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Chapter Text

Deep in the Rosewood Forest, there is a palace. It is not some castle or other such building. It is not made of brick or stone, and in fact you could not even say that it was made . This palace is alive, and it grows. Its walls are petals and leaves and vines, the floors are moss and earth. A breeze flows freely through the halls when it wishes, light and airy, and the sky can be seen through the leaves that are the roof. The sky itself is the star-speckled blue of either early dawn or early evening, but it is nearly impossible to tell which.

Around the palace, which is called Rosewood Palace, there is of course the forest, full of rosewood trees. And within this forest live the citizens of the Rosewood.

They are a people quite different than most in the world of mortals, which is as it should be, as they themselves are not mortals. They are fae, and ruling over all of them, in that palace, is their King.

King Merit, he is called. King Merit the Bright.

King Merit is, if nothing else, a just king. Rumours fly amongst the Court concerning all manner of things relating to King Merit, but there is not one member of them, no matter their stature, their rank, who could say that their king is unjust. His judgment is trusted in the Court, and none question it. Not for fear or even respect, but because whatever judgment he hands down, while not always fair, is just.

(This is a quality fae hold in high regard. Because what is fairness to the fae? No, to be just, that is admirable. Say you signed a contract without reading it full through, without closing loopholes, without opening any for yourself. And when it is enacted you find the result unsatisfactory. Is that fair? Is it fair that you should be stuck as an enchanted sword because you foolishly asked a fae to make you a magic weapon? Perhaps not. But you did ask for what you got. You did not read the contract fully, you did not close or open loopholes. And that, to the fae, is just. Just what you should get, just what you should expect.)

It's there Noah finds himself, in that palace, standing before that king. If he's being honest, he isn't quite sure how he got there. He had been slightly lost, only a little, following Lilith because she had decided that she didn't want to follow a path today, and Noah thought he was a good enough ranger to find his way through the forest he's walked through for years doing jobs for Margrae's guild. So he decided to follow his owlbear this one time.

And one wrong step into the wrong meadow with the wrong circle of flowers, and suddenly Noah was tripping over Lilith into a very different looking forest.

For one thing, the trees are pink. For another, it wasn't noon anymore. And there were people there who weren't before. Noah noticed the people first, the rest was a blur of pink and blue as he fell. But he had tripped over Lilith right onto someone.

And it turned out that someone had been a King.

He had tried to quickly right himself, and seeing that there didn't seem to be any weapons pointed at him, apologised to the man he'd toppled over in his fall.

"So sorry, I didn't see you there, are you alright?"

He didn't see much of the man, other than he was thin and had flowers of some kind in his green hair, before he was hauled back and there was a knife at his throat.

The man had guards, and the guards didn't seem to like that Noah had appeared out of nowhere and fell on top of the person they're guarding. Which was fair, Noah had thought.

Then he'd been hauled into a hall- as much as it could be called a hall when there were no real walls or roof, only trees and leaves and petals- the man he'd nearly crushed leading the way ahead of him in a stately manner.

He'd been stood in front of a throne, and the man had gone to sit on the throne.

And that is where Noah is. Realising that he tripped into a king, a court of some kind watching and chattering with interest, and while there isn't a knife at his throat anymore, he can tell that the guards would be more than happy for him to make a wrong move so they could do away with him.

Great.

The Court is intriguing, to say the least. And seeing them has Noah realising that he's in the Feywild. Or at least somewhere where the rules of the Feywild are sure to be followed, because these are undeniably fae. The courtiers are varied, no one of them looks like another, there are elven-looking people, and people who look the farthest thing from elven, and people with antlers, and dryads and naiads and all manner of types of people.

But the most intriguing of all, the most eye-catching, is the one who sits upon the throne.

The throne seems to grow out of the ground, and in all likelihood it does, its arms formed of vines, and the high back of it seems to be equal parts petals and those pink leaves. Sitting on it is, of course, a King.

A King that Noah had tripped onto.

Now that he'd had a moment to calm down, the world wasn't a blur of pink leaves and near-death at the hands of some guard or another, he could see the king properly.

His face is framed by long green hair that flows just past his shoulders and over pointed ears. He wears something that flows, and Noah is sure, if he king were to spin, the petals of it would flare out prettily. It's not made of any fabric Noah knows, it looks more… natural. Like the clothes are made of petals and leaves. The petals are the same dark blue-purple as the flowers in his hair that form a crown.

The king says something, but it's in a language that Noah is pretty sure is Sylvan. His elvish has never grown past the basic phrases, like 'hello, goodbye, pleaseandthankyou, sorry, fuck you and all your ancestors with a rusty corkscrew' , but he recognises enough loanwords to feel... moderately certain that the language is sylvan.

The king says some things, and then a courtier says something, and then another courtier interrupts with something else, and then one of the people standing beside the throne who Noah thinks are advisors says something, and then the king again, and so on for a while.

Noah doesn't understand any of it, so he pats Lilith reassuringly.

The king says something that sounds diplomatic, making two arguing courtiers back down grudgingly, but then some other courtiers start arguing, and the king says something that seems to equate to 'Enough.' He says something else, turning to Noah, and then all eyes in the room are on Noah.

The king says something in sylvan that Noah thinks was addressed specifically to him, but the only word he recognised was the elvish word for tree?

Noah stutters out one of the few sentences in elvish that he remembers, because it seems like the closest thing to this language. "I do not speak elvish, do you speak common?"

He hears titters from the courtiers, and some full-out laughs. He isn't too bothered, only his life is on the line.

The king chuckles.

"I do indeed," he says, in common, thankfully. "I asked why it is you have come to this forest."

"Ah," Noah starts, searching briefly for diplomatic words. "In truth I did not intend to come to this forest, lovely though it is, your Majesty."

"Then are you lost?"

It hits him very suddenly that he is in a fae court. It's not a comforting thought. "I am a wanderer, your Majesty."

"And you have wandered into my lands?"

"It does seem that way, Majesty."

"Are you lost, wanderer?"

"Merely misplaced my route, Majesty, but I can't say this route isn't prettier than the one I had in mind."

The king smiles, no, grins . There is something harsh in that grin, something cruel, that screams danger into Noah's bones. It's a grin that sends a shiver down his spine, and a good deal of blood down after that shiver.

"And do you," the king says, "as my advisors seem to think, intend to harm myself or any inhabitant of this forest?"

"No, and I do apologise if I harmed you with my entrance, your majesty, I did not see where I was going."

He really doesn't want to be considered an assassin in this particular court. Going by the expressions of the courtiers surrounding him he figures the sentence for that is a little bit more than a slap on the wrist.

"And have you been to this realm before?"

"No, your Majesty."

"Have you ever had contact with anyone of this realm?"

"I had not, before today. Well," he amends, his eye drawn to one of the advisors, "none that I knew were of this realm, in any case." The advisor looks mostly like a gnome. Mostly. There's something... off about them? They seem to have scales, or no, is it fur? Was that a flicker of a tail? A shuffling of wings? Were their eyes so feline a moment ago? Noah thinks that they could look like just about anything they pleased, and he’s fine with that, but he'd like to know why they're watching him so intently.

"So," the King draws his attention back. "You have wandered into this forest from your home?" It sounds more like a rhetorical question. "Hmm." A finger taps on an arm of the throne, thoughtful. "There is a maze, traveller. You see, I can hardly allow you to go free, you may be some spy or assassin, but to kill you would be... rude, for one who only wandered into this realm. But there is a maze, and if you should wish to return to your home, then you should walk it, and find its end." Something in the air seems to shift, some unspoken thing making the hall fall hushed. "Walk this maze, and reach its end, and you will be returned safely to your home. But if you can not find your way to the end of the maze by the end of... a year, I think, by our reckoning, then it is here you shall stay."

Noah has to think for a moment. He goes through each word, careful, because he knows he has to be careful, here, knows he has to be very very careful, because he's heard stories of people who didn't pay attention when making deals with fae.

"I agree to the terms of this deal as you have laid them out, your Majesty," he says, because what else can he say?

"Then we have a deal." The King leans back in his throne, satisfied. The court seems mostly satisfied too, save the few who look at Noah like he is the dangerous thing in this room. They seem a little peeved at the prospect of keeping him around. There are whispers swirling around the courtiers that Noah would have no hope of understanding, even if he could hear any of them clearly.

"May I have your name, wanderer?" the King asks, head cocked to the side, curious, assessing.

Noah can't help a little grin of his own. Margrae and Stella had told enough stories that Noah could see what that question really was.

"That seems as good as anything to call me, your Majesty. Please, call me Wanderer." He wasn't quite so dense as to just give his name to a fae king.

The king grins, that sharp grin, the dangerous one, the one that makes him feel like prey and makes him feel like this predator enjoys the hunt all too much. Noah has to admit, it's a pretty attractive look.

"Very well," he says, amusement colouring his voice, "Wanderer you shall be called. Rislon will show you where you will be staying." He waves a hand, and a masked figure at his side steps forward.

Noah is pretty certain he recognises that name.

Rislon, whose face is hidden completely by a white mask and a red and gold hood, wears a large blue and gold scarf...thing? Noah can't see an inch of skin or any hint of a clue that there's a person under that mask, other than the fact that Rislon moves like a person does. All in all, quite fancy looking.

Rislon bows to the King and goes to lead Noah out of the hall.

Noah bows, thankful he knows some etiquette that seems like it applies here, He'll follow others' lead just in case, because he doesn't want to do something that might be polite back home but would be considered a grave offence here.

He follows Rislon out of the hall, Lilith behind him, and the sound of the court resuming their business in sylvan fades away.

"Uh, Rislon, right?" he says.

"...Yes?" The mask turns to look at him.

"I, uh, think I know your-" he doesn't say moms, because they never actually called him their son, and he feels like that might be a bad idea, and he's honestly pretty unnerved by the expressionless mask. "Uh, I know Margrae and Stella, that is. I work for Margrae."

Rislon can't be that popular of a name.

And Stella had mentioned he wore a mask, so there couldn't be that many masked people named Rislon, right?

There's a pause, in which Noah doubts everything and regrets opening his mouth. But then Rislon sighs. "You're that one, aren't you?"

Noah... probably is. "Which one?"

"The dragon guy with the owlbear who broke her cart."

"...Yes."

"Of course. Well. Welcome to the Rosewood, Wanderer. I'll tell them they don't need to worry about you."

"Uh, maybe they should?" Noah says, "I'm kind of..."

"So eager to leave so soon?" Rislon sounds amused.

"Ah, well,"

"I doubt King Merit would appreciate that."

"It is a very lovely realm, but I didn't exactly intend to come here!"

"In that, you are one of many." Rislon says. "Many people find their way to the Wilds one way or another, not all intending to come here. My partner is one of them, in fact. But you are here , and because you tripped over my king, and my guards are calling for your head, and the court is calling for your soul, you are here and it doesn't look like you'll be allowed to leave until you find your way through that maze. And his majesty seems... curious about your motives, about your story, and his mercy is the only thing standing between you and them."

Noah can't really say much in response to that, so they lapse into silence as they walk.

Rislon leads him down pathways, and Noah can safely say he has never been any place like this before. The... buildings, if he can call all of them buildings, are, well, they're recognisable as rooms and homes, but there's so much variety in the structure of them. Some are up high in the branches of the trees, and the trees seem to have grown around them, with them. And then there's a little door in the side of a hill, with windows and a garden growing on top of it. There is a home that looks like a giant tulip, with a door carved out of the petals.

"How much do you know of the Feywilds?" Rislon asks, slowly.

"I guess what most adventurers hear?" Noah takes a moment to think it over. "I know... it is a plane separate from the Material plane, but it... mirrors it? It's the realm of the fae, who are divided into courts? I've heard fairy stories like everyone else back home, but... that's about it."

Rislon nods. "That's good. Not enough to keep you alive, but good."

Noah isn't surprised.

"The Rosewood is on the fringes of the plane," he continues, "to put it in those terms. The, ah, barrier? It's ...thinner, between this realm and yours. Just a slip, and you're here, as you found out. And the Wilds are divided into Courts, for the most part. I wouldn't be able to explain all of it in the time we have, but I can cover some of the basics you need to know. King Merit the Bright, the Just, rules the Summer Court, and his throne is in the Rosewood Palace, where we are now. It's his hands your fate is in, at the moment. A sizable section of the Court believes you to be a spy or assassin for the Winter Court."

"I'm not, " Noah says, because he isn't , and he'd like at least one person to know that.

"And saying that isn't much to assure them." Rislon shrugs. "But the King's sentence does, a little."

"Right, this maze...?"

"It's a maze. You'll be given a place to stay, and you'll be able to wander through some parts of the Palace, and the maze itself, of course. That's the library there," Rislon points out a building that Noah honestly didn't see until it was pointed out, "and down those paths are the gardens. Well, a few of them. And here," he brings them to a stop in front of a... well. It looks like a cabin. A little one room cabin, made of wood and everything.

"This is where you'll be staying. There's a path around the back of it that leads right to the maze's entrance." Rislon opens the door, and Noah is surprised when he barely has to duck at all to enter.

The ceilings are high enough for him too, and it's surprisingly roomy. It... it looks normal, inside. The glimpse of pink leaves through the windows is the only real hint that he's not just in a trapper's season cabin.

"Any questions?" Rislon asks.

"So many," Noah says, "But I think I'll hold onto them for now."

"Alright," Rislon nods. "Well. Good luck."

"Thanks."

Rislon leaves and Noah investigates his little cabin. It's nice. A bed big enough for his height, and blankets to match. A wooden bookshelf and dresser, both empty, and Noah sets his pack down on the dresser for now. There's a rocking chair by a window, and a rug that... yep, it's just moss, to cover some of the packed-dirt floor. Very soft moss. A little washbasin on a table, and a carved tub stood up in the corner. Noah pokes his head outside and sees a pump maybe ten meters from his door. There's even a bucket to haul water. (Noah will drink from his waterskin for now though, just in case.)

All in all, it's a nice little cabin.

He starts down the path behind the cabin, and before long he comes to what is definitely the entrance to the maze.

The entrance to the maze is framed by two giant Rosewood trees. The ground of it seems to be moss, like a well worn trail that's just started to be reclaimed by the forest. The kind of trail that Noah usually would be very wary of.

The path led straight for a moment, and then turned right, cutting off Noah's view.
The walls of the maze tower overhead, great big wild-growing hedges and ivy. Noah is a little wary of those hedges, and resolves to stay clear of them. He's not sure what it is about them, but he gets a bad feeling from them.

He... He decides that trying to figure out a maze that's probably as full of tricks as the rest of the feywild while he's been awake for almost twenty hours is not the wisest idea, he can come back tomorrow. After all, he has a full year.

He pulls out a book from his pack and reads in his little cabin for a while. He's not exactly sure how long, the sun doesn't move at all, but after some time, he thinks it can't be more than an hour or two, Lilith starts looking up at him with pleading eyes. And Noah is pretty interested in what the rest of the palace looks like.

Noah is curious, and Lilith is getting antsy, so he decides to go for a walk.

And because he seems to have just the best luck, he takes a walk into the very garden that the King is in.

"Good evening, Wanderer."

"Good evening, your Majesty. I apologise if I disturbed you-"

"Oh, not at all." There is that grin, the one that feels like a threat and an invitation rolled into one. But it's a bit different than the one Noah's seen. Less... dangerous. Still sharp, still thrilling, yes, but no knife at his throat. Maybe it's because the king seems more a man now. More- dare Noah say it- human. His hands are covered in dirt, and there's a smudge of it across his cheek.

King Merit the Bright is knelt down on the ground and covered in dirt. Beside him is a tray of little seedlings and cuttings, in little clay pots. He's gardening .

Noah has managed to interrupt the King's personal gardening time. Of course.

"So, Wanderer, what brings you to my personal gardens?"

And these are King Merit's personal gardens .

"I didn't know these were your gardens, I'd thought that this was an empty space. Lilith just wanted a walk. But we'll leave you to your gardens, your Majesty, I am sure there is plenty of space where we won't be in your way."

"Nonsense. There is no one here but I, and I do not take up too much room."

He’s right at that. For all that his presence had seemed to fill the entire hall, the king is rather small. At least, in comparison to Noah, but not many are large compared to him.

"There is plenty of space for us both," he continues, "so wander as you wish, Wanderer, and neither of us will be in one another's way."

Noah figures it'd be an insult if he left now, so he'd better not. He pats Lilith's side.

"Well girl, you wanted to go for a walk," he says.

Lilith apparently decides that this is permission to go greet this new person.

She trots over to the king happily, and chirps at him, tilting her head to the side and back, curious.

"Lilith, no, leave the king alone!" He curses to himself and tries to pull her away. But Lilith just flops over onto her back, perfectly content to attempt to get pets from the king.

The king, to Noah's surprise, waves off his slight panic and... laughs? "It's alright, she's fine." He smiles down at her, with a very different smile than the one that's been directed at Noah. This one has no hint of sharpness to it, no knife's point. It's... Noah knows now why they call him the Bright .

"Hello there," he says to Lilith, "aren't you a pretty thing? Oh yes, just gorgeous, aren't you?" He scritches at her cheek feathers with a dirt-smeared hand, and Lilith chirrups happily, almost smugly, not knowing or caring that the person she's soliciting pets from is extremely dangerous and holds both of their fates in his hands.

And the king... He doesn't look like some dangerous monarch who holds lives in his hands, in that moment. He looks like a gardener with flowers in his hair who is petting a friendly dog.

"Yes, you are a good owlbear, yes you are! Look at those claws! I bet you are just the best at protecting your people, yes!"

Noah... Noah has entirely lost track of his life. He has stumbled into the king's personal gardens without so much as a 'by-your-leave' and the king hasn't killed him. Yet. Not only has he not killed Noah, he is complimenting his owlbear on her deadliness. He has no idea what is happening.

King Merit turns that bright smile onto Noah, then, and he feels like the sun has chosen to come out from behind the trees to shine only on him. He feels like he could burn alive.

"So, Wanderer," the miniature sunshine says, "how are you liking your accommodations? They are big enough for you both, I hope?"

Noah somehow finds his words among the scrambled singed mess of confusion that is his brain. "Ah, yes. Yes, they're good, plenty of room for us both, thank you."

"No need to thank me, Wanderer," he says. "Do let me know if there is something lacking in your accommodations."

"I'm sure we'll be fine."

"Of course. There is, of course, plenty of space in my rooms."

"Of course," Noah echoes, "as only makes sense for the rooms of the king."

"Plenty of room even with another person, and their owlbear besides."

"And would this person be free to leave the rooms or the realm?" Noah raises an eyebrow.

"That is a good question." He doesn't answer, which Noah thinks is answer enough.

He turns back to his seedlings and the overturned earth, and Noah can breathe again.

Engaging in casual conversation with the King of the Summer Court is not something that Noah ever saw himself doing. But he never saw the King of the Summer Court flirting with him either.

"What are you planting?" he asks.

"Hmm, well. This here is datura, and these are hollyhock." He points to two of the pots in turn. "You may notice that they don't look quite like the other plants you might've seen here."

They're ordinary, Noah almost says. All the plants in this garden, in stark contrast to the almost-unreal plants outside of it, are normal.

"They're from the plane you yourself are from, as are all the plants in this garden." He pauses. "There are a select few mortals that I have deals with. They have not eaten food from the wilds, are not bound to them." Another pause, and a shift in the air. "From this garden, whatever food you yourself harvest, from this garden alone, by your hands alone, I do vow upon my word that you will not be bound by eating it."

"I... don't understand."

Merit the Bright, the Just, the King, he looks up at Noah, and looks for all the world like a man, nothing especially Bright or Just or Kingly or dangerous, but a man.

"Choice," Merit says, "is a very precious thing, Wanderer."

He pats the dirt around the last seedling, firm in the ground, and pushes himself up, brushes off his hands, picks up the tray full of empty pots, and leaves, ruffling Lilith's feathers gently as he passes.

Noah is alone in the garden, with Lilith.

And he is so very confused.

"Lilith," he says, "I have no idea what just happened. But I'm pretty sure this is all your fault."

She chirps at him, looking far too innocent.

Noah sighs, and scritches her tummy.

"At least there's a garden full of food."

Chapter Text

The next day, Noah is a little disoriented when waking, because the sun hasn't moved at all. The shadows in his cabin are still where they were cast when he fell asleep, and he wasn't aware that that could be a more disconcerting experience than finding shadows had moved.

He's already decided to do the rational thing and lay low for however long he's here, and he does plan on getting out of the feywild before the year is out. He knows somewhere over the course of the year that'll all fly out the window, but start as you mean to go on and all that.

He and Lilith go to the gardens -actually empty this time- for their breakfast, and then make the short trek back to the Maze's entrance.

The entrance looks just like it did when he saw it last night, a little sparrow perched on one of the branches that form the archway. But the path, well, he distinctly remembers it curving to the right yesterday. The path he sees now curves to the left .

He looks to Lilith and shrugs. "Nothing for it, I suppose." It's not like he can scold the maze into going back the way it was. Probably. He sets off into the maze. He sticks to the left wall, following it not because he thinks he'll solve it this way, no, apparently this maze moves , but so that he'll have even the slightest chance of being able to follow the wall back out when he wants to leave. If the maze doesn't move while he’s not looking.

Even to a ranger, it's disorienting. He can keep track of which direction he's going, approximately, but only when he can see the sky. The sun doesn't move, so he can sort of tell which direction he's going based on which part of the sky is lighter. But sometimes he looks up and all he sees are trees. And he's not so sure he wants to try climbing them.

He figures he walks the maze for near an hour before he comes to the doorway. It's large and wooden, and the word that pops into Noah's head immediately on seeing it is 'Imposing.' Carved into it, about halfway up, just above Noah's eye level, are words. Thankfully they’re in a script he recognizes. Draconic, of all the languages.

"Through me, the end," Noah reads. He blinks. "It can't be that easy."

There's no handle on the door, so he gives it a gentle push. Then a strong one. It doesn't budge, not that he's surprised. Noah sighs.

"Great. A vague-sounding door that might just be blocking my only way home, and it's got no handle." He turns to Lilith. "And that means I've got to find a way to open it, don't I? Unless it's a trick. But even if it is, it's better to know, right?"

Lilith chirps helpfully.

"Yeah."

He walks the maze, looking for... He doesn't know, a key? Another door? He walks the maze, until he starts to get hungry, and then he starts to find his way out. Luckily, the maze hasn't seemed to shift so much that following the wall doesn't lead him astray. He finds his way back to his cabin, and then to the still-empty garden for dinner.

While Lilith eats away at a blueberry bush, he pulls up some sweet potatoes from the ground, and some herbs and peppers, and some black beans. He’s quite jealous of the big gardens, if Margrae and Stella’s had one with this much variety, this many tasty things, he doesn’t think he’d ever leave. For dessert, he grabs a couple peaches, and some blueberries, and takes his little harvest back to his cabin. It all goes into the pot on the woodstove for a very nice chilli, and he falls asleep satisfied that he won’t go hungry.

The next day goes much the same way. The gardens are empty, the food delicious, and the maze shifted again. He comes across the door faster, this time, the paths leading him there quicker. He spends a bit of time inspecting the door. It... is a door. No handle, made of wood, a red-pink wood, and the frame seems grown out of the ground. It does seem magical, though he can't see any reason why it wouldn't be, it's a door with no clear way to open it, no lock to pick, it has to be some kind of magic. But he can't tell what type of magic, and there are no markings on it other than the phrase ' Through me, the end .'

Actually, he can see very fine carvings just below the words. The lines of the carving are so fine he almost couldn't tell them apart from the grain of the wood. It's a fairly simple rendering of a bag, a pouch of some kind, inside a circle.

He runs his hands over the wood, looking and feeling for more carvings, but no luck. He's not sure what the carving of the bag means at all. And he's pretty sure he won't figure it out just by staring at it.

He walks the maze until he grows hungry, and then goes to the empty gardens to eat dinner. He's honestly relieved that he hasn't come across the King again, and that the other inhabitants of the kingdom don't pay him too much mind when he passes them on the path. He's not entirely equipped to keep up with the King, he thinks. The people here speak with far too many twists in their words. He'd been thrown off balance in the throne room, and then again in the conversation in the gardens. And then the King had started flirting? He hadn't been prepared for that, everything had been just a little off-kilter. So he's fine with empty gardens, happy with them, even, when they have all the food he could ask for. He has a salad with pomegranate and pears, strawberries and raspberries for dessert.

His relief doesn't last too long.

On the third morning, if it can be called morning, as he's headed to the garden, he's nearly knocked aside by a tiefling with a very determined stride.

She doesn't seem to take much notice of Noah, for all she almost bowls him over. She's grinning fiercely, something about it vicious, victorious, triumphant, eyes fixed forwards as she makes a beeline for whatever her destination is.

Noah's path is the same direction as hers, apparently, so he ends up following her for a short distance, but as their shared path comes up on a small cluster of people chatting about something, she speeds up, headed for a certain figure. The figure- Rislon; catches sight of her, and with a word to whoever he was speaking with, he turns to her, holding out his arms.

She runs the last few meters and practically leaps into Rislon's arms. He catches her, and holds her tightly in a hug, face buried in long black hair.

Noah can't see past the mask, of course, but it sure looks to him like Rislon is just as happy to see this tiefling as she is to see him. The partner he mentioned, maybe? The others who had been talking to Rislon back away good-naturedly and leave them to their reunion. Noah can just barely hear them.

"Looks like someone had a productive six months," Rislon says, a hand brushing her hair out of her face, a gesture that looks more like habit than anything. "Success?" He asks.

She kisses the mask's cheek and grins at him, triumphant. "Yes. Missed you."

"Missed you too, love."

Definitely Rislon's partner then, Noah thinks to himself. He politely averts his eyes and ears from what seems to be a very private conversation as he passes them on the path, the two of their foreheads touching, whispering softly to each other.

"Wanderer," Rislon calls to Noah's retreating back, making him turn. "I'd like you to meet my partner." He waves Noah over, and Noah goes.

"Reverence," Rislon says, "This is the Wanderer, he stumbled into the Wilds the other day and tripped onto Merit. Merit is on a mission to get his name from him before he finishes the maze by the end of the year. Wanderer, this is my partner, Reverence."

"Pleased to meet you, Reverence."

"Tripped onto him?" She raises her eyebrows at Rislon, looking from Noah and back.

At least, Noah's pretty sure that's where she's looking. There are no pupils in her eyes, something not too uncommon in tieflings. She has large red horns, banded in gold, and seems to favour golden jewelry.

"Onto, I'm afraid," Noah confirms with a sheepish grin. "Tripped over Lilith, here-" he pats her fur- "and into a circle and got spat out right on top of His Majesty. Not my best moment."

"He's also the one who crashed into Margrae's cart that one time," Rislon adds.

"One time, it was one time!"

"Really?" Reverence grins. "Oh, I remember you!"

"The way you said that worries me."

"You're the guy who hoards all his gold in his room like a weirdo!"

"...Ah. Yeah."

Rislon shakes his head, Noah thinks it's a fond shake, though. "How've you found the maze, Wanderer?"

"Confusing. It changes, and I've found a door that says it's the end, but I don't have a clue how to open it."

"Makes sense," Reverence says, "You've got a year, right? It's not going to just show you the right path immediately. Probably not, at least."

"He wants time to figure you out," Rislon adds, "To get your name, more specifically."

“Well,” Noah says, a little uneasy about that prospect, “it was nice meeting you, Reverence. I’ll let you two get back to each other, I’m headed to explore more of the maze.”

“Nice meeting you,” Reverence says, “See you around.”

Noah goes back to the maze every day. Sometimes he stares at the door, looking for some clue. Other times he wanders the maze, careful to remember the way out, but aimless nonetheless.

After a week, as he's sat down in front of the door and rereading the inscription when something at the corner of his eye catches his attention.

Down a path to the right, further into the maze, a sparrow flies down and pecks at the ground. It looks at Noah, and then pecks at the ground again. Noah, a little bored, a little curious, goes and looks at what the sparrow was pecking at. It flies out of sight as he nears.

On a patch of ground that seems like it's been tamped down and smoothed out, there's a slip of bark, pale and unlike any tree he's seen here, but something like the bark of the trees back home.

On it, in green ink, is a riddle.

"What is higher than the highest, lower than the lowest

The poor have it, the rich need it,

Those who eat it surely will die.

What is it that you entered this maze with?"

... Huh. Noah kind of wishes he paid a little more attention to his mother when he was younger. He hadn't thought his life would ever depend on riddles, and so he hadn't paid the most attention when she taught him a dragon's tricks around them.

But this one's easy enough, if it weren't for the last line. He almost recognized it. He hadn't entered the maze with it, honestly, but... Well. This is the Feywild, and words seem to mean slanted things, here.

"Nothing," he murmurs, to himself, "but how do I answer this thing-"

He breaks off, eyes darting up as branches bend and part in the wall of the maze, revealing... Well, he was expecting a doorway, but there's a small pouch, resting on the branches.

He glances down at the bark in his hand, and starts when he sees the words are different.

"Nothing is what this pouch holds.

Take it with you, keep it close.

Change its nature, find its purpose,

Within it, your path unfolds."

...okay. Noah’s gonna take the pouch.

It's a little fabric thing, small and deep green, with embroidered leaves around the brim that almost seem to move in some wind. The drawstrings are a pale washed-out pink, and are tipped with tiny round rosewood leaves. He opens it, to find nothing inside. As the last riddle says, then. He thinks to change its nature he has to fill it with something, but he's not sure if he... Should. He picks up a leaf from the forest floor and drops it in, only for it to slide off, as if something is blocking the opening. He pokes a finger in, and feels the bottom, so the little barrier doesn't keep his hand out, just the leaf. He turns it inside out and finds nothing abnormal. Huh.

He ties it to his belt, figuring that's close enough to him for the second line, and decides to call it a day, it feels like it's getting late.

As he passes the door, he almost doesn't see the little glowing symbol on it.

Above the words, barely an inch square, that small carving of the pouch is glowing, green. He looks at the pouch, and back at the door.

"So that's the game." He says to himself. Solving a riddle led to the pouch, which lit up a symbol on the door. Noah's betting that one of the tumblers on the door’s lock has just slid into place. He's just got to find what will unlock the rest of it. Probably. Could be that he's one step closer to the door killing him. But it's worth a try.

Just below the glowing symbol is another carved image, this time of a spool of thread. He pulls out the spool of thread he keeps in his bag to repair rips and tears, and tries to put it in the pouch. The pouch rejects the thread, which Noah was expecting. It couldn’t just be ordinary thread, no, it had to be special maze thread. Still, worth a try.

This time, when he returns to the garden for dinner, it isn't empty. Reverence is there, picking raspberries and eating them, and Rislon is sitting under a tree with a book.

"Hello, Wanderer," Rislon greets, "would you like to join us for dinner? A couple friends are joining us as well, to welcome Reverence back."

"You gotta pick your own food though," Reverence calls, "I don't know what deal you have with Merit but it's probably similar to mine, so you harvest your own."

"We eat together, though."

"Not him," Reverence rolls her eyes, "because he can't eat with the mask on, but the rest of us do."

"Dinner sounds nice, thanks. Like a buffet."

"I don't know what that is, but sure."

"Fill your plate with what you want to eat, as much as you want to eat."

"Then exactly like that." Reverence nods. "But no plates."

"Who else is coming? Anyone else I know?"

Rislon shrugs. "Probably not. Pen hasn't interacted with the guild, but they've met Margrae and Stella a couple times."

"Are you a member of the guild, Reverence?"

She shrugs. "Kinda? I get paid when I do a job they were looking to do, but I don't stay with them, and I do my own stuff normally."

"And what do you... do?"

"Hunt."

"Vague. Nice."

She holds up a hand, the back facing him, where a symbol is branded into it. "Godly hunting, doing things for a god. Mostly stuff I can't do here, which is why I have my deal with Merit, where I can spend half the year there, and the rest of it here with Rislon."

"Oh, okay. Sounds cool."

"It is." She takes the berries she's picked and goes to sit beside Rislon under the tree. Noah decides on some raspberries, which look nicely ripe, and some sweet peas. He picks a few apples for Lilith as well.

As he's picking out his dinner, a vibrantly blue raven flaps into the garden, and lands on Rislon's head, letting out a croak.

Reverence laughs. "Hello, Pen."

"There are lots of branches you could perch on, Pen," Rislon says, seemingly unfazed by the very large bird on his head. "My head is not a branch."

The raven, apparently named Pen, flaps down onto the ground, letting out another croak, and then turns into a person. The same person Noah had seen earlier in the throne room, with the shifting appearance. They look like a gnome now, mostly, with blond hair and a small moustache and beard.

"Your head is softer, though. And branches aren't usually as fun." Pen says to Rislon before turning to Noah. "You're the Wanderer, right? I'm Pen. What's the maze like?" they ask.

"... Confusing. I solved a riddle and I think it unlocked a bit of the end, but I'm not sure. If what I think is the end is the end."

"Oh, I love riddles! Two people were canoeing in the desert," Pen starts. "One turns to the other and goes 'Where's your paddle' and the other one goes 'sure does'!”

Noah waits for the rest, but after a moment it seems like that's it. "Uh."

"I don't get it," Reverence says.

Rislon sighs. "This one's new, isn't it?"

They shake their head. "Nope! Got it from a friend. I like it!"

"If you solved a riddle for the maze though, it probably did unlock something in it," Pen says to Noah. "And if not, then you still get to solve riddles. Sounds fun!”

“Sure.”

Pen, seemingly done with that line of conversation, turns to Rislon. “Rislon!”

“Yes?”

“You said you’d hold Hector for me, where is he?”

Rislon points to a raspberry bush, now devoid of berries, that is rustling.

“Aw, you know he likes meat better.”

“He ate meat. When we got here he wanted to eat some berries too.”

Pen reaches into the bush, tugging on something, and pulls free a ball of fur. “Hey, Hector!”

‘Hector’ is a ball of fur, with a strap of fabric dangling down. Also teeth. Just a lot of teeth. Pen slings the strap over them, wearing Hector like a bag.

“Thanks for holding him for me, Rislon!” They reach into Hector’s mouth, and pull out a book, sitting down next to Rislon and cracking open the book.

Noah, having witnessed ...that, decides to sit a little further away from Hector.

A few moments later, Rislon looks up and stares at Pen. "'Where's your paddle', Pen?"

They smile, delighted. "Sure does!"

Rislon chuckles. "You're right, it is a good one."

"Right? It's great!"

Noah still doesn't get it.

"Rislon, babe," Reverence says, "What the fuck does it mean."

Noah can just hear the grin behind the mask. "Two people are canoeing in a desert, Reverence. One of them turns to the other and says 'Where's your paddle'. The other says 'Sure does.' "

She scowls and glares at him. "Why."

“Where’s your paddle, Reverence,” he says again, deadpan.

“Sure does!” Pen chirps.

“It doesn’t make sense,” Reverence says to Noah.

“It’s not just me? Oh good." He shakes his head. "No, it really doesn’t.”

A few moments of silence pass, before Reverence mutters “...sure does? What the…”

“Oh! Merit!” Pen says, grinning suddenly as King Merit enters the gardens. “Two people are paddling in the desert! One turns to the other and goes ‘Where’s your paddle’ and the other goes ‘Sure does!’”

The King stops mid-step. “Uh.” He tilts his head to the side. “Huh.”

“It doesn’t make sense!” Reverence exclaims. “I don’t even think it’s a riddle.”

“...Where’s your paddle?” Merit repeats, brow furrowed.

“Sure does,” Rislon says.

“Ah. Nice one, Pen.” He sits down next to Reverence, smiling. “Welcome back.”

Reverence narrows her eyes. “You get the riddle thing? Tell me.”

"I've missed you," he says.

"I was gone six months. What’s the riddle mean?”

"Every one of them a trial. And you’ll figure it out."

"Are you going to say you missed me every year, Merit?"

"And every year until you choose to stay, Reverence."

She grins. "Good. Missed you too." The smile turns sharp, teasing. "You picked up a stray while I was gone"

"There was no picking up. I was tackled."

"Tackling implies a little too much grace, your Majesty," Rislon says dryly.

Merit nods sagely. "Fell upon. Stumbled? Crashed into? There was no picking up, the stray just fell in."

"And of course you couldn't leave him out in the cold"

"Of course not."

"And what do you plan to do with your stray?"

"He is not mine, Reverence,"

"Not yet." Reverence smirks, looking pointedly at Merit.

"-And I do not plan to do anything with him."

She raises an eyebrow, exchanges a look with Rislon.

"How was your hunt?" Merit asks her, ignoring the look and changing the subject, to Noah’s relief.

She grins. "Wonderful. Productive.”

“Lovely. Happy to be back?”

“Of course I am.” She pulls out a book from a bag on the ground, and then another, and hands it to Merit.

Noah squints to read the title, and laughs. “Asmodeus Is A Lesbian?”

Merit nods. “Yup.”

“Non-fictional, I presume?”

“Oh, you don’t have one, that’s my bad, here, you can have… A Tale Of Troll Love.” Reverence hands him a book, “It’s a romance novel book club.”

“I see.”

He settles down with his book, leaning against Lilith. It’s incredibly bad, in a very good way. He’s reading about how the trolls met when Merit closes his book.

“I should get back to it,” he says, handing the book back to Reverence and dusting himself off as he gets up. “I’ll see you tomorrow, right, dear?”

Reverence smiles. “Of course. Don’t work too hard.”

Not long after that, Pen packs up their book and leaves, with a “Where’s your paddle!” tor Rislon instead of a goodbye. Rislon, of course, responds with “Sure does.”

And then Reverence and Rislon go. “Bring it back when you’re done,” Reverence says when Noah tries to hand off the book. “See you around.”

“See you.”

He turns to Lilith when they’ve gone.

“They seem like nice people.”

He climbs a cherry tree to grab a snack, and continues to read, eventually dozing off in the branches.

Rislon finds Merit beneath a cherry tree, with a lap full of paperwork. The kid works entirely too much, in his opinion, but he did get handed a kingdom and Rislon knows he's... partially at fault for that. Curled up beside Merit is a certain owlbear, sleeping soundly.

He also sees a figure up in the cherry tree, but makes no indication that he does.

"Good evening, Your Majesty," he greets.

"'Lo Rislon." Merit doesn't look up from his work.

"Where's the Wanderer?"

"Mm? Oh, in the maze, probably. I don't know."

"Not with his owlbear?"

"Lilith is her own owlbear, Rislon."

"Of course." He must be tired if he hasn't even noticed that the Wanderer is in the tree above him. "You should get some rest, Merit. You're too young for wrinkle lines."

"I am your king, Rislon, and centuries old. I'm told that's old for mortals."

"You are not a mortal, and you're still the kid who got suckered into a kingship to me, no matter how many centuries it's been."

"I blame you for this, you know." He waves a hand at the paperwork. "You're to blame for all the papers." He looks up for a moment, smile wry. "You ought to deal with some."

Rislon sighs. "Oh fine, pass some here." He sits on Lilith's other side, holding out a hand for a stack.

They work their way through the stacks in easy silence, the scratching on paper the only sound among the natural sounds of the forest. Rislon is penning a correspondence to some mortal noble that wants to visit for some reason or other- polite but idiotic- when he breaks the silence.

"I know the Wanderer," he says, finishing the rejection letter.

"You do?"

"I know of him. He's one of Margrae's favourites. Stella likes him too, even with the whole cart thing."

"Cart thing?"

Rislon shrugs lightly. "He flew into a cart and wrecked it a bit."

"Huh."

"Merit."

Merit looks up from his work. He's very tired. "Yeah?"

"I know his name."

He blinks. "Oh."

Rislon can obviously tell that he's a bit out of it. "I could tell you his name."

"No," Merit says, before he can really think about it. "Ah, no. That's... I wouldn't--"

"Choice. It has to be his choice."

Merit sighs. "Yes. Yes, exactly."

"Alright. And you plan on convincing him to give it to you?"

"Yeah."

"And then what?"

"What?"

"What happens when you have him?"

Merit's writing pauses. He blows out a breath.

"Or is this just for the Court?" Rislon prompts.

"I can't just let him go, can I? That'd mean a minor coup."

"Nothing we couldn't handle."

"Nothing I want to deal with."

A pause.

"Merit," Rislon says slowly, "this can be dealt with."

Merit's eyes snap up to his. "No." His tone is firm, sharp, brooking no argument.

Rislon relaxes, shoulders dropping. Good. He does not want to explain to Margrae that he broke her favourite. "I could escort him-"

"Not that either," Merit shakes his head, looking back to his work. "That risks others finding out, and thinking that deals can just be called off or discarded, that my word isn't worth-"

"Alright. So you get his name, or he goes home in a year, and we deal with the rest as it comes."

"Yes. Thank you, Rislon."

"And you need to get some rest.” He reaches over and takes the rest of the stack from Merit’s hands. “I’ll bring these by for you to check over when you’ve rested.” He ignores Merit starting to protest. “Go, sleep or something.”

“And here I thought you wanted me to be king, not you.”

“Go rest, Your Majesty.”

Merit waves him off, yawning. “Fine, fine. I do want those papers when I’m up, though.”

“Of course.”

“See you, Rislon.”

Rislon waves, and waits until Merit is out of sight and earshot before he looks up into the branches.

“Good evening, Wanderer.”

The Wanderer is looking down at him, looking a little nervous. “Good evening, Rislon.”

“How are you?”

“Good, you?”

“Good.” Rislon raises an eyebrow. “Are you going to come down now?”

Wanderer shakes his head. “I’m good here, I think.”

Rislon sets the papers to the side and stands. He reaches up and grabs a branch, and swings himself up into the tree, to face Wanderer.

“I think we need to talk, Wanderer.”

“Sure.”

“Margrae likes you. Trusts you, even. Stella too,” he says, “But my loyalty will lie with my King. Understand?”

Wanderer nods.

“Good. Eavesdropping is quite rude, you know.”

He holds up his hands. “I know! I’m sorry, I was napping, and woke up while you were talking, I didn’t want to-”

“It won’t happen again?”

“Nope.”

“Good. Good evening, Wanderer.” He jumps off the branch, picks up his stack of papers, and leaves.

As he does, he hears a faint “Evening,” behind him. And a very quiet “...Shit.”