and...fic?!
The leader of the scouts returned with a deep bow. They had seen a skirmish; several of the squad members now lay injured in a minor ballroom that had been converted into a medical ward. This one returned unharmed, save for a notch in her wing and gauze slapped onto her cheek. Tinsel was fleet little wood sprite, an archer, and had kept well to the rear. A few painkillers solved all her woes. The numbness it brought helped. She and her reduced forces now presented themselves to half of the Peers of the Wood. The fairy queen herself lounged on a throne made of yew and thimbleberries, one slim finger pressed thoughtfully to her lips. Tinsel’s second, her mage Fitzla (considerably less drugged) quaked beside her as they as they knelt.
“My lady,” said Tinsel, wings buzzing urgently, “The Demon Lord has secured the area. His forces, it seems, are largely unharmed.”
Queen Elfaria listened carefully as the archer detailed the positions and state of the Aesir forces. It seemed impossible to believe.
“They swarm thickest ‘round the artifact. Lady Giselle’s forces remain to the north, seeing a clear path to the ships.”
What the artifact did, no one in Ringford could be sure, though their changeling operatives had tried their best to infiltrate. It had come to nothing, with Valentine. Already rumor had it that this was the legendary Valentinian furnace, the great metal beast that had burned in the heart of the now decimated capital city.
“But we cannot be sure, Majesty,” explained the archer.
Her second added, “We could not get close! The Demon Lord knows glamour.”
Tinsel said, “Were we to charm a watchman, however--”
“Or perhaps, the survivor might be able to shed some light on the circumstance,” continued Fitzla, and regretted it immediately, as her superior gave a wince. “Or perhaps...” she tried to gloss, futilely. A furious whisper had already taken the court.
Elfaria sat up at once. “A survivor?” she glanced among her advisors. They all looked perfectly puzzled, save the young duke. He looked curious. “I had heard tell there were none.”
Her archer bent awkwardly. “There is…one, M’lady. A Valentinian. We retrieved him from the border, fleeing his Aesir captors.”
The queen frowned. Her long fingers curled over the arm of her throne. Vines wormed out of the way, quickly. “Why did you not tell me? This could solve many of our mysteries.”
“My lady. He is but a boy, and-“
“Take me to him.” Elfaria gathered her skirts.
“Y-yes, my lady.”
The reasons for the scout’s hesitance soon became clear.
The boy was awake. His eyes were open, and he could sit, and stand, and even walk upon proper direction, but that seemed to be as far as his faculties would go. He lay on the daisy petal sheets of the sickbed. Four fern panels had been arranged around him, to give him privacy in the occupied ward. It served the double purpose of hiding him from common view. He was human, and this made Vanir nervous. The ministers at Elfaria’s left and right hung back uneasily. Only her nephew and the herbalist followed her into the makeshift enclosure.
“Hello,” said Elfaria, with a voice like honey fresh from the comb. “You need not worry. You are safe now. The Aesir will harm you no longer.”
The boy stared at her blankly. His violet eyes were as smooth and murky as a stagnant pond. He lay like he did not hear, his hand clutched in a tight fist under his chin. The knuckles were white.
“...I see now my archer’s reluctance,” murmured the queen. “Melvin, how old would you wager he be?”
The duke came forward readily, eyeing the child with interest. “As human’s judge these things? Eight or nine, Your Majesty. Young even by their standards.”
“Ah,” said Elfaria, startling the herbalist when she reached to take the child by his chin. He turned his head readily.
“Come now. We may seem strange to you, but know Ringford is not beyond seeing kindness done to a child of man-he does not look injured.”
The herbalist jumped at being addressed. This was her cue. “It was not so when he arrived. The Aesir forces had a very bad go at him, I’m afraid. They do not treat their prisoners well. We healed him as best we could, elixirs are about the only thing he'd take, but it seems the gravest damage is to soul, not body.”
“Then he will not speak.” In spite of herself, Elfaria stroked the boy’s hair. By human standards, it must have been very fine, but by fairy reckoning it was course to touch. She drew her hand away. “Lord Melvin.”
Her nephew straightened at once. “My Queen.”
“I place this child in your care. You are expert in this subject. I trust you shall best see to the boy’s needs.”
Melvin bowed. “Of course.”
When the queen had left, the duke summoned his page. The boy arrived at a dawdling pace, but fast for one without wings. The Ringford palace was hard on those relegated to stairs.
“I want you to watch him. Be companionable. It shall be an interesting lesson for you.”
“He is human,” said the page. He didn’t quite phrase it as a question.
“Yes. And just about your age. Imagine that!”
The page peered around the paneling. The other boy was sleeping-or at least, he lay on his back with his eyes closed. One hand remained balled in a small fist at his side. “He’s younger,” said the page. “And not wearing anything.” This, too, was not phrased as a question. Melvin laid a hand on the shoulder of the child’s green velvet suit and steered him aside.
“I see how this might seem strange to you. He is Valentinian. And Valentine is,” Melvin paused, “was a warm country. Why, it is said that they practiced all sorts of strange customs! And it is our failing as budding nation that we do not even know the half of what is true.” His page stared up at him.
“And you want me to find out what is?”
“My, aren’t we sharp.” Melvin let the lad go. He faced him. “Be his friend, Oswald. Lend him a friend’s ear, speak to him in a friend’s warm tones, and perhaps he will feel inclined to be candid in return. A little human company might be good for him, and since you are human as well, you ought to be a natural.” The duke’s syllables dripped with purpose, “And should you so happen to learn anything about that great artifact of theirs...”
Oswald nodded. “I will do my best.”
Melvin smiled. “Good boy.”