hannah gives Tristan a knowing look before turning back to the tree-man. "Ah, the Lord Explorer had a hand in this. I should have guessed." Speaking as politely as she can to the grumpy willow, she asks, "So, how did Thomas manage to convince the wizard to cast a, er, 'cute spell' on everything here?"
"Hmm. I think I recall..." The old Minstrel raises a finger in triumph. "Aha! The wizard was drunk."
"And all too willing to listen to a ridiculous suggestion that to repel trolls forever, the place needed to be all happy and cheerful," the Willow Man grumbles. "The wizard took that bloody fellow's joke as a real suggestion and did this!" He waves his arms around for emphasis.
"And this worked?" Tristan looks around, marvelling. "The pixie was a bit grumpy. And you don't sound cheerful, sir."
The bunny-troll must really hate himself, Peaches asides to Souhait upon hear this anti-troll ploy.
The willow thrusts a finger against Tristan's nose tip. "You spend sixteen YEARS stuck in a forest where everything smiles and sings at you and see how happy YOU are at the end. Even the villagers this was to protect left after a year, claiming if they heard one more cheerful ballad they would commit mass suicide. They tarred and feathered the wizard, too!" he grumbles.
"o/ The trolls they're eating us out of house and home, there's no fit place to stay for a gnome, o/" Minstrel Sam says with cheer as he strums his lute. "o/ Oh Master Tom, you can find any answer, in what tome / can we find the way to make the trolls go home? o/" The song he sings makes it sound as if Tom had actually done some work to come up with the answer than solving it in an all-night drunk, however.
Yes, it's official - I will be giving Thomas a piece of my mind if we ever make it through this journay alive, Hannah thinks, now a little disgruntled herself. To the tree-man, she says aloud, "Well, if you'd like to be rid of us, could you tell us where there is a cave or other sheltered place for a camp in this wood?"
The fey knight eyes the willow's finger briefly, then goes back to the creature's face. He doesn't comment, content to wait for the answer to Hannah's query.
A little bird pops out of the leaves and branches atop the willow's head. It starts to sing a cheerful, twittering song ... right up to the point the old willow reaches up, grabs it, and throws it half way across the clearing. Grumbling, he says, "This is the only real shelter, though you could sleep in the woods. The worst that would happen is you would wake up in fopish clothing. Y'might as well come in and stay the night. Maybe ya have some good depressing news for a change."
The minstrel adds as a question to the willow, "Sir, how is it that you're stuck in this forest? Are you bound to this spot?"
"We were nearly trampled to death by a stampede," Tristan offers, by way of unhappy news.
"Designated caretaker. Can't leave the boundary," the tree explains. And at Tristan's news, the tree positively cackles. "Well, now, that's terrible. I love it! C'mon in, you can even have some cookies. The horses stay outside, though. And no eating my house!" He waggles a finger warningly at the two knightsteeds.
"It's truth, our camping equipment, our dinner was destroyed by the herd," confirms Minstrel Sam.
Peaches stamps a hoof at the unfairness. Just because she's beautiful, doesn't mean she should have to suffer for it!
Hannah gives the willow creature a half-grin and a bow. "Thank you for the offer. My companions and I would find that most welcome. I am Lady Hannah of House November and member of the Golden Hawks, as you surmised. This is Sir Tristan of House April," she says, indicating the blonde-haired man. "And this fellow with the lute is Minstrel Sam."
"We only just emerged from a Winter that lasted twice as long as it should have," Tristan adds, somewhere between helpful and mystified. "The fey were starving; we feared it might be Mirari's final Year."
The willow starts to reply ... but one of the gumdrops falls off his front door. He sighs as he picks it up. The old tree licks it, then sticks it right back on. "Well, pleasure to meet you, I guess. Wait. Sir Tristan?" the tree inquires, then peers in to look at the fey a bit closer. "I thought he was your sister," he tells Hannah, then claiming, "Never can really tell with fey. They all look like women."
Ewwww. I don't want to eat the door anymore, Peaches notes to Souhait after the lick.
Minstrel Sam cackles. "I haven't been mistaken for a wimmen since I was, oh... Two Years old. Something about my receding hairline."
"You would more likely be mistaken for a saddle bag," the old tree notes to the Minstrel.
Good, Souhait tells Peaches. Tristan quirks an eyebrow at the willow, then shrugs. "Allow me a moment to attend to my horse, sir. Thank you for your hospitality."
For her part, Hannah hides a smile behind one hand while patting Tristan on the back consolingly. "Try not to take that too personally," she says quietly to him.
"I keep telling people, I'm more often mistaken for a winebag," the minstrel retorts.
"And after a meal of fiber, probably a gasbag," the tree mutters. He shambles back inside, leaving the door open. "Come in when you want. Just no kissing your horse ... well, unless you have the courtesy to close the door first."
Kissing your horse? Peaches wonders, looking at Tristan and Souhait. Maybe it's something the Lord Explorer did while drunk.
Hannah takes a minute to speak to the Princess before heading inside the gingerbread house, too. "I'm sorry that the caretaker won't allow you inside, but after we keep company with him for a while, I promise to bring you a few cookies," she says in a consoling tone.
Souhait snorts with laughter. I'm glad I've never been his mount! he replies to Peaches.
Peaches nuzzles Hannah's hair.. although it comes across like she's 'petting' the woman for some reason. Good mistress.
Sir Tristan removes Souhait's tack and leaves him loose outside, before accompanying Hannah inside.
Minstrel Sam tags along dutifully.
The inside is an array of garish colors, puffy furniture made from sweets, and sappy-cute paintings hanging from the wall. As the tree passes one, he swipes a gash in it with his rough fingers. Moments later, the gash nits itself, returning the picture back to its glory of tacky cuteness. The tree sighs depressingly. "You can't even get rid of it," he mutters. "Find a seat, I'll go make some tea." The aforementioned seats look like giant marshmallows.
"Hmmm. What happens if you take a painting outside these woods?" asks Minstrel Sam. "Does it retain its eternal cuteness?"
"Can't leave the forest, no idea," the tree answers as it disappears into the 'kitchen'.
Hannah walks over to one of the chairs, looks at it, then at her swordbelt. She carefully unbuckles it and lays it to one side of the puffy-looking things, then sits down carefully. If I got my rapier stuck in that, I might never get it out again!
Tristan crouches to pat at one of the giant marshmallow seats experimentally, to find out what it's texture and firmness is before he tries sitting on it. "Is it actually possible to eat your house, or does it grow back too?"
The old fae plumps down on a marshmallow divan. "Mind if we borrow one of your pictures then, mister? I'd like to test that theory."
"It will grow back eventually ... but it grows back cuter. Some sort of disturbed adjusting magic to repel creatures that try to develop immunity," comes the answer from the kitchen. "If it gets any cuter I'll .. I'll ... I'm not sure what, but it'll be bad!" The odd marshmallows are more than firm enough to sit on. The white powdery substance on them, though, tends to stick to the clothing.
Tristan looks tempted to remain standing, but since Hannah's already sitting he gives in and sits.
A little cloud of white puffs out from around Tristan's backside as he sits down. The old tree trundles back in a bit later, carrying a tray with several steaming cups on it. "What is your relationship to the old explorer, anyway?" he asks Hannah as he hands out the tea. "That old loon must be long dead by now. Now that would be lovely news."
"It certainly would," Tristan mutters under his breath. "Thank you sir," he says in audible tones as he accepts a tea cup.
Hannah takes her tea with a grin and nods her thanks. "The Lord Explorer was...merely trapped in the mortal world for a while. He was lured there by the Destroyer," she says, thinking that would be the simplest explanation to give. "I became a Golden Hawk several Years before his return. I met him then - or rather, he found me."
"Damn," the tree grumbles. "As for taking a painting .. feel free. But you have to promise to never return it," he tells the Minstrel.
"I think that can be arranged, sir," Minstrel Sam says with a grin.
Tristan wonders if the missing painting will grow back cuter, too, but he doesn't say anything.
"So, why are you out this far? The old Lands of Terror are hardly the place for a honeymoon," the willow comments with a glance to both Tristan and Hannah. "Or is this an elopement? Needed music and brought the prune?" The tree then shambles back towards the kitchen.
Tristan shakes his head. "Neither, sir. We're here on business." He lets Hannah elaborate if she chooses to.
"As the knight says, we travel on business," Hannah chimes in. "We are looking for the town of Greedle, a place to which no fae from the lands of Mirari has ever been."
"Greedle?" the tree asks, returning with a plate of cookies that are soon offered around. "Can't say I've ever heard of Greedle before," the tree admits, "At least not from any travelers that have passed through. What direction is it in?"
Minstrel Sam samples a cookie appreciatively. "Thankee kindly, sir."
The knight accepts a cookie as well, with thanks, and nibbles at it curiously.
It looks like bark, but somehow manages to taste like a peanut butter cookie.
Hannah takes four of the offered cookies ("Two for myself and two for my horse, so she won't be tempted to eat your house!" the girl explains), then takes a small map from a pouch and explains the general direction in which they're headed.
The old tree scratches at its ... chin? As bits of bark flake off, he comments, "Well I guess this Greedle must be beyond the new goblin settlement out that way I heard about last month from some birds. Hope ya can speak goblin or are really good at avoiding them."
"I think we may just try to avoid them, unless the minstrel has picked up a few words of goblin in all his years of traveling?" the girl asks, grinning a little at Sam.
"I know a handful, but I'd not care to use them if I could help it," Tristan says. "I'd as soon avoid them."
"I know a fair bit of goblin-ese - but I'd say that it's best to avoid their lands if we can help it, their cuisine is truly... Missable, if possible," Minstrel Sam says with a scrunched-up face.
"Yes, but how is their ale?" Hannah asks next, still smiling. "As bad as the food? I ask you because I figured you'd know about their drinks if anything, Sam."
"From what the birds tell me, they've got lots of patrols about. Why are you going to this Greedle, anyway? Or ... is it secret?" the willow asks as it finally sits on its own marshmallow, his old limbs creaking as he settles.
Tristan finishes his cookie and reaches for another one. He didn't get a chance to finish dinner, after all.
Minstrel Sam pretends to look like a refined wine connoissieur. "It was full of body with a piquant aroma of nuts and aged garbage. The bodies were flies." He grimaces. "In other words, among ogres, goblin ale is a watchword. Among fae with palates such as our own, I would suggest that you discreetly pour out whatever they offer and drink from your own flasks."
"Patrols, eh? That's good to know," Hannah muses. "We've been asked to assist the town recover one of their own, actually. There's a bride-to-be out in Greedle who's missing her groom. And since none of Mirari have even been to this place, Thomas figured that helping them would go far toward establishing freindly relations."
Hannah also makes a face at Sam's description of the ale. "That's disgusting!"
"Odd that the message didn't mention anything about goblins," Tristan remarks, thoughtfully. "Or trolls."
"They're very serious about their ale, lass," the old fae says to Hannah. "They consider it one of their finest arts. I suppose if you're used to their cuisine, it might... Be suitable."
"And Thomas' didn't bother mentioning either, eh? Either he's gone senile or didn't tell you on purpose," the tree accuses and points at Hannah. "I know he may play the goof, but that one is sly. He always has cards in his hand he's not playing."
"Oh, he may pretend to be the absent-minded fool on occasion but I'm quite aware that he's not," Hannah says calmly - although she's still determined to have a talk with Thomas when or if she returns to Hawksmoor. "He may be testing my abilities for all I know, to see what I can do now that I have some training behind me. That wouldn't be out of character for him, to be sure."
Tristan's lips narrow, but he holds his tongue on whatever his thoughts are.
"I see your friend doesn't trust him," the tree comments and thumbs towards Tristan. "Embarrassed ya before, perhaps?" he asks the fae knight.
"If he were here, he'd protest his innocence and claim he didn't have any accurate information he could share, and could hardly burden you with rumors and hearsay," Minstrel Sam says with a grin. "However, as he's not, I feel safe in confiding that he does have a sense of humor, Hannah."
"An odd one that's full of terrible puns, but yes - yes, he does," Hannah admits, her lips twitching slightly.
"He is," Tristan says, "a hero of the Realm and a great man. Mirari owes him a great debt."
"He's also a right pain in the butt, annoying at times, and impossible to completely understand," the old willow counters. "And I think he probably likes it that way for whatever reason known to only him. Well, him and maybe the knight he used to travel a lot with."
Tristan doesn't contradict the tree-man. It would, after all, be rude to argue with one's host.
Minstrel Sam looks curious at the willow. "I take it you know him more than just 'he's the one who thought of the cuteness spell', sir?"
"Oh, you mean the Knight Redmane?" Hannah asks. "She around again, too, by the way. They're back to annoying one another as much as they ever did!"
"He's been this way a few times for various reasons," the tree grumbles. To Hannah, the tree huffs a laugh. "Figures. Have to wonder if they stayed around each other merely because each was willing to challenge the other, eh? But eh, old issues, old stories, nothing important for now, I imagine. If you left early in the morning, my guess is you could perhaps reach this Greedle with a good days worth of travel. Well, providing you don't get waylaid by goblins."
"Would you be able to tell us which routes the goblins use, sir?" the fey knight asks.
"Eh, they would be guesses at best, from what the creatures tell me," the tree admits. "So, worth as much as any guess would be."
"Are there any friendly beings that we'd be able to ask, who'd know more than you about the position of these goblins, and their number?" Tristan asks.
The tree spreads his hands. "Don't rightly know. You could try askin' the pixies or dryads, but they'll expect payment," he offers.
"I've some coin." Tristan takes a sip of his cooling tea.
"Ah, but where would they spend the coin?" Minstrel Sam waggles his eyebrows. "Belike they'll ask for a kiss, if they like you, Sir Tristan."
The tree smirks. "That isn't the kind o' payment they would want, kid," he comments dryly.
The tree barks a laugh, adding, "Yer saddle bag has the way of it, he does. A kiss, or more, depending on the amount of information."
Tristan twists his mouth, then glances at Minstrel Sam and grins. "Perhaps you should do the asking, in that case."
At this, Hannah lifts her own mug of tea and says quietly, almost sadly, "Then Sir Tristan should beware of the pixies, since he's already spoken for." She takes a swallow and studiously avoids the knight's eye.
"Ahh, laddy, t'wouldn't do any good, now they've seen the fine specimen o' male fae-ness, they'd be asking me to 'arrange' things for them," the old fae says with a grin. "As easy to hide the gold coin in your purse after the merchant's gotten a glimpse of it."
"Eh, pixies don't care if someone is spoken for or not. They're not the most faithful o' creatures," the tree comments.
Tristan's almost distracted enough by Sam to miss Hannah's words, but the tree-man's comment ensures that he doesn't. He gives Hannah a puzzled look. "I'm not a gold coin, and I've no interest in being traded," he says, simply.
"Well then, best not to buy anything," Sam points out. "As for our host, in thanks for the hospitality you're showing us, perhaps I could interest you in some very sad songs?"
"That would be appreciated. I'm so tired of all those cheerful jigs the creatures around here like to sing," the tree agrees.
Hannah takes a final swallow of her tea, then rises - somewhat awkwardly - from her marshmallow seat. "I think I shall take these cookies out to my Knightsteed, since I promised them to her. After the minstrel's songs, we can arrange to rest. Thank you," she says to the willow creature and walks to the door.
The tree elbows the Minstrel, noting quietly, "Wow, that one would make an amazing willow, eh? Seems on the verge o' weeping".
Peaches, of course, is right outside the door - as if she were eavesdropping, but the mare tosses her mane and feigns innocence.
"The lady Hannah is not like that at all," Tristan replies, more sharply than he intended. "If you will excuse me?" He rises and bows to their host and Sam.
"You'll go if I don't excuse you, so, eh, why ask?" the tree points out, "But yeah, ya are excused. Go chase the girl."
Hannah goes to the mare and offers her the first cookie, stroking her mane with her other hand. This trip might be harder to manage than I thought...and not in the way Thomas intended, the girls thinks with a sigh.
Tristan nods, not attempting further rebuttal or reply, and steps outside. "Lady Hannah?" He closes the gingerbread door behind him, muting the sound of Sam's singing.
Peaches whickers happily and licks Hannah's hand clean of any crumbs as well.
Minstrel Sam cackles. "Ah, youth. Well, let's see, how did this one go..."
o/ When Mirari's last song is sung, and the lutes are worn and broken,
When the last fae has passed, and their stories are forgotten,
We shall rest, we creatures of imagination, lie down for an aeon or two,
Til the children of mortals shall put us to work anew... o/
Hannah glances over her shoulder at the knight as she gives Peaches the second cookie. "Yes, Sir Tristan?"
The knight walks over to her, and glances to Peaches and Souhait. "A moment alone, if you will," he says. After they've left, he says to Hannah, "What did you mean by that comment, m'lady? No one's spoken for me. Unless you are privy to information that I do not have on the matter." His voice has a hint of humor in it, but his deep blue eyes are very serious.
"I merely know what all those who attended the last Royal Gala know, as well," the girl replies evenly, but there is an odd look of resignation on her face. "When I was there, even for that short time...you certainly looked as if you were spoken for."
Tristan blinks a few times. "What?" He looks perplexed. "By whom. I went to the Royal Gala with ... " it takes him a moment to remember " ... Lady Madelyne of August?"
Hannah's expression changes quickly from resignation to anger and dismay. "All this time you've been spending with the Lady...the way you were dancing with her at the Gala...and you pretend not to remember even her name?" Her cheeks flush crimson as she challenges the knight, "Why do you play this game with me? Do you think I am witless, Sir Tristan?"
"All what time?" Tristan takes a step back. "What game? I have seen Lady Madelyne perhaps a half-dozen times. If we are lovers, no one has seen fit to inform me of it, although judging by your reaction it would seem someone is going to great pains to tell others as much." There's a coldness in his eyes. "Do you think me a liar, Lady Hannah?"
"I'm not accusing you of lying, Sir Tristan," Hannah returns, refusing to back down. "I am accusing you of omitting the truth completely! And since I've been unable to have that from you, I'm forced to hear of it from everyone else! Lady Madelyne's cousins from House August, for example - and even Lord June's favorite minstrel! How do you think that makes me feel? When you're unable to tell me such a thing yourself, as is only proper?" There is hurt behind the girl's eyes and she knows that her words must be hurting the knight, too, but she seems unable to keep herself from saying them.
"I did not tell it to you because it is not true." Tristan says. "There is not now and never has been a romance between myself and Lady Madelyne," he says once, flatly. His face is blank and cold as he repeats the exact same words two more times. "Do you believe that?"
Hannah hears the knight repeat himself thrice and starts. She stares at Tristan with trembling lips and a pale face but at last, she nods in answer to his question. After a few more moments, she whispers, "Sir Tristan, I... I am so sorry." Tears spring to her eyes and she makes a move toward the gingerbread house, as if to flee from him.
The fey knight's jaw tenses. He gives a little nod to Hannah in acknowledgement, not trusting himself to speak, and doesn't try to stop her from leaving. He stays outside, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, silent and indifferent to the dancing pixies and cheerful dryads and cute animals in the forest all around him.