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This experience has not been quite what the Wendimoor prince would have imagined for himself when he left the Valley of Inglenook to find Dirk Gently, the man who would fulfill the prophecy and save his world. Being imprisoned, for starters, is not an ideal place to be, albeit things have relaxed since Dirk and his compatriots realized his place in all of this. From the confusion and yelling that he’s had no choice but to overhear in the police station, it seems as if nobody has any clue what is going on. Considering the Kellum Knights are invading the Valley with every minute and the civil war between his family and the Dengdamor’s could erupt due to Farson’s disappearance, he is on a fairly tight schedule as is. While talking with the fair Bartine has been a true comfort in these trying days, the fact that the man on whom all Wendimoor’s hopes rely is in a fragile state of mind and getting enchanted by beginner-level peace spells, he doesn’t have much hope. According to their discussion earlier, the Mage has also left Wendimoor, meaning the Valley is as good as gone. He knows he cannot stand idle and must act soon, which is why despite the lack of the boy he is returning home with Bartine in tow.
The fair maiden follows him like a lost sheep-puppy, albeit not covered in wool and barking as it grazes, with a mysterious weapon in hand and a cowboy hat atop her head. Her headwear is an almost comforting reminder of the farmlands he left in this strange world with its tiny moon and lack of vine-grown burgers. While ranching is apparently different between worlds from what he’s seen on his way back to the mysterious manor, her hat will at least indicate to his family that she is the sort who respects the sanctity of the land like them. The last thing he needs is for her to be seen as a Dengdamor spy and he, her hostage, for that would turn bloody quickly and the only blood that needs be spilt is that of the Mage’s men.
Upon seeing how serious he must look, Bart pulls at the sleeve of the earthen garb that they acquired for him. “We are free from the cell, I thought you’d be more talkative and stuff. I mean, it’s kind of boring to travel in quiet.” She nudges him slightly as her messy hair falls in front of her face, a small smile peeking out behind.
“Me and Ken, you know, we used to sing songs on the radio, but we don’t got one of those,” she says with her face going through a full range of emotions as she speaks, moving from nostalgia to frustration to curiosity in the blink of an eye. She was a fair creature to behold whose childlike wonder reminded him of the Bofuki Nepoo whom she might enjoy the company of upon saving the valley. “Wait, do you know any songs?”
“Probably not of your world, Bartine. Besides, Litzi always tells me I sound like a dodo when I try,” Panto says, shaking his head with a small smile on his face. “I think Silas could regale us once we find him in the Valley, he has always sounded prettier than those birds of his.”
Bart beams up at him, “Is he gonna sing songs at your wedding? I heard people do that sort of thing or something”
“Wedding?” he asks, completely taken aback by her blunt questioning. Of course, a wedding is what he and Silas have always wanted but it’s never been more than that. A want. A dream. A need . It’s not like their warring families would ever rescind their claims or give up their pride. The Trosts and the Dengdamors are always too different for anything concrete ever to be as if their fate was written in the stars by an unseen god. It seems as history made it so that the Trosts would always be an agrarian people dedicated to preserving the land and the Dengdamors would always be an industrial people dedicated to destroying it. There is little room for grey area in their ever-increasing black-and-white color-filled world, so he and Silas have taken what little luxuries and pleasures they can amidst the destruction. In the fae tales, the prince would get the boy and bring about a gloomless peace between their two peoples, but his life never has been a tale of the fairy folk.
Panto shakes his head at Bart with the tinge of disappointment spread across his features, “I think you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself, my dear.”
“You loved each other since you were kids and that’s what the shows in between the shows on the stupid rectangle said people with boyfriends do though,” Bart says, looking completely confused with him as if all she’s learned from whatever magical device has betrayed her as well. He wishes he could think of things in such simple absolutes as she does, unaccosted by the multitudes of reasons it isn’t that simple.
“I’m afraid things aren’t as simple as the rectangle has divined to you,” Panto says, giving her a gentle squeeze on her shoulder as he would to the youngest denizens of his domain when they struggled with the blade or coming to terms with the passing of one of their sheep-pups.
“Why not?” Bart asks petulantly as if the answer is indeed that simple.
Panto let out a sigh as he fidgets with the handle of the blade at his side, “Silas’ mother doesn’t approve of me. She—”
“You want me to kill her for you?” Bart interjects with an air of nonchalance about the endeavor that doesn’t exactly fit the proposed question. It’s not as if he hasn’t thought about it, not killing Frija, of course, but how much easier things would be once she was not there to stop them. He knows his father wouldn’t exactly be accommodating, but Litzi would fight tooth and nail for him should it make him happy. Farson, wherever the boy is, is not strong enough to do so for Silas and Silas certainly isn’t going to stand up for himself.
Panto loves his partner dearly, but Silas becomes putty the second his mother’s stern gaze falls upon him. Baron Lord Dengdamor had been a good man before he died in a mining incident which his people say was orchestrated by the Kellum Knights. The border peoples saw the Mage’s men but, as always, the Trosts were blamed as upstarts in the Valley who wished to punish the Dengdamors for disrespecting the land. The scandal had set the Frija further down the warpath with his people and neither Wygar nor Silas can derail her. The woman just cannot be reasoned with, but he cannot exactly sic Bart on Silas’ mother even if she did deserve it for the undo pressure she places upon her son.
He’ll never forgive Frija for the tests she placed upon Silas so he could prove himself worthy as the Dengdamor Baron Prince. She had ordered Silas to participate in a raid where he was to bring back the head of a Trost as a trophy. Silas, Maker love him, couldn’t do it. He’s pitiful with scissors and wouldn’t harm a fly, but if he didn’t he was to be disinherited and dishonored. Last Dengdamor was well aware she had an heir and a spare, so if the heir didn’t work out so be it. And that was only the first test.
They had found a workaround one evening when he and Silas were rendezvousing and a patrol of Kellum Knights attacked. He and Wygar made quick work of them and dyed one of the deceased’s hair pink. Silas’ mother was none the wiser. Still, it doesn’t excuse the turmoil that these little tasks put on Silas who is a lover, not a fighter. But it’s not as if Silas could ever tell her that, especially that his beloved is a Trost.
When Panto doesn’t respond to Bart’s inquiry and just looks at her confounded as the thoughts of the foul noble fill his head. Bart hurriedly continues, “I’m trying not to do that whole deal but—”
Upon gazing at the fair lady, Panto notices the discomfort on her face. Surely, he cannot let her think he’s disappointed in her for professing a willingness to kill? He knows she is trying to take control of her life once more, hence their little adventure, but she does not need to share in his brooding or mistake it as a slight against herself.
“I appreciate your offer, Bartine, but I fear it would only prolong the feud between our families,” he says, offering her another sad smile. When her face contorts into a small-mouthed ‘Oh’ with a nod, Panto is glad she’s taken his meaning.
“Why doesn’t she just leave you alone and stuff? These stupids shouldn’t stop you from being together.” Or so he thought. As much as it would delight him to not regale his entire family history at the moment, he has already fallen into that mental place and as Bart said, traveling only to the sounds of one’s footsteps and the wind is quite boring. She has been a good friend to him here and deserves to know the truth of it, should it make her happy. Bart has a similar fire that he always saw in Litzi’s eyes when she was a young girl and does the same line of stubborn questioning that got him to reveal his relationship with Silas to her.
“I’m afraid to say that unless my family gives up our land and bypasses our sacred duty to defend it, there is no stopping her,” Panto remarks solemnly, brushing his hand against the tall grass that surrounds them as they traipse to the farmhouse with the portal home.
Perhaps things would have been different if his father stood down and tried to compromise with Lady Dengdamor. But no, father had to impose trade sanctions on the Dengdamor lands. It forced the industrial people to only rely on their own agricultural supply, as opposed to Trost imports, so the border raids began. While the grain they sacked was replaceable, the lives were not. A lot of good people have perished in the border skirmishes. And that was merely the beginning of the ludicrous war between their peoples. There Valley of Inglenook is the only last remaining stronghold in Wendimoot against the mage and they are at war over land that will be conquered shortly by the third-party instigating it.
Bart lets out a small snort and nudges Panto with her elbow, “She sounds like an asshole.”
Unable to choke it back, Panto lets out one of the heartiest laughs he’s had in a long while. Bart laughs wildly at him as the two erupt in a fit of giggles and need to put their quest on hold for a moment. Bless Bart and her lack of propriety.
Through a laugh, Panto beams at Bart, “Well, yes. I suppose she is.”
Bart claps at the admittance and beams back at him, “Yes! You’re doing the smiling again.”
"All thanks to you Bartine,” he says as he affectionately ruffles the cowboy hat she has on as he does with Litzi. If nothing else his trip to this bizarre world has at least brought him one of his dearest friends.
“I mean, I was just talking,” she says with a shrug. Bart hikes up the chainsaw in her arms so she can better carry it and gives him a toothy smile. “We should get to Wendimoor. We gotta be in time for the happily ever after.”
Panto couldn’t agree more. Even if the prophecy is false, Fate and Chance are not mutually exclusive. And alongside them exist Free Will. The forest witch had taught him that and it is time to put it to the rest. He wants, nay deserves a happily ever after, and by the boogles is he going to get one.