Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"Aww, look at that!"

Somewhat reluctantly, Millara looked in pointed direction.

She frowned, seeing nothing out of the usual - an infinitely long row of shopping stalls with their marquees striped blue-white and red-white flapping in the slight breeze,the flurry of colours in a stark contrast with darker granite city walls. The narrow alleyway was alive with raised voices of vendors and customers alike, words being shouted in a dozens of languages from all over the continent. People milled among the stalls, coming in and out the brightly painted door, the wind carrying mouth-watering scent of freshly baked cinnamon rolls, sweet date-stuffed bisquits, honeyed creamy cheese and fig tartlets, fluffy macaroons served with maple sirup and whipped cream and candied violet petals on the top, and-

Millara sniffed delicately at the air.

She knew what she wanted - a Maztican chocolate and cherry gateau with whiskey-flavoured buttercream and a caramelized hazelnut praline.

"Millie!"

Suddenly concerned, she gazed down at her waist, then shrugged. There was nothing to worry about. Mrs. Cragmoon's mixtures were the best possible quality. The old hedgewitch instructed her she could do whatever she felt like doing without getting in troubles - as long as she remembered to drink her tea right afterwards, did she not?

The half-elf already decided - she licked her lips as she caught the baker's apprentice's eye, and smiled a coy little smile.

The boy blinked, glanced around, and realising she was indeed looking at him, promptly turned the rich colour of a cooked crayfish.

"Err... Can I be helpin ye, missy? Anythin' to please."

"Mhm. Why, yes." - Millara sighed, running fingers through her curls - "Perhaps-"

A hand came down to land heavily at the back of her head. The half-elf swore.

"What?"

"Ilmater be patient... There! There, ya orc-witted eejit!" - Imoen huffed, then cheered up, bouncing in anticipation - "Look! Betcha we missed this one so far, no?"

Helped eagerly by the other girl, Millara spun around, both the gaping baker's boy and the Maztican chocolate and cherry gateau with whiskey-flavored buttercream and a caramelized hazelnut praline already forgotten, this time really noticing.

"Cute, isn't it?"

The shop's exterior was painted in a kind of faded, washed-out blue that held a reminder of old, lazy days spend on the sea shore. She couldn't read letters on the notice board - elegantly curved, the script was foreign. The crushed velvet, beaded curtain was parted ever so slightly, as in an invitation.

Millara cocked her head; she was pretty much sure that the little shop wasn't there just yesterday.

"Let's go inside!" - Imoen hopped up and down, tugging at her elbow - "C'mon! Just for a quick peek. Hey, just think, Millie, maybe they have the..."

The half-elf hesitated, her amber eyes narrowing as she looked up to the sun. It was mid-day already and-

"Millie, are ya listening to me at all?"

"Yes, but Renal-"

"He's late, so can wait, right?"

"I'm not sure if-"

"Millara!"

"Imoen, I still-"

"Oh, can you believe it, now? Look who's there! Isn't that your knight-boy?"

"Which knight do you-"

She broke off abruptly as soon as she, too, spotted the familiar figure; tall, bearded and clad in immaculately polished steel from head to toe. He didn't seem to notice them so far, busy with throwing withering looks at whoever happened to stumble his way.

Once upon a time, Millara might have liked Anomen. She admired his strong arms and muscular frame, but then, he was so boring sometimes. He compared her to his sister, insisting on holding her hand - hand, for gods' sake - and he talked way too much. Funny things, mostly - flowers and dresses and music. He'd even took her to the theatre in the Bridge District some other day.

All the while he blathered on, and the half-elf listened. Ever so patiently - and even though he never seemed to listen when she tried to say something, anything.

Truth to be told, she had quite a hard time resisting the temptation of putting some of the ghost root and wartweed concoction into his ale. It took her a good while to figure him out.

When she finally did, she'd felt disappointed, if a little sorry.

Of course.

All these countless monologues about art and fashion, and how Anomen stammered and jerked as if bitten by a gnat, shying away from her touch - and she had only tried to-

How could she not notice the obvious for so long?

"Hey, let's ask him to go with us, shall we? The more, the merrier!"

"We should give him his space, Immy. He's not into-"

"Aww, don't be like that! There, Ano-"

Millara moved and grabbed her sister's arm - at which Imoen said 'ouch!', much too loud - then hastily, she pulled the curtain and they stepped into the shop.

Chapter Text

Anomen has never liked Imoen.

The brazen, sticky-fingered little wench.

It was all her fault.

He recognised her voice straight away - irritating, too chirpy and loud as it rose over the market's usual noise. Anomen's teeth gnashed, but he allowed himself to relax almost that instant; the angry crease furrowing his brow momentarily disappeared, replaced by the expression of an utter adoration.

The other voice that reached his abused ears was the music he needed to hear; he was even willing to generously overlook the fact that it sounded nearly just as chirping-merry, almost as annoyingly girly, and-

But of course, Millara was different to her sister - as much as good wine was different to a cheap taplash, sunshine to a tallow candle's flame and the Silverale Hall to the Copper Coronet.

She was a perfect, proper lady in an every inch - as much as her wretched excuse of a sister was not. Anomen was sure of it, even if she still needed a little... smoothing over at the edges; someone who would guide her through and into the world.

His smile widened at the thought.

Yes, she was like an unpolished diamond - beautiful, if raw. And he will be the one to turn her into precious, shining jewel that any man could be proud of.

First, though, he would have to get rid of Imoen.

The evil, giggling, pink-haired fiend.

Truth to be told, Anomen couldn't neither quite understand nor approve Millara's odd taste in fashion. Not that he, being the gentleman striving to win the lady's favour ever had the audacity to say so - she was an angel unaware, in her youthful innocence clearly incapable of comprehending what the scandalously tight-fitting leathers - the very ones that she seemed to be so fond of - done to ruffians in the streets, what kind of outraging, sinful thoughts-

The Helmite shook his head, silently refusing to admit what does Millara clad in her slinky gear made him think of.

His jaw set tighter just as another too bright, excitement-oozing exclamation reached his ears. There she was - Imoen, the smug snake; the hag who undoubtly crawled from the Ninth Hell's very deepest corner.

These things she was saying; they made his blood boil.

"Aww, c'mon Millie! Let's just take a lil' sneaky peek at what they've got! Ya know, we'll just pop in and pop out. I promised to get ya a silk ribbon the other day, remember, eh?"

"Well, maybe..."

Millara visibly hesitated, running fingers through her silvery curls, fighting the temptation.

Anomen just knew it.

He smiled again, grimly this time. The day of reckoning would come; the justice would be brought upon the foulness; the light would triumph over the darkness and the chattering, tongue-sticking witch will be sorry she had ever crossed his way.

It was all Imoen's fault. She was the bad influence over her poor, sweet sister. Millara was simply far too forgiving, too indulgent towards her 'kin'. She did not realise that some ties were meant to be severed - the sooner the better - or what keeping such a dubious, morally lax company could lead to.

Anomen felt it lied in his duty, both as a knight of the Order and a man, to protect her.

These nasty rumours he had heard about Millara - that she was an assassin - just as if such a gentle person ever as much as swatted a fly. Or that she had run a thieves' den here in the docks of Athkatla - he was positive the only thing his lady ever stole was his own heart, but this was entirely unavoidable - or, worse still, a distillery that produced the famous, patented dwarven spirit, all without the proper licence.

Not to mention this one particular gossip that angered him the most. So much that he felt like striking the first hooded fellow who would have the misfortune of walking past him. He did not meet any - the cowardly rogues hid too well - so he kicked the stray dog that dared to come too close to his boot instead.

Sadly, it did nothing to calm the inner storm that brewed within his soul.

People were so mean, so petty and jealous - the dirty hogs. How far and high they would go to bring such a loveliness down, straight into the gutter they paddled in.

Morosely, he shook his head.

To say that Millara dallied with the Shadow Thieves - with a bunch of criminals, of all the people.

Imoen, clearly envious, laughed raucously while teasing Millara about her prowess - as he understood, with both a flute and fiddle. How could this possibly be, he asked himself - as if the modest, delicate flower of a girl who only ever so quietly chided the spoiled brat when she have bragged about her skilled fingers would let any of these bandits-

The gossip was very, very detailed indeed - an obvious case of sour grapes. He listened intently to every word - it was his duty; the images that filled his mind, they were to fuel his righteous fury.

But of course, Anomen knew her much better than to believe the slanderers. She was pure and innocent - a maiden so fair, both in body and soul. Her reaction - the rosy flush that blossomed on her cheeks; the breathy sigh escaping her lips when he have mentioned their 'leader', the filthy wretch known as Renal Bloodscalp; the flutter of lashes when her eyes took on that far-away look - it all but exceeded his expectations.

Millara knew about it; she was just too proud and noble to let the spiteful tattle affect her.

Her sister was quite a different story indeed. The rotten rat, that what Imoen was - full of maggots, but coated in sugar and pretending to be a candy.

Anomen was about to move when a slender, dark-clothed man appeared out of the thin air and forcefully stumbled onto him.

"Lliira's antics, ouch!"

The man groaned, raising both hands to his face. His hair was a short, messy undercut and a very unusual shade - an indigo.

"Mind your step, oaf." - Anomen said with scorn, checking if the stranger's head didn't leave dents in his brastplate. The man's eyes, green like a cat's, widened - and for a split second, the Helmite thought he saw his mouth curl up in a peculiar smirk.

He could not be sure, though; the fellow wobbled on his feet yet again, falling on the nearest marketstall's wall. Striped calico screen gave up at once - there was a sound of fabric being torn, followed by a bang, a muffled yelp and a stream of the most creative curses the Helmite heard in a long time, shouted at the very top of someone's - female and deep - voice.

Anomen shook his head, allowing disdain show on his face before he turned away. It was nothing of his concern; let the city guards deal with the drunken pig. He had far more important tasks waiting at hand.

Imoen, the pig-tailed, folly-fallen cutpurse. The bane of all things good and fair.

He will put an end to this. Pull the weed.

Today was the day, he decided sternly, watching both girls as they disappeared in the blue-painted building.

Chapter Text

Shrugging off the strange fleeting impression - that of a wave of vertigo washing over her, the half-elf found herself in a dimly lit room.

She heard Imoen gasp as she let go of her hand.

It was stuffy and warm inside, almost too warm.

She noticed several low tables and baskets full of wares - mismatched porcelain painted with flowers, scrolls in a tooled leather tubes, throws woven from bright silk scraps, dainty lace doilies, charming disarray of other things which purpose she couldn't guess - metalwork and near-translucent shell; bone, horn and smooth glass. There were animal hides; an outlandish sculptures carved in a bleached wood, and ones made of stone and red clay; long rows of weapons hanging from pegs on the ochre-painted wall, some of the blades new and gleaming, some jagged and rusty with age, some simple, some ornate.

The air was thick with scent of dusty old books, brass polish and incense smoke.

"See anythin' to yer liking?"

The half-elf looked down and blinked in surprise.

"Oh, hello."

A tiny old lady stood right in a front of her, smiling.

Chapter Text

Beshaba's bad breath .

Bells in the Temple District rung announcing the noon, and still nothing - sadly, absolutely nothing - suggested that the Lady Doom, who so obviously followed him from the very moment he had opened his eyes, grew bored and decided to go torment someone else.

It begun inconspicuously enough; Renal's shaving blade slipped, leaving behind a stinging cut right below his ear. A mild annoyance that could have happened to anyone, anytime, had the blade remained in his hand and not fallen into the basin - which overturned when he reached to retrieve it, a torrent of soapy water flooding his desk and thoroughly soaking a stack of very important correspondence that happened to be lying just there.

His tunic's edge caught on the chair's armrest as he sprung to the rescue, making him stumble, his elbows painfully connecting with the desk's slippery surface. Pile of now drenched parchment landed on the floor with an accusatory plop, the sound joined immediately by a clatter, bang and a crash as several grooming tools, the empty basin and a mirror followed suit.

The mirror cracked. But of course it has.

Having decided the world won't necessarily end if he went about his business unshaven for another day, Renal disposed of its remains, trying to avoid looking directly into its cracked surface.

Alas, as it seemed, the damage was already done.

"One for mishap, two for joy;

Three for silver, pearl and coin..."

If he'd only listened to the voice of reason and greeted the bloody magpie - why it had to be just one magpie to land on his windowsill? - before the unmuzzled cur Bayle bolted into the room, cooing some nonsense and startling it. If he'd chosen not to ignore the blasted black cat that crossed the road right when he stepped out of the guildhouse, and only because he thought it had some lighter-coloured fur about its nose.

Much to Renal's chagrin, the white spot quickly disappeared, turning out to be reminder of a cream feast the cat apparently held at someone's pantry. Smug bastard licked it off, safe on the tenement's rooftop, staring at him with innocent golden eyes, and then-

Then, it got worse.

Not a minute later, as the master-thief walked toward the marketplace, cursing and tripping every few steps - to be sure, he really couldn't remember the last time he'd tripped over anything - an unexpected, steady stream of a chamberpot's content being flushed came from above. It missed him by inches, unsurprisingly causing much merriment in the crowd that gathered on the city square. A sympathetic fishwife in blood-stained apron patted his back, nearly skewering him with her knife by accident. Riled and fuming, Renal curtly excused the woman, stumbled on the narrow plank behind the butcher's stall and fell straight into the gutter.

A band of street urchins flocked around him, gawking in the likeness of a baby birds when he stopped by a fountain, in attempt to wash the grime off his hands.

After a short debate, the group's leader - dressed in far too big, frayed coat boy of maybe ten - stepped forward, chewing on his lip. He bowed with respect and held out something.

"May'aps ye be wantin' t' use some o' me suds, good sir?"

"A pearl to you. This I would gladly, indeed."

"Shiny! Them be a silver apiece. A bargain 'specially fer ye."

"What? A silver for a bit of soap?"

The boy gave him cheeky grin, his hazel eyes sparkling with mischief. Renal frowned, thinking his features vaguely familiar. But where in the Nine had he seen him..?

"Yawp, that's what I been sayin'. Only, 'tis be two silvers now."

"Two! My, but you really are a kobold, dear laddie."

"Well, sir; tain't I that need'em, aye?"

"True enough."

"Ah, shiny! Then ye pay us three silvers altogether, and we're square."

Grumbling under his breath, Renal fished coins out of his purse. The boy's smile grew bigger, revealing uneven teeth and pinky gums as he shoved a lump of a sticky greyish substance into his palm. Children milled around the fountain as he washed; chirping excitedly, jostling him and each other. Long before Renal had realised the reason behind the group's sudden, rushed departure, he lacked several of his best lockpicks, most of the money and a handkerchief.

It was just too much.

The master-thief sincerely hoped that the kids would never, ever learn the true identity of the hapless cull they have robbed today.

Oh, how they would laugh.

He tried to hide in the shadows, but failed - miserably so, and a three times in a row. The potion of invisibility that miraculously remained strapped to his belt turned out to be long past its use-by date. When he decided to drink it anyway, it left him with an unpleasant, vinegary taste in the mouth and a rather eye-catching blue tint to his hair.

Renal sighed, eyeing the lines of shopping stalls stretching on both of his sides, their striped marquees flapping in the wind. The alleyway was spiked with hidden traps.

Sure as gold, he was going to be late.

A sparrow flew by, leaving a whitish splash mark on his new calf-skin jacket's right sleeve.

Chapter Text

"Welcome to me place, daughter." - the shopkeeper said cordially - "Welcome! Feel free to look 'round. I be havin' a big choice today. Sure enough, a lovely one like yeh's gonna find a thingie or two, an' me prices have no match, I tells yeh! A ring perhaps? Or maybe a necklace?"

"Thank you." - Millara nodded -"What is this place? I don't really think-"

"Oh, it's gotta lot o' names, young 'un." - the woman chuckled, her irises the unsettling purple of foxglove's petals and shining like a bird's - "They call it 'Faery Faire' in the lands of the middle, and 'Bazaar of the Bizarre' in far east where all the rivers have their source, and 'Curiosity' in the realms below and beyond. 'Round here, I believe it to be known as-"

Her forehead, already wrinkled like a dried apricot, scrunched some more.

Millara nodded again, waiting as the shopkeeper thoughtfully scratched the wart on her nose. To be honest, she wasn't sure whatever she understood.

"Ah, an' looka, I canna' remember at all what yer folk used to be callin' it." - the woman sighed - "Twas' a good long time since I last visited."

"I see. In that case, could you-"

"Oy, that's mine!" - Imoen screamed, unexpectedly and angrily - "I was first, ya lout!"

"Excuse me, ma'am."

Alarmed, the half-elf whirled like a Calishyte harem dancer, a long dagger already in her hand.

They weren't the only customers; she'd only noticed a young man in foreign plate armour and a dappled grey horse munching oats by the back door. She cocked her head, deciding the knight was quite handsome - tall, sandy hair, dark eyes. It left her with short to no time to wonder how such a large animal as his steed fit in such a cramped space, or how come it was allowed inside in a first place when Imoen screeched again, her arms curled protectively around something - a massive, lavishly ornated golden chalice.

"No bloody way!" - she pointed her finger at the knight - "Millie, tell him!"

"Impigh mé leat éisteacht le mo ghuí, spéirbhean álainn. Tá mé ridire Galahad an Tábla Bhabhta-"

He had a low, pleasant voice.

"Millara, do something!"

"An miste leat labhairt níos moille?" - the knight spoke, bowing his head - "Ní thuigim."

"Helm's eye, are ya deaf? You're not getting it, the end!"

Millara crossed the chequered floor, swaying her hips. She stopped by the mirror that hung in the corner. The knight's reflection looked up to her, his brown eyes widening.

"Imoen dear." - she purred with a sultry smile, slowly winding one silvery curl around her finger, watching the knight watching her - "Don't be so stubborn. You don't need it."

"Now, no steel flashin' in 'ere if yeh please, daughter." - the woman waved her finger at Millara - "Tis' a proper place."

The half-elf frowned and sheathed her dagger. The knight seemed to relax at that, his gaze instantly flicking back to Imoen.

She felt her lips pucker in indignity.

"I know, but I was first to see it and I like it." - Imoen replied finally, sulking and cradling the chalice closer to her chest - "He can take something else instead. Look at the egg in there. It's got nice rubies in it."

"Tis' be a dragon egg." - the shopkeeper said, leaning from over the counter - "Me word on tha', a genuine 'un."

"An bhfuil Gaeilge agat?" - hopeful, the knight looked at her - "Is féidir leat cabhrú liom?"

"Aye, laddie, I can. Need to find me scroll first, it must be lying 'round somewhere. Give us a minute."

With rather a moderate interest, the half-elf watched the old woman dig in one of the baskets, then gleefully produce a bit of a yellowed paper, the knight at her side making some loud comments in his language as she unrolled it.

"Now, now." - the shopkeeper berated him - "Twill' take a moment to work. Yeh could sure use a little patience, me young son."

"Go deimhin. Mé leithscéal a ghabháil."

"Nary a need. Focus."

Imoen huffed.

"See? He can't even speak properly!"

"Hush now, Immy. He's a foreigner, maybe from Sembia or something."

"Bah." - Imoen snorted - "Pray tell, Millie, do ya think it's a real dragon's egg?"

"Like it, eh?" - the woman called - "Can be yers, fox-cub, fer a mere half th' price. Only today!"

The half-elf noticed the knight's eyes widen a little more at that; she stepped out quickly, taking the egg in both of her hands. It was warm, its surface rough under her fingers. There was a barely visible, vertical line dividing it in half - but then, gems that adorned it looked genuine, sparkling even in a dim light, the biggest of them the size of walnut.

"Well, I'm not sure. It's broken down in the middle." - she remarked - "What was your price, then?"

"I might be givin' it away free wit' another item." - the shopkeeper winked at her -"Tis a true good deal, 'specially fer yeh, young ladywolfe."

Thud!

From under lowered lashes, Millara looked down at the knight.

He was kneeling on the floor right before her.

She tilted her head to the side, waiting, not too sure what exactly should she do with the fact. Sure enough, this wasn't something she was familiar with.

Still, it was quite intriguing.

Never letting go of her catch, Imoen rushed to help.

"Oh my! Are ya alright?"

"Yes. Yes, I am. My lucky star, the White Wolf... Lady." - the knight smiled, looking up, dazed - "And the Fox-Cub of Falling Leaves. The chalice. Here, in this strange place, I found thee. The kingdom shall be saved."

"White Wolf-Lady? I think I like it."

"What did ya call me? Fox-Cub of what?"

"Aww, will yeh listen to tha'." - the old woman crowed - "I've been always fond of them happy endings th' most, I tells yer lot, I do."

Millara looked questioningly at the armoured man, then at the beaming shopkeeper, then at Imoen.

Her sister shrugged.

Obviously, she didn't have the slightest idea, either.

Chapter Text

Having decided, Anomen crossed the street and pulled away the beaded curtain that obscured the entrance to the shop.

Whooosh.

The chequered floor seemed to sag a little as he stepped in, but the Helmite knew no fear; he ignored it. Inside, the building was dimly lit and empty, save for several baskets loaded to the brim with foreign wares and a little old lady, seated in a rocking chair behind the counter.

She smoked an odd-looking pipe.

Anomen looked around for a split second, picking up a saffron-coloured scarf. He examined it for another short while, just to keep the pretence.

"Pardon me, my good woman." - he turned to the shopkeeper - "But perhaps have you seen two girls, who-"

"Aye." - she interrupted, nodding - "Young 'uns, the white she-wolf an' the fox-cub. But yeh came too late. They've just crossed the bridge wit' the other knight-lad, them silly things! Off they've gone, an' nobbut-"

"You mean, they left with someone else of the Order..?"

"Hah! Worse! Went through the lookin'-glass, they did!"

She thrown her head back and laughed noisily.

Anomen just stared. He already didn't like neither the obviously mad crone nor the scent of smoke that hung in the air, heavy and bitter-sweet.

"I see. Which way is that?"

"Won't yeh buy an odd bauble or two, son? I got to earn me livin', yeh see."

The Helmite sighed impatiently, reaching for coin-pouch.

His teeth ground loudly.

It was filled with tiny crystals of salt and breadcrumbs. The woman resumed smoking, looking just a little bit too smug. He felt his fists clench at his sides as he dropped the pouch onto the floor.

Imoen.

It must have been her, the sneaky guttershite.

The shopkeeper fixed him with a glare.

"Oy! 'Tis be a proper establishment." - she squealed - "Keep them rubbish in yer pockets, if yeh please."

"I have no coin to my name, you surely can see." - the Helmite said dryly, not bothering to retrieve it - "Why won't you just show me which way they went?"

"Oh? An' where's me business in tha'?"

"I promise I will be back tomorrow and then buy something from you. Where are they?"

"Fine, laddie. Here, listen. Yeh gotta take the second star to the right first, an' then keep straight, well until dawn..."

Anomen stiffled a curse. She gave him huge, toothless grin.

"What about doin' an old woman a favour an' I will give yeh a guide? - she asked - "One to lead yeh beyond the bridge?"

"I don't need a guide."

"Aye, the lot of youse been sayin' tha' an' wasted away." - she nodded patronisingly - "Yeh gonna need more than them shiny scraps that cover yer arse to travel there and back. So, what says yeh? He's the Beast-Guardian of the Turreted Castle. Yeh be safe an' sound wit' him, yeh will."

The Helmite thought about it; he had never heard about this guardian, but the name had a certain ring to it. The crone was right, he realised. If he was to save Millara from the evil clutches of her sibling, he surely would use help. He would not have to mention it later, if some rhyme-monger happened to ask about his doings on the great quest.

"What kind of favour?"

The shopkeeper slowly regarded him up and down, her bleached-blue eyes twinkling merrily.

Anomen did not like it at all.

"Well, 'tis nothin' yeh won't manage." - she said thoughtfully, picking at the wart that adorned her crooked nose - "Yeh sure is grand, hale chunk of a man, ain't yeh?"

Chapter Text

"So, how far is it from Athkatla, this Camelot place of yours?"

"There is-"

"Tell me, is the castle big?"

"Its towers reach as high as-"

"Oh! Do you have dragons there, too?"

"We-"

"Ohh my, what a day! And the queen, is she very beautiful?"

"The fair bhanríon Guinevere-"

"Is she much prettier than I?" - Millara asked pleasantly, leaning from the saddle; her voice low, her eyes narrowning just a little bit.

As it happened, it was enough for the knight to notice. He grunted, steadying the horse with a gloved hand.

"In virtue and goodness of the heart, she has no match in the whole kingdom." - he replied diplomatically - "She is wise and well loved by the folk."

"Yes, but does she has bigger-"

"Millie!"

The half-elf pouted and raised her hand, adjusting the peacock-blue ribbon wound loosely in her pale hair.

Imoen rolled her eyes.

Millara was so funny, sometimes. If a tad annoying.

And silly.

"Imoen, I have a bad feelings about this journey."

"Aw, c'mon, it's gonna be great! Remember, how we always wanted to visit all these lands far, far away?"

"Yes, but it didn't include the saving part."

"You're such a kill-joy." - Imoen rolled her eyes - "Look at the bright side, we'll get to see a king!"

"So what? Our old man was a bloody god." - Millara pointed dryly.

"But think, Millie. The king is sure awfuly rich." - she mused - "Maybe he would want a second wife to dress in minks and diamonds. Or a concubine."

The half-elf fell silent.

Imoen nodded to herself.

Yeah, this was it. Mostly silly.

She watched her sister as she straightened - despite the fact she already sat as if she'd swallowed an oaken broomstick - then fanned herself, complaining about the unbearable heat - for a third or fourth time in the last hour, no less - and with a loud sigh of relief, unclasped yet another of the fastenings that held her gear together.

Looking rather concerned, the knight asked whatever she felt like fainting and offered her his wine flask. As it was to be expected, the half-elf agreed with a smile, promptly spilling half of the content down her front.

"Would you please help me wipe it?" - she asked the knight, innocently batting her lashes.

Imoen leaned over and poked her in the ribs. Millara hissed in response, uttering something that was altogether very unlady-like.

Imoen sighed.

The knight who introduced himself as sir Galahad of the Round Table was a nice, if a little strange fellow. He talked in a funny way, interjecting words in his native language, his accent slipping every now and then. He had mentioned some prophecy, but remained oddly cryptic when she asked him what precisely does it said.

At least, judging from the slight flush on his face and how he avoided looking directly at Millara, he seemed bright enough to be aware of the half-elf's show on the road.

It was quite a refreshing change from the Anomen's company. Imoen pitied the knight of the Order, somehow. She didn't mind him trailing behind them and even tried to help him, at various ocassions mentioning that her sister wasn't exactly interested in flowers - but of course, he was stubborn like a mule and never listened to the good advice, insisting on bringing more and more and more of the white roses that only made them both sneeze.

Galahad let them ride on his battle horse, a grey mare he called Fomhaír. He paid for the chalice and the gem-encrusted dragon egg, and gracefully offered to buy several others items they have dumped on him. Imoen touched lovingly the soft suede tubes encasing scrolls of her choice, and then, an engraved golden ring suspended from a fine chain that encircled her neck.

She liked the way it felt under her fingertips and the pretty pictures that flickered through her mind when she rubbed it, reminding her of blazing bonfires they held on Shieldmeet back home. Already she made a small discovery - the ring made her invisible when worn on finger, much like the one she owned before. It was too big, though, and anyway, she didn't like the idea of everybody seeing it.

Millara obviously fancied the ring herself, and Imoen knew her sister well enough to know it wasn't beneath her to pinch it.

Ruefully, she slipped the chain under her tunic's collar.

She would wear her old lucky charm displayed instead, she decided, pulling out the leather cord with a bit of a white fur tied to it. It was ever so sweet of Alora to give it to her as a farawell gift. Come days like today, Imoen had sorely missed the halfling girl's company.

They were moving slowly; Galahad holding the horse's reins and whistling a melody she didn't recognise, Millara dozing off and snoring, Fomhaír's hooves clattering on the cobblestones as they passed by gently sloping green hills and fields of ripening wheat and rye, and darker walls of the woods, the sky overhead a clear summery blue. Not a single cloud marred its vast expanse.

The air was very still, undisturbed by a breeze.

It was quiet.

Too quiet, Imoen thought. Disconcertingly so.

Chapter Text

The Helmite felt humiliated.

The fiendish crone, she has used him in the most vile of ways.

He took a deep, calming breath, slowly counting to ten - his honour as the knight of the Order suffered. Worse still, Anomen felt as if his manliness has been kicked in the gut, trampled, spat on and starched for everyone to see.

Dismayed, he looked down at his hands. These very hands that-

It did not mattered, the Helmite told himself. He was but a humble servant of justice - and this, this was nothing more than yet another trial on the path towards perfection. To the greater good. Even as difficult as it was. He won't mention the price for old woman's help to no one - he would carry this burden alone.

The tight line of his lips slowly relaxed.

Everything was the way it should be. Rescuing the distressed damsel, held prisoner by her uglier, dirty-minded kin's whims and schemes - this was far more important than the misplaced pride.

There was no place for shame. Millara was worth it. In this he did not dared to doubt, not for a split second.

She was worthy of him.

"Mayhap yeh be wantin' some healin' salve, son? Yeh must be a wee bit sore."

"No, thank you." - he replied cooly, trying not to think about what seemed to be a dozens and dozens of the laundry baskets that smelled of lavender and orris root; his back ached wickedly; washing and starching some hundred linen grannie nightgowns did terrible things to his hands, but he refused to admit it -"I would rather you kept to your part of the deal. The sooner I leave, the better."

"Ah, aye." - the shopkeeper nodded - "Gather yer shinies and follow me, will yeh?"

Sighing in relief, Anomen took out the frilly apron and threw it on the floor; the woman gave him disapproving glare, but he ignored it.

His hellish trial was over. No orders restrained him now.

The crone watched him curiously as he pulled back his armour, then shown him to the mirror that on a closer inspection turned out to be the door.

They did not seem to lead nowhere in particular.

"Are you sure this is indeed the fastest way?"

"The bridge ain't too far from here, yeh will find it alright." - she said - "Further down, yeh's to keep ahead o' the white rabbit. Well ahead. 'Tis be the best if yeh's in a rush wit' findin' them young 'uns, I swear on me mother's name. Rock-a-bye."

Anomen squinted, peered deeper into the darkness.

The more he had stared, the less he saw. The murky corridor - if it was a corridor in first place - reeked of mold, lichens and damp earth.

Clearly, he was being led up the garden path.

"Pardon me." - he felt his temper flare - "But as far as I remember, you have promised me the company of the Beast-Guardian and-"

"Ah, looka', now! Nearly forgot 'bout tha', I did!" - she shook her head - "Here, take it. 'Twill keep yeh safe, so better do not loose it. Yeh may want to wear that 'round yer neck."

Anomen regarded suspiciously the device she shoved into his palm - suspended from a fine chain was an odd-looking disc, made entirely of glass and burnished gold. There were foreign-looking sigils embedded under the crystalline surface, the twelve of them, and two filigree arrows.

He eyed the entrance again and frowned, pondering at her words.

"Safe from what?"

"From him, silly, who else?" - the crone laughed heartily, giving him a rather patronising pat in the backside - "Now, off yeh go!"

"But-"

"Fare thee well, knight-lad."

The shopkeeper huffed impatiently and pushed him with far more strength than the Helmite would have expected from someone looking so frail; he had no time to gasp, let alone to protest as he tripped over the doorstep and-

He was in the dark.

Quite literally.

Chapter Text

"Tain't fer sale, lad."

"Ah yes. Yes, how came I never have guessed myself?" - incredulous, Renal raised his eyebrows - "But of course it's not, forgive me my ignorance. It's a shop, afterall."

The shopkeeper - a positively ancient woman in a flowery apron dress - raised her chin, replying with a broad, infuriatingly cheerful smile. The effect wasn't entirely lost despite the fact she lacked most of her teeth.

"Indeed."

Renal glowered at her.

She stared straight back - still smiling, challenging him. Her eyes were surprisingly clear, he noticed; insolent and a gooseberry-green like his own.

Ruefully, the master-thief regarded the knife in his hand. A beautiful piece - its handle wrapped in a stingray's skin, its long blade crafted in some outlandish way, the steel blue with a darker pattern like a wood grain.

It was unique, a real prize for a collector like himself.

"Won't you change your mind?" - he asked - "I would pay you well, my good woman."

"I canna' sell it. It doesn't belong t' me anymore, an' thus neither will t' yeh." - the woman said sternly - "An' don't even think 'bout stealin' it. I's watchin' yeh like a hawk."

Renal huffed, trying not to feel offended.

"Truly, do I look like some petty thief?"

"Hmm."

She eyed him up and down, her gaze lingering a little longer than it ought - and in all the places Renal reckoned a woman's her age gaze ought not linger.

To be honest, it was very, very disconcerting.

"Heh, nay. Yeh be pleasant enough to look at, alright. Kinda remind me poor, lamented late fifth husband, may th' gods bless th' ol' sod's soul."- the shopkeeper agreed, smacking her lips with appreciation - "Still, them be harsh times. One can never be sure who they deal wit', isnnae?"

The master-thief nodded thoughtfully.

For once, he was already sure he was dealing with a cuckoo.

He'd only walked into the little shop to avoid further mishaps and kill the time, seeing as the white-haired rogue didn't show up yet. He had barely made it to the Promenade in one piece, earning curses wherever he turned, nearly knocking out his teeth as he slipped on the treacherously placed banana skin and then almost getting trampled by a runaway cow. His knees and elbows were painfully bruised and his new jacket lacked one sleeve - it stayed in the red-faced fruit vendor's hand after Renal fell on her stall, squashing all the neatly arranged watermelons and grapes to a pulp.

Only a breath earlier, he managed to bump onto the Helmite priest - an annoying, uppity man who - for whatever reason - was some friend of Millara. Not that Renal exactly cared; the half-elven assassin was a very friendly lass, and indeed, close friends with him and just about everyone else.

Judging from the sour expression, the holier-than-thou Helmite still didn't reach this degree of familiarity.

As it happened, the place - odd and littered with junk as it was - contained the finest armoury Renal visited in a good time. It was a little bit frustrating. He took a certain pride in knowing Athkatla better than the back of his own hand, and yet, he couldn't quite remember seeing this particular shop before.

Which gave him a sudden idea.

Maybe the day wasn't written in the red ink, afterall.

Chapter Text

"Ya think he'll like it?"

"One willing to cross the bridge must leave an offering to appease its dweller and ward off his wrath."

"Salt and breadcrumbs?" - Imoen asked skeptically - "It's what the water trolls from around here eat?"

"It is a tradition in my country."

"Uh-huh. They are partial to flesh and bones in mine." - she said - "Galahad, be serious now. Don't you think we've passed through this river twice before?"

Galahad grunted unhappily, gazing up to the sun.

Leaning over the mare's neck, Imoen regarded the sturdy stone construction that arched over the brook. It was surprisingly well kept for a road that seemed so seldom travelled.

So far, they were apparently the only ones.

It was different from the broad, dusty tracts of the Realms - or what she'd seen of them - littered with horse dung, busy day and night, crowded with journeymen and adventurers and merchants.

"We're lost, are we not?"

"My lady, surely there is no reason to-"

"We're going in circles. I'm sure we've crossed this bridge already. And if we keep crossing it over again, and again, and again." - she said with a huff - "You'll run out of your salt and breadcrumbs soon, and the thingie that lives there gonna get pissy, eat Fomhaír instead, and then chomp on our shanks."

The knight didn't reply, but she'd noticed the tight set of his jaw.

Millara drooled and sighed in her sleep.

It must have been around the noon; sun seemed to hang straight over their heads, bright, distant and uncaring.

Imoen frowned.

As they passed yet another picturesque grassy hill, an empty field and a shadowy grove, her forehead scrunched like an old parchment. She was certain that something was not as it ought to be.

"Stop! Galahad, stop for a moment, will ya?"

"Of course, my lady Imoen." - the knight nodded - "Are you tired? You could surely use some rest."

"Immy?" - Millara yawned delicately, dabbing at her eyes - "Are we there yet? What is going on?"

"No worries. I just gotta check something."

Imoen slid off the saddle and walked to the roadside. She regarded the idyllic scenery for a while, took a deep breath and punched the air.

Thud.

The nearest slope wobbled, a slight tremor went rolling through the columnade of ancient yews. Impossibly, the line of the horizon warped and dented, its colours bleeding one onto another, shifting, blurring. A lush cornflower and poppy filled meadow smeared into the vague likeness of an asylum patient's masterpiece, leaving blue and green streaks on the back of her palm.

Blue and green to never be seen.

"Aha!"

With her suspicions confirmed, she punched again - this time more confidently, with all the strenght she could muster.

So long quiet, the countryside exploded with the sound of a wet cardboard being ripped, water bubbling, and two exclamations of disbelievement. Where a lime tree in a full bloom was but a moments ago, a dark hole gaped; waves of torrential rain rushing through, spilling, forming muddy pools under her feet in no time.

"But how..?"

"What in the dark recesses of the Abyss...?"

"Lookit now, eh?" - Imoen said with satisfaction, tugging at the hole's edge to tear it even more - "Told ya, I right knew something's ratty here! It was all painted!"

The landscape on the other side of the cardboard wall was entirely different. It was a middle of the night there, for a first thing, and it was raining - heavily so. The wind howled and screamed as it blew in crisp scent of fir needles and reed, spraying icy moisture on her face. Faint light glimmered in a distance, dancing like a firefly trapped in the net of branches.

"Great stinking balls of Tempus... Please tell me aren't going in there, Immy, are we?"

Millara jumped off the horseback, landing gracefully just few feet away. Galahad came to stand by Imoen's side, eyes wide open in shock and awe, but his face aglow with joy.

"My fair lady, how come you have guessed it was but an artifice?"

"Easy-peasy; I've a good eye. And anyway, it was all too pretty to be true."

"Your words ring with a wisdom beyond thine years."

"Hah!" - Imoen felt her cheeks grow warm - "I'm glad someone finally noticed!"

The knight smiled and bent to kiss her hand.

He's cute, she decided.

"I am unworthy of thee." - he shook his head - "I erred in my doubt, and now, I beg your pardon."

"Aww, think nothing of it, Galahad. Who wouldn't doubt, looking at Millie?"

"Well, excuse me Immy-"

"Oh, wait! I know one fine example, but shh." - curious, Imoen peered over his shoulder, wiping her damp forehead with a sleeve - "Whatcha grinning at?"

"The old legend is true. You two surely are the long-awaited saviours of this land if it called to you even through the smoke and mirrors, and the accursed witches' foul magic. Lady-Wolf, Lady-Fox." - the knight said, bowing deeply - "Welcome to Camelot."

Chapter Text

The witch.

The crooked, marshmallow-munching harpy.

Left with no other choice, Anomen stood up and carefully moved towards the sound of the rushing water. His mind worked furiously as he groped his way along the damp stone wall, contemplating the revenge.

Imoen.

She must have plotted it all along; the freckled she-goat, the disgrace of all female kind.

If not for her, Millara would have been safe and sound where she belonged - by his side, bound to him by this invisible but strongest of ties that was the true love.

Anomen's stern face softened at the memory - he liked the way the half-elf's eyes lit up at the mention. Of course, the jealous brat tried her best to ruin this moment for him, chuckling and spouting some nonsense about ropes and chains and her sister, but he had already learned to not listen to the lies.

It rested him that she understood.

Millara's dreamy smile said it all. Others and their pitiful attempts at the intrigues only meant to sow the doubt and distrust between them, to break them apart - they did not mattered.

As his eyes slowly adapted to the darkness around, he could recognise the shapes - the needle-like rocky clusters and countless bleached twigs that littered the ground under his feet and pillars much thicker than his arm; stalactites and stalagmites, and finally, the precariously narrow bridge lit by multitude of paper lanterns, the river's waters churning far below.

Another twig snapped under his boot. He kicked it aside, not even bothering to watch as it landed by the nearby pile.

Would the Beast-Guardian know to expect him here, the Helmite thought suddenly, looking around in growing unease and-

No, not unease, he corrected himself. The proud knight of the Order on his quest to rescue the maiden fair, he knew no such a word.

Anticipation.

Something stirred to his left - his keen eyes followed the movement. A rabbit indeed, just as the crone said; mangy, wretched creature with the half of it's fur missing and frayed ears.

He regarded it with disgust.

It crawled from under the pile of twigs, covered in spit, chewing on something that bore rather disturbing resemblance to-

There was no trees growing in the corridor, the Helmite realised in confusion, watching the hair on creature's back bristle as it fixed its gaze on the device that hung from his neck, the very same that shopkeeper gave him.

"Thisssss isss mineee. Mineeee!"

Anomen felt brief rush of satisfaction - his reflexes were outstanding; he wasted no time when the malicious, disembodied voice rung inside his mind.

He was already several yards down the bridge, running, keeping well ahead of the snarling white rabbit, its eyes glowing red like a blacksmith's furnace as it followed suit.

Chapter Text

Finally. This seemed get the expected reaction.

It always had.

The old woman's face - thin and wrinkled like a dried apple - quite visibly fell.

"I understand." - she nodded, frowning - "What is it fer yeh, then? Yeh were sayin'."

"Why, yes... What about - we start with this pretty little thingie here?"

Renal smirked, meaningfully eyeing the knife in his hand. His fingers lightly brushed along the blade. Something warm trickled down his wrist, following an odd burning sensation in his fingertip; it took him a breath or two to realise that he was stroking the knife's sharp edge.

"Just so we're clear, me young son." - the woman said slowly - "Yeh be wantin' me to-"

"Precisely."

The shopkeeper inhaled, and then, her cheeks reddened and she was suddenly ranting.

"Men, me left foot! Ye's all th' same, blasted eejits! Buncha stinkin', showing-off heroes! There be hardly a need fer such a dramatic steps." - she fussed, clucking her tongue and waving one crooked finger in his face- "I's thinkin' some good ol' wash an' a mugwort poultice shall do th' job just as nicely."

The master-thief blinked.

"Excuse me?"

"Bloody scalp, yeh says. Rash? Scabs?"- she asked - "Yeh's got jolly hoppers, ain't yeh?"

"Eh... Jolly what?"

"Hoppers. Lice, I believe."

"No, ma'am. I most certainly do not."

Renal felt his shoulder slump, overhelmed by the sudden urge to sit down and howl. The shopkeeper watched him pityingly.

"Now, yeh can well stop playin' tough. Must be itchin' somethin' awaful, isnnae? Poor laddie." - the woman patted his elbow - "I'll give yeh a half off th' price on me good herbs."

"Thank you, but on the second thought, I think I will leave it." - the master-thief bowed stiffly - "Good business to you."

"Aye, as yeh have it." - she shrugged, her forehead creasing - "Please, do not call again."

The shopkeeper slouched back to her rocking chair, muttering something about time wasters.

Renal sighed.

He would send someone else to do it, he decided wearily, moving toward the curtain that obscured the shop's entrance. Every single establishment in Athkatla was bound to pay the Shadow Thieves a fare for protection. It never did any good to protest. Some merchants were indeed taking longer than others to understand the rules of the city, but in the end, they all paid.

The old woman, mad as a fish or not, was no exception and would come to realisation soon enough.

He will simply send Gaelan Bayle to show her the point, Renal decided grudgingly as he sucked at his slashed fingertip. Maybe tomorrow. Gaelan, while a genuinely amiable fellow, was quite a legend in Athkatla's underworld; he had cheerfully cooed the ideas of resistance out of the better and tougher than one crazy old lady, leaving them with brains bleeding through their noses, irrevocably damaged ear drums and a profound loathing for pigeons.

The master-thief was ready to take his leave when his gaze rested upon a flask encased in a copper wirework. The curved letters on the label were of some foreign alphabet. He couldn't read them, but he was thirsty nevertheless, the sickly aftertaste of an invisibility potion still strong in his mouth.

"Is this for sale?"

"Oh! Found somethin' t' yer likin', son?" - the woman perked up - "Truly, a music t' me ears! Yeh can have it fer just three coppers. An' do help yerself to th' glass over there, it's clean."

"My, you are far too gracious." - Renal remarked dryly, still annoyed as he dropped a handful of coins on the counter.

He opened the flask and poured half of the contents into the offered glass.

"Enjoy, lad."

"I surely will. May you live long enough yet to see all the Waukeen's blessings bestowed upon you, my good woman." - he raised it in an ostensibly mocking manner, then took a swig.

The pale green, cloudy liquid was bitter-sweet, a reminescent of anisee and peppermint, and of burnt sugar.

A pleasant enough, if strange flavour.

Renal turned away, and unexpectedly collided with a low table, knocking off several small items, a tortoise-shell comb and a collection of exotic animals carved from ivory. His teeth ground as he bent to retrieve them, setting the glass back on the counter.

It snapped - loudly - and shattered into dozen tiny pieces, clinking off the floor and crunching under his boots.

Just lovely.

"Uh-oh, got a cheer-glass broken, did yeh not? Tsk. 'Tis means no less than a year o' ill fortune to befall on-"

"I know!" - he growled - "I know!"

"An' yeh got t' pay me fer th' damaged wares, too."

The master-thief hissed, roughly pulling at the curtain and storming out without as much as a backward glance.

Whoosh.

An odd sensation of rushing air thickening and pressing at his skin left him with a patch of goosebumps along his spine.

He squinted, shielding eyes from the glaring sun of the outside world. The soft breeze was warm on his face, carrying the oddly out of place, heady scent of honeysuckle and new hay.

"Son of a dead puppy. What in-"

Renal realised three things at once.

First and foremost - bad luck very obviously wasn't going to let go of him anytime soon.

Second, somehow he wasn't in Athkatla.

Not anymore.

He didn't know where exactly he was, but the perfectly circular walled garden with a narrow path winding through overgrown lawn and the festival of lush greenery - tall ferns, a field of sunflowers and the cascades of wisterias and roses spilling over the rock boulders - none of them belonged to neither Waukeen's Promenade nor to the Amn's capital at large.

Not the eerie, purplish sky above.

Not the wall of grey stone, entangled in ivy and scarlet creeping vine, some ten feet tall. There was no gate as far as he could see.

Breath hitching, he turned around - behind him, where the shop's entrance should have been, a giant toadstool grew now, white spots on the vivid red background. An equally large, striped caterpillar raised its ugly head, staring at him with dark, flat eyes as it kept munching on the mushroom's cap.

Renal took one involountary step back.

The third thing was a flash of sulphur yellow as something skittered close by, the blinding-fast motion followed by an uncomfortable, stinging sensation that shot through his calf as the pointy little teeth sunk in.

Chapter Text

Millara wasn't happy.

At all.

Camelot was nothing as she imagined. It was damp, dark and cold.

She could feel her teeth chatter, and even without looking in the mirror, she was pretty much sure her lips took on an unattractive bluish hue. The road was bumpy - a jumble-gut lane, really - and she couldn't use the rouge without the risk of smearing it all over face. Her wet hair lost their bounce - in fact, what used to be sassy curls now hung limp and flat like a laudry, full of pine needles and bits of a tree bark.

It has definitely soured her mood.

On the other side, Imoen remained about as cheerful as ever, having decided to walk rather than ride and latching herself to Galahad's elbow.

Galahad was still courteous, but she could say - quite easily - that the knight preffered her sister's company. They chatted like an old friends, and laughed and mostly ignored her.

The half-elf's mouth puckered - she felt betrayed.

When she politely attempted to join in conversation and asked the knight in which part of Faerun they were now, he gave her a rather puzzled look and said they were in realm of Caerleon, in Britain. It made her regret sneaking out of geography lessons back in Candlekeep.

Millara had never heard neither about Caerleon nor Britain.

Somewhat sheepishly, Galahad admitted he had never heard about Faerun.

The half-elf nodded, thoughtful. The truth was, for some vague reason it failed to make her feel any better. The castle wasn't far now, gloomy and ominous, but it stopped raining. Or at least, the icy droplets seemed to fall vertically rather than horizontally.

The none-too-pleasant impression was largely due to the weather, Millara assured herself.

Briefly, she wondered whatever they had a bath in the castle. It made her feel a bit silly as she thought about it some more. Surely they did. It wouldn't have been fitting for a queen to wash in the bucket of cold water.

Imoen giggled at whatever court anecdote Galahad was telling her at the very moment, and in the faint light of torch, the half-elf caught a glint of precious metal encircling her sister's neck.

It was the very same engraved ring they found on the very bottom of the jewellery basket in the little shop. It lied there, the narrow band of rose gold, forgotten among the black pearl necklaces and coral brooches and filigree anklets made of sea-glass, other rings and loose gemstones.

Millara liked it, but so did Imoen.

They have played 'rock, paper, scissors' and Imoen had won. The half-elf failed to prove she cheated. Suspended from the fine chain, the ring appeared even prettier as it drawn light, the flames dancing on its polished surface. Filled with a strong, sudden longing, Millara leaned from the saddle to get a better look.

"Immy-"

Imoen jumped up as if someone slapped her. She met the half-elf's gaze, scowled and hastily slid the chain under her tunic's collar.

"Don't ya even try to pinch it, Millie." - she hissed - "You lost the game. It's mine!"

"Easy, I just tried to-"

"Uh-huh, sure. I see how ya look at it!"

"There's something wrong with that ring." - the half-elf frowned at the realisation - "I don't know... Maybe it's not a real gold, afterall."

"Pff! Ya only say so 'cause you're being jealous and want it for yourself! No way!"

"Bah. Whatever."

Millara shrugged, ostensibly turning away.

"Oh dear, that was plain mean of me. I'm sorry. Aww, c'mon. Don't be mad." - Imoen tugged at her wrist nearly the same instant - "Hey, what about I'll let ya wear this? It will look nice with your hair. It's almost the same colour."

The half-elf reined the horse to halt, regarding the pendant in her sister's outstretched palm.

"But it's your lucky charm, Imoen. The gift from Alora."

"Well, yeah." - she grinned impishly - "And she would agree with me that ya will sure need luck if you want to make a good impression on the king. 'Cause you look like a scarecrow."

"And you are one spoiled, little wench." - Millara reached to smooth Imoen's hair - "Thank you."

"Welcome." - Imoen whirled back to Galahad, who stood waiting a few feet away - "There, it quite suits ya!"

Millara smiled, straightening in the saddle, the tiny bit of white fur soft under her fingertips.

Chapter Text

"By Helm, no!"

"I can wait. I have been waiting long, long time, and you? So very soon you will tire, manling."

"The knight's valour knows no weariness. I will not fail, foul creature!"

Disembodied laughter that resonated through his mind was even more mean-spirited than the voice itself.

"Indeed. Another hour and you will fall off this tree like an overripe pear. I shall feast on your bones." - it promised, dryly amused - "Why won't you make it easier, for your own sake?"

"As if such a disgusting monster could ever understand! There are things much greater and more important than one's own comforts and-"

The tree branch to which Anomen clung for his dear life creaked ominously, swooping a little lower than before - definitely, much too low for his comfort.

So far, he managed to get rid of his gloves, pauldrons and vambraces. It was not enough. His strained arms hurt badly; the Helmite hissed, his feet pedalling in the air as he looked for something to support his weight.

The tree shook precariously and creaked some more.

However hard it was to imagine, the physical distress wasn't the worst part of the unpleasant situation Anomen found himself in. The disconcerting, alien presence did not leave him since it spoke for the first time. It felt truly awful - as if there was a snake, slithering and brushing against his skull from inside.

He did his best to ignore the dark images it kept shoving at him, but forced to divide his attention between fatigued muscles and maintaining the relative safety of his position, he just could not muster enough focus to defend his own thoughts from intrusion.

It treated his mind as if it was a book. It flipped through his long-forgotten memories, old dreams and carefully hidden wishes, laughing now and then as if in the middle of most amusing lecture ever.

"Boy, I used to think mortals funny, but you are simply hilarious."

"Get out of my head, you perverted beast!"

"What a cheek. You call me perverted?" - it chuckled - "Very vivid imagination, by the way. I am nearly impressed."

The white rabbit - truly, it appeared even more hideous in the bright light of day, a sickly thing with matted fur, ribs visible through its skin and a missing limb - tilted its head to the side. Eyes that glowed like embers seemed to narrow as it bared its teeth in a bestial grin.

Anomen cringed.

They were rather unnervingly big and sharp teeth for a rabbit.

"I do not mind digging my meal out of a can." - it said pleasantly - "But pray tell, oh mighty hero, do you think you will be still able to achieve any of these greater and more important things you have mentioned... With no legs?"

"Nothing stops the knight on his quest." - the Helmite answered firmly - "Mayhaps I shall take you as an example, seeing as you do appear to manage just fine?"

The mental wave of pure fury hit him, hard and all of a sudden - Anomen nearly let go of the branch, his jaw clenched tight, muscles burning in protest as he struggled to hold on. The voice in his head kept raging, a wild shriek of utter hatred. It did not use any words, but he had no doubt what their articulate interpretation would have been.

He saw it.

Murderkilldeathtearbloodbloodbloodblood-

It had stopped about as suddenly as it started; the entity that violently raked through his mind but a moments before nearly calm as it plucked out one particular picture and lingered on it, thoughtful. Though momentarily relieved, the Helmite refused to let the creature fool him - it was an eerie, hair-raising kind of stillness, a false silence of a sea in the eye of storm.

"Well, well. How... surprising." - it mused, shoving the image back at him.

The likeness of a young woman with tightly braided hair and a pale face, a scattering of gold-coloured freckles across her nose and cheekbones.

Her.

The thieving, cackling magpie.

Anomen's eyes narrowed, then widened as he looked at her from the stranger's perspective, one minute detail highlighted, standing out sharper than all else - a tiny bit of a white fluff, tied to a cord she wore around her neck.

A rabbit's foot lucky charm.

"Who is she?" - it demanded.

The Helmite shuddered; the edge of the other being's intelect brushed against his, taking up the disturbing flavour it had earlier, but this time more defined, focused and-

"I do strongly believe your little friend has something that belongs to me."

"She is no friend of mine."

Imoen, the smart-talking viper.

"Ah, this much I can tell. An amusing coincidence, truly. She is not the little one who brought the shame and injury upon me, but she holds the reminder. Means all the same to me. Now, if you perhaps stopped wriggling and listened? "

"And why should I?"

"I would risk saying you would find it immensely interesting, at the latest."

The white rabbit rose on its hind legs, its gaze searing as it searched his face, its thoughts pressing on his, but slightly gentler this time - persuading, not prying. Still and all, Anomen had a little doubt that things would turn out downright nasty had he decided to protest.

"Fine. Show me."

"A wise choice, I dare to say."

He winced, took a deep breath and reluctantly opened his mind.

"Now, look and learn, knight."

It wasn't so bad now when he allowed it freely, Anomen had to admit; the steady, focused stream of counsciousness flowing between him and the creature - as long as he ignored the grisly, crimson-splattered images that flickered through his head every now and then.

He disliked Imoen, but wasn't sure if he honestly wished her this ill.

There were also other pictures, a somewhat disjointed tale of foreign places and then, yet another scene flashed before his eyes and the realisation reached him. He nearly fell off the branch yet again.

"Impossible! You-"

"Oh, finally. Exactly, you nitwit. Me."

Anomen huffed at the insult, staring down at the ugly, lame animal sitting under the tree. Falling leaves whirled around as he frantically kicked the air, his palms raw and slick with sweat, the nearly-forgotten shopkeeper's artifact suddenly burning his skin.

Was it - was he - telling the truth?

If he did, then-

"Let us assume that I find your request passable." - the Helmite said, still wary - "How could I know if you can keep your promise?"

"You have seen what I once was. My given word is bounding. Although obviously, you cannot tell it for sure." - the rabbit said smugly, one tattered ear lifted in what Anomen thought an unnecesarily cocky manner - "But it is either this and we have a deal, or we are going back to the point where I contemplate whatever I shall have my dinner raw or braised."

Chapter Text

Although slowly and laborously, Renal had finally managed to climb the stone wall.

He sat on its top with a relieved sigh, swinging legs on to the other side and examining the view.

Behind the wall, there was another garden - round and oddly similar to the one he had just left - marble arches and obelisks overgrown with honeysuckle, roses in a carnival of colours, wells and frog-infested ponds hidden treacherously among the burdock leaves; brambles and cheerfully bright patches of sunflowers that swayed and danced gently in the breeze.

Precisely, the very same sunflowers that attempted to eat him before.

Renal scowled as he took in the damage - shallow cuts that covered his palms, bruised knees and elbows. His jacket lacked both sleeves already, and his breeches hung in a sad tatters, showing off dozens of tiny, crescend-shaped bitemarks.

They itched, much like mosquito stings.

Looking at the brighter side of the situation-

There was no bright side, Renal corrected himself.

The master-thief swallowed loudly as he regarded the drop below. The wall was lower than it seemed at first. He had done worse stunts in his burglar's career - indeed, more times than he actually cared to remember - and, any other day, he wouldn't have spared it a thought.

His face turned grim like a thundercloud.

Today, he would most likely fall, break his neck, and end up as a compost under rosebush. If he was fortunate. For all he knew, he might have happened to break both his legs and be eaten alive by the carnivorous flowers, just as well.

Renal shuddered slightly, trying hard not to dwell on neither option for longer than it was neccesary, then wiped sweat out his forehead.

Negative thinking was known to bring bad luck.

Lips pressed into tight line, he shifted to a low crouch.

He could do it, couldn't he?

"One for the money, two for the show." - the master-thief murmured through gritted teeth - "Three to make ready..."

He took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

"... and four to-"

"Humpty-Dumpty saaaat on a waaaaall!"

The unexpected sound - a clear childish soprano - shattered the silence, startling him.

Renal wobbled, lost his balance and tumbled down, landing flat on the ground with a muffled 'oomph!'

Thanks to the moss and feathery grasses, it was a far more merciful fall than he would dared to hope for. Still, it had knocked about all the air from his lungs, leaving him gasping and quite dazed.

The soprano pitched - ever higher and into near ear-splitting shrill.

"Humpty-Dumpty saaat on a waaaall! Humpty-Dumpty had a great faaaall! Threescore men and threescore more, cannot place Humpty as he was before!"

Groaning, the master-thief forced himself to sit as he glanced around, looking for the source of the annoying sound.

The child - a little girl of about eleven - was dark-haired, clad in a somewhat rumpled blue dress with frilly white pinafore. Renal frowned, watching as she wandered aimlessly through the predatory sunflowers' field, singing the same song over and over without the care in the world, giggling every now and then, and chattering merrily to no one in particular.

She didn't seem to be aware of neither the weird surroundings nor the flower heads, snapping uncomfortably close to her calfs. Actually, he wasn't sure if she would have noticed him at all - right until she would have tripped over his outstretched legs, had he not shifted in time.

The girl halted as the movement caught her eye, staring. It made Renal feel vaguely silly as he sat there amongst poppies and harebells.

"Hello, mister!"

"Um." - the master-thief said eloquently - "Hello."

"Your hair is blue!"

"Ah."

"Why is it blue?"

A low buzz came from above; the flock of starlings that fed not too far away scattered in all directions, just as a giant dragonfly flew directly over their heads. The master-thief didn't like the look of its massive jaws, or the metallic-green, chitinous body.

The girl watched the dragonfly in a childish, wide-eyed wonder as it shot through the air, fast like an arrow.

"Wow!"

A single speckled feather drifted to the ground, spiralling in the breeze.

Renal swallowed.

"How are you!" - the girl chirped, her attention back on him - "Isn't it a lovely place for a walk? Just look at the flowers, mister! Aren't they funny?"

Renal considered it for a moment; funny wasn't the first choice of a word he would have used. She stood right on the field's edge; one of the sunflowers crept closer in a clear attempt of sinking its fangs in the child's ankle.

She cuffed it impatiently.

"Stop it!" - she said, waving her finger at the roguish plant - "Be nice!"

The sunflower swayed, its leaves curling a bit as it brushed gently against her pinafore, cat-like. The girl smiled and plucked it.

"My name is Alice, mister! Alice Liddell. All my aunties and uncles call me Kitty! What's your name?"

She curtsied - quite gracefully, Renal had to admit. A nobleman's daughter, perhaps, given the manners. Or maybe some rich merchant's. Even though by no means ostentatious, the blue fabric of her dress looked very much like silk.

Maybe he could get a ransom.

"Mister?"

The girl looked at him expectantly, a dead sunflower hanging limp in her hand. Her eyes were big and brown, and trusting to a truly sickening degree. Renal squirmed a little.

Somehow, her puppy-dog stare made him feel guilty. It forced him to think he ought answer.

"Renal." - he said, and deliberately added - "Renal Bloodscalp."

It failed to make any impression.

Again.

He scowled.

"A pleasure to meet you, mister Bloodscalp!" - Alice exclaimed, hopping up and down - "My aunties and uncles call me Kitty!"

"That's very sweet." - the master-thief nodded patiently - "And where are-"

"You look a little bit like my uncle Charles! He's not here, though! I snuck out of the shop when Mamma and Nanny weren't watching, and then I went to see the pretty garden, but couldn't find the gate later when I wanted to leave!"

"Oh my."

"Would you like to call me Kitty?"

"No."

"So maybe you can call me Kitty, and I will call you uncle?"

"No!"

"Please?"

Renal bit on his lip, thinking. Something very wrong was going on here. He couldn't quite put a finger on it. And he didn't like children, at all. They were noisy, nosy and moody. They used far too many unnecessary exclamation marks, asked too many questions, and altogether made his head hurt.

To Hells with ransom. The possibility seemed rather far-fetched anyway, and he needed to get out of here. The sooner, the better.

Alice's mouth puckered and trembled as he clumsily stood up and started to walk, trampling cornflowers and forget-me-nots.

"Where are you going, mister Bloodscalp?" - she sniffled, trailing behind him - "Can I please go with you?"

"Sune's crabs, no!"

"Who is Sune?"

He kept walking through the overgrown lawn. His teeth ground at the sound of dry leaves rustling under little feet right behind him.

A twig snapped.

"Mister Bloodscalp, wait! I can't run quite so fast! Would you piggy-back me?"

The master-thief halted and looked down at the girl, his eyebrows arching incredulously.

"Do I look like your nursemaid?" - he hissed - "Look closer. I'm a nasty, mean, ugly bad guy."

"I think you are nice! And you're not ugly at all! I like your hair! And my feet hurt, and-"

"And this means that I'm not going to carry you. Begone, child. Go play somewhere else."

"But I want to go with you!" - Alice wailed, her voice pitching an octave higher - "Piggy-back me, now!"

He wasn't sure what exactly happened, but his knees went jelly-like, wobbled and buckled under him. Inhaling sharply, the master-thief bent, falling forward, just as if someone gave him a mighty, unexpected kick in the backside. His struggles were useless.

"You are the best!" - Alice beamed at him - "I knew you were only teasing me!"

Renal choked and gave her rather pained excuse of a smile.

"Of course. My, but I am silly, am I not?"

The girl have a happy squeak as she climbed on his back. One bony knee swung and dug into his kidney.

If not for the fact there was no one else around, he would swear something powerful held him, pinned low to the ground.

Chapter Text

"By the Lady's graces, boy, stop wallowing in self-pity. Move. You are in a hurry, you were saying."

Anomen's stomach rumbled in a response.

The rabbit stretched lazily.

"Ah, just listen to this. And here I was thinking that the knight's valour does not need food?"

Chosing to ignore both the mockery and blisters covering his feet, the Helmite forced himself forward.

Journey in the white rabbit's company proved to be a torment.

Still, Anomen wasn't going to surrender. They were on the right tract, the creature swore, and he had a mission, a knight on the quest for rescue and revenge, just like one of these renowned heroes of the old tales.

Soon, all the bards will sing about his great deeds.

The rabbit stretched some more and cackled maliciously, peering over Anomen's arm.

It - the Helmite still had a little trouble with thinking about the rabbit as him - stank.

The smell assaulting his nostrils with every move was hard to bear; the nauseating, sickly-sweet stench of decaying flesh mixed with odour of stale sweat. Even though it shifted forms and appeared to be somewhat smaller now - much like one of these fluffy miniature animals the highborn ladies loved to keep as their pets - it was oddly heavy for its size.

Of course, it pointed at its missing limb and refused to walk on its own. Anomen couldn't help but remember how uncannily swift the creature appeared while it chased him through the underground corridors.

Not that it mattered.

To make the things ever so worse, the white rabbit exhibited all the nasty traits and habits of a mean-spirited old man.

"Stop squeezing me! Do I look like a kitten? Your lady's wee fair hand? Or perhaps something else, and equally wee?"

"It reeks most horrid here! Does your world knows not about this one fine invention, called a bathtub, or is it just little old me? Eh, boy? Hah, hah!"

Anomen failed to see the funny part. Instead, he reached a conclusion - the rabbit must have liked the sound of its 'voice'. The way it blathered on made for a solid enough proof. It would not stay silent, not even after complaining about the Helmite's supposed lacks in education that excluded him as a worthy partner in discussion.

"Ah yes, but of course. How come I have never guessed myself? What a cliche. Childhood trauma, a dead little sister, a distressed damsel and her evil twin-"

"They are not twins."

"Whatever you say. Boring." - the rabbit yawned - "Knightey-knight, I shall take a nap now."

Anomen's teeth ground as he worked on holding his temper in reins, and directed thoughts at something more pleasant.

Millara, the gentle lady of his heart.

Soon, they would reunite. Free, and without her crooked sister's shadow looming over them.

They would leave the rotten city and its twisted ways behind them, and travel together into the far-away realms where it was always warm, and Millara would wear dresses of silk, eat sugared almonds, and no spiteful tongues would ever reach them again.

Calimshan would be nice. Or maybe Kara-Tur.

"One feisty lass, that Millara of yours." - the rabbit admitted, insolently cutting into his reverie - "She is a part Fae, is she not?"

"Fae?"

"Bean na Sídhe, my oh-so-wise. The woman of the Fair Folk."

"Oh, this." - Anomen nodded - "Indeed."

"And a Blade-In-The-Night, too. Truly, a dangerously irresistible combination. I wonder what does she sees in such a pathetic goody-two-shoe. They are fickle woman, the Fae." - it chuckled - "Although what you do not see about her is even more interesting."

Anomen did not like neither the way the creature's mind took on a slightly leering edge nor the implication, but he could not allow himself to get angry, nevertheless. Not when the goal was getting closer with every step.

He cleared his throat.

"Why won't you tell me more about your quest, Lord Caerbannog?"

"Oh, what would you know? I want my true form back. I want my name back, and then everything that was denied me for too long. And then-"

"You will take over the kingdom and marry a princess?" - Anomen asked pleasantly - "If this is not cliche-"

"Hah, you are learning, boy. I am beginning to like you."

"This feeling is not mutual."

"Truly, my heart is bleeding." - the rabbit gave him a toothy grin - "But no, you are wrong here. I might consider ruling the Camelot after I am done, but first of all, I will make them suffer. I shall have this witch Morrigan flayed."

Its thoughts tinted the landscape red.

The Helmite shook his head. All he wanted was to have Imoen out of the way, just as promised, and Millara safe in his arms before the rabbit decided to flay anyone.

Safe, and the further away, the better.

They were passing by a small settlement - a cabin with white-washed walls and a low fence made of driftwood, a shed, a cow behind it munching on bright orange marigolds and a flock of speckled hens taking a dust bath in the pit.

Anomen could not see the cabin's inhabitants, but felt several pairs of eyes watching him warily from the nearby bushes.

"How long it would take before we reach Camelot?"

"We are in Camelot, you nitwit."

"You were saying about the castle, I recall."

"What, and did you expect it to be the size of a handkerchief?" - the rabbit sneered - "It is a castle with adjacent lands, as all the proper castles tend to be. Why won't you carry on walking, and I will do the thinking, lest your brain begins to boil? Given as it seems terribly unsuited?"

The Helmite huffed, offended, trying to tune out the steady stream of nasty remarks that filled his mind. It was easy enough, more so that when he squinted, he could see the tall structure that emerged from the mist, towering over the sleepy countryside.

They were close.

The wooden planks creaked as he rushed through the bridge, full of hope and anticipation.

He was already a half-way through it when the air suddenly shimmered, rippled, and then, at the end of the bridge, a man appeared.

"Hail thee, traveller!"

He was tall, much taller than Anomen - easily over seven feet, maybe more. His long, unkempt hair was fiery red, and so was his beard. Over the dirty, tattered clothes, the stranger wore what once must have been a fine chainmail. In one hand, he wielded an enormous warhammer.

The Helmite frowned as the man gave him broad, friendly - if somewhat tired - grin and held out his other hand.

"Ah, just look at that. I have almost forgot; it has been too long." - the rabbit said, curling over his shoulder - "Do not stand there like a pole, boy. Give the guardian his fair share and let us go back on the road."

"Fair share of what?"

"Bread and salt, of course. Now, you have them, do you not?"

Anomen nodded thoughtfully as he searched about sacks and tubes, strapped to his belt. As the seconds passed and stretched into minutes, his moves got more frantic, and then - finally - he remembered.

A coin-pouch, stuffed with salt and breadcrums.

"I'm afraid I do not have any of such." - he admitted sheepishly - "I left them in the shop."

A tremor rolled through the stranger's muscular frame; he seemed to crumple, and the Helmite wanted to reach and pat his shoulder, when the man thrown his head back and laughed - a loud, raucous, joyous sound.

"Free! By the accursed Serpent's tail, I am free!"

For once, the white rabbit was silent. It stretched, staring at Anomen, its eyes glowing cherry-red like a hot coals.

For some reason, it did not bode well.

Chapter Text

"My fairest queen, I-"

Imoen could feel the troubles approaching steadily as soon as they've stepped into the throne room. One look at Galahad's face just confirmed it.

To say that the knight looked confused was, indeed, a huge understatement.

The chamber was as spacious as it was crowded, the rows of fully-armed knights, both young and old, standing straight on the both sides of an aisle. Their expressions varied from carefully neutral to skeptical and wary, to hopeful. They were all silent; not even a whisper, not a grunt, not a sigh.

It wasn't exactly comforting and surely not what she'd expected. She and Millara, they were supposed to be heroes of the land, as far as she knew.

At least, she could've always make herself invisible and run for it.

Her fingers curled around the ring's already familiar shape, hidden under the tunic's collar as she gazed at the three immobile figures that occupied the high, velvet-cushioned chairs at the chamber's far end.

Three women.

The first one was dark, skinny, almost waif-like; the second, with an auburn hair - statuesque and rather exotic. Under heavily kohled eyelids, her gaze appeared somewhat unfocused. The third woman was very beautifull - her braids were so long they nearly swept the floor, gleaming like a spun gold. There was a crown on her head - quite askew,  Imoen noticed, and looking just a wee bit too big.

The queen?

Imoen frowned, blinking furiously, eyes shifting back and forth between the three of them.

Oddly enough, there was no king in the room. She heard Millara let out small, barely audible grunt of discontentment. Galahad lightly squeezed her fingers.

She looked at him, surprised.

Suddenly, the second woman burst out laughing, breaking the uncomfortable silence. The sound was low, husky. Only then, Imoen noticed the crystal goblet in her hand and realised that the woman was more than just a little tipsy.

"Well, well, simply unbelievable! My favorite knight-errant is back. With some souvenirs, I do hope?" - she gave them a too-broad smile - "Long time no see, sir Galahad!"

Galahad bowed - stiffly and with an obvious reluctance, Imoen noticed.

Uh-oh.

"Morrigan of the Fey."

He turned toward the slim girl who smiled shyly. Imoen huffed; from the first glance, it was pretty much clear she liked him.

"Lady Nimue."

The knight stepped forward, bowing again, this time efortlessly and with evident respect. The golden-haired woman smiled at him - it was a sad smile, Imoen thought, sad but beautiful.

"My fairest queen Guinevere, hail thee. I return to you succesful." - he took what seemed to be a very deep breath and pointed the redhead - "What is she doing here...?"

Chapter Text

"Curiouser and curiouser!"

One matchstick-thin leg dangled excitedly near Renal's knee as Alice - who stubbornly kept clinging to his back - squirmed, trying to get a better look at whatever drawn her interest right this moment.

The complex of strange gardens was a maze.

"Isn't it marvelous, mister!"

The master-thief thought about pointing out that 'curiouser' wasn't exactly the proper use of grammar - not to mention a poor choice of the word, truly - but settled for a resignated grunt instead. There were other things to be concerned with.

He refused to admit it aloud, but with her wide, startled fawn-like eyes, rosy cheeks and pealing, childish laughter, little Alice was about as creepy as the place itself.

So far, everything they have came across was funny and lovely and wonderful. Nothing seemed to bother her - not how she had snuck out of a shop and instead onto familiar street, stepped straight in the middle of what made lunatic's inner world appear positively safe and sane; not disgruntled stranger's company. Not the way he had promptly landed flat on his backside when Alice said she needed rest and Renal refused, nor the fact he had almost choked on his own tongue when she yelled at him to shut up.

Also, the girl swore. Just every now and then, but the stream of curses she was able to let out would have made an old sea-dog gasp, sputter and blush like a maiden.

"Fuuuuck! Mister Bloodscalp, see this shiny rock over there? It's pink! How pretty!"

It was rather troubling, and even more so that only a minute later, when a frog fell dead from somewhere high above, Alice had immediately burst into noisy sobs, snotted into his hood, and demanded to stop and bury the poor creature. While the master-thief grumbled, digging a hole in the ground, she picked flowers to make a daisy-chain to be put over the frog's place of eternal rest.

"Where does frogs go after they die, mister Bloodscalp?" - she sniffled - "Is there a heaven for amphibians?"

"I have no idea, Alice. Some, ah, bigger pond. Perhaps."

"My uncle Oliver says we will all rot and be eaten by maggots!"

Worse still, it didn't take him long to make a very unsettling connection between the girl's tantrums and-

She didn't appear to notice.

Creepy.

The maze stretched to no end with its stone walls and secret doors, obscured behind curtains of honeysuckle and ivy - rusty with age and creaking as they opened, leaving flakes of faded blue and green paint on his hands. Some were so small he could just barely squeeze through, other appeared broad like the city gates.

They led nowhere in particular. Just more gardens.

Creepier and creepier.

One was a shallow pond, wheathered granite looming from every side, its edge a frill of white lillies, its murky waters the oppresive colour of the skyes above, warm and thick as soup. Though the water reached no more than to his hips, Renal waded with extreme caution - and not only because he had expected the debris-littered bottom to have pits and falls.

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star! How I wonder what you are! Up above the world so high..."

There were things that writhed and twisted, brushing against his ankles, hidden under the pond's deceitfully calm surface.

"...Like a diamond in the sky! Twinkle, twinkle little star!"

Another garden was a field of glass.

Glass flowers and grasses and trees - some rounded, liquid and smooth, others viciously pointy and razor-edged, all perfectly shaped, crystalline. Fragile leaves and branches sparkled, casting dozens of tiny rainbows as they caught light; swaying gently, filling the air with eerie tinkling and scraping sounds.

"Disgusting! Indecent!" - Alice said scornfully, pointing finger over his shoulder - "Begone, you dirty whore!"

"Child, there is no one-"

Renal turned around to see a crystal woman's statue - admittedly naked and of lush shapes the kind that could have given a jealous pangs to Sune herself - right as it shattered and fell to the ground.

The statue's head rolled to land neatly by his feet.

He took one involountary step back. Alice shifted, wrapped her skinny arms around his neck and, unabashed, resumed singing.

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star..."

At this point, Renal concluded he was having an exeptionally idiotic dream, and that it was about the time to wake up.

"Mister Bloodscalp, what are you doing? Can I try, too?"

Renal hissed.

"No."

His fingers stung and left scarlet trails smeared all over the glass hollyhock's blossoms, and he hurried towards the garden's end, welcoming the stone wall with a genuine relief. The purple sky turned cloudy, and the master-thief had a particularly nasty feeling as to the nature of rain in this place.

"Twinkle, twinkle, little star!" - Alice practically shrieked into his ear - "How I wonder what you are!"

Unsurprisingly, there was yet another garden behind the blue-painted door.

They were moving through the jungle of grasses and ferns, tall as trees. The ground was soft, sagging, and the air felt clammy, heavy with the scent of the last year's decaying leaves. It was quiet, save for occasional rustle, and full of traps - sticky, translucent treads that stretched among the greenery.

"Up above the world so high! Like a diamond in the sky! Twinkle, twinkle, little star..."

Alice's voice pitched into shrill.

The master-thief wobbled, unsuccesfully trying to avoid stepping on the thread he had only noticed right under his feet. It snapped soundlessly.

He let out an annoyed growl.

"Oh, by Mask, child. Don't you know any other songs?"

"But of course I do!" - Alice said, offended - "I know one about a cat!"

"My, what a relief. Go on then, little one. Sing about a bloody cat. I would absolutely love to hear it."

"Really?"

"Dead serious."

"Seven wise men with knowledge so fine! Created a pussy to their design!"

Renal nodded thoughtfully, half-listening. As the girl kept singing, his expression quickly shifted from somewhat relieved to incredulous, to downright terrified.

"...Fourth was a hunter, short and stout, with a piece of fox fur, he lined it without! Fifth was-"

Waukeen's warts, he knew this tune. The last time he heard it, it was being sung in the filthy alley behind the Copper Coronet and by one very drunken dwarf called Korgan.

"Last was a sailor, dirty little runt, he sucked it and fu-"

 "Alice?"

"Yes, mister Bloodscalp?"

"Alice, do tell me something." - he asked weakly - "Who taught you, ahh, this song?"

"The gardener's boy! Our family's cook Mrs. Cook calls him a blasted, good-for-nothing bugger! I still think he's funny!" - she leaned forward, peering over his shoulder - "Mister Bloodscalp, but you do look very pale indeed!"

"Do I..?"

She waved a finger in his face, concern written all over her features.

"Yes, and I think you might benefit from taking smelling salts! That's what my dear Mamma does at once when she feels unhealthy! She tells our maid to bring her smelling salts!"

"No, no! Let's go."

"Then maybe some brandy with a touch of tea and a cigar? Papa always have these right after when Grandmother comes visiting! They help him unwind!"

"I am perfectly fine."

"What about a dose of laudanum? My auntie Martha-"

"No, thank you."

"A little snuff of cocaine?"

"Not neccesary."

"Are you sure, mister Bloodscalp?"

"Yes, I'm sure. But you know what, Alice, on a second thought." - Renal gave her big, bright, fake smile - "I think I liked that song about a star so much better."

"Really? Oh, mister Bloodscalp, would you look at him!  He's so damn large!"

The master-thief felt his skin crawl as he looked up, straight into cluster of the creature's pale, reflective eyes.

Of course.

It just had to be spider.

Chapter Text

"Get out!"

"Millie, listen-"

"Go away!"

"Aww, don't be like that! Look, I know ya feel awful and all, but you're still my... My... Ah, my best friend forever!"

"Leave me alone!"

The last request came an octave too high - to the strangest effect, Imoen thought, biting on her lip - punctuated with a loud sob, and even louder bang of something heavy trashing against the closed door.

"It is going to take awhile to get used to that, hmm?"

Imoen turned, in time to see Morrigan of the Fey materialise by the stairs, dressed in a wine-coloured dress that could have been as well painted on her - looking only mildly hangover, and definitely too smug.

The sound that came from Millara's room was a distinctive clang of a glass object being deliberately smashed. Morrigan rolled her eyes.

Imoen glared at her.

The last night's feast held in their honour as the long-awaited saviours of the realm ended up in a disaster.

To be fair, she had to admit it was Millara's fault - at least partly - although the treatment she had received seemed a little bit excessive. Afterall, it wasn't as if the rusty old sword, stuck in the boulder in the courtyard garden was marked with a 'please, do not touch' sign.

The sense of impending troubles which didn't leave her since they arrived in the castle screamed 'watch out' the very moment the half-elf - who eagerly helped herself to a mead jugs and then disappeared with one of the knights - sauntered back into the hall. She looked a little ruffled, but wore a satisfied smirk, pointing at an open-mouthed man and a big, ornate blade she'd dragged in with her.

"So I've freed your magic weapon outa that stone over there."- Millara drawled - "Bah, I just can't believe none of you guys ever managed to lift it! It's bit heavy alright, and unbalanced near the handle, but...

Galahad's fingers curled around her wrist, vice-like - Imoen meant to ask what's wrong, but then, she'd noticed Nimue gasp and lean into the knight, and instead, she treated the girl to a well-aimed kick in the ancle.

"Sorry, sorry! What a clumsy clod I am, eh?"

Her whisper drowned in a general noise that exploded when Millara - who clearly enjoyed being in the centre of attention - flashed a brilliant grin, saluting the sword, and nearly dropping it on her head in the process.

"White Wolf! So it is true!"

"Excalibur!"

"The holy sword is recovered!"

"The prophecy!"

The only voice that somehow managed to rise over all the cheering was shrill, female, and undoubtly distressed.

"No! It cannot be!"

"Your highness..?"

Everyone, including Imoen, turned toward the top of the table. The beautiful queen stood up, wringing her white hands, then burst into tears. The redhead looked at her over the wine glass, one of her eyebrows arching. She looked a litlle bored above all else.

"What is it, Guinevere?"

"Morrigan, what I am to do? The prophecy, it said about the White Wolf of the Stars-"

"She's here. So what?"

"But it said the Lord Protector shall come to our rescue, not some shameless floozy-"

The queen pointed an accusing finger at Millara; the way her lips pursed looked strangely like a disappointment.

"Excuse me..?" - the white-haired girl growled - "What did you just call me?"

Duck and cover, Imoen's sixth sense screamed.

"Ah, this! Easy to fix." - hiccuped Morrigan - "There!"

She rose to her feet. The air rippled with magic as it struck the mark.

Imoen winced at the memory of the sorceress wobblying on her feet, and how hard it was to not laugh when she'd seen the spell's effect. It reminded her of a very particular fancy belt they had found once on a dead ogre. No wonder he was so pissed off while he charged at them.

"Any better now, your grace?"

Millara looked at Morrigan, then at herself, her gaze shifting back and forth several times, her amber eyes beginning to glow. A low hiss escaped her lips.

Uh-oh.

"You filthy bitch. You didn't."

"Oh, but yes, I did. For the kingdom." - the sorceress said - "Forgive me, Wolf, but being a hero obliges. I am sure you are well aware of that."

Then, just as it was to be expected, all the Hells broke loose.

Millara shifted into Slayer - which in itself spoke volumes, given as Imoen knew how the half-elf despised the avatar that looked like a 'giant inbred cockroach, but uglier' - and proceeded with wrecking the feasthall. It took two dozen men to stop her from biting Morrigan's head off. Both the queen and Nimue fainted and needed to be resuscitated. Imoen considered pretending a faint herself, but changed her mind when Galahad came to stand by her, saying how greatly he admired her, and how strong and brave she was.

"I am not without a heart, despite what you might be thinking, Fox-Cub."

"Well." - Imoen huffed - "So far, I must say it was plain ol' mean of ya."

"I shall say, I come to make amends."

Inside the room, Millara wailed.

"I hate you!"

The stream of curses that reached Imoen's ears was downright nasty. Morrigan looked unimpressed; bored actually.

"When your friend is done with thrashing the valuables and tantrum-kicking, I have an offer. To relieve the, ahh, inconveniences of the current state of things." - she explained - "But there are several conditions to be discussed. Pass it along, Fox, would you?"

Imoen nearly jumped when the door opened with a bang, and a white-haired, dishevelled young man appeared. His face was very red, the dark lines of kohl run smudged nightmarishly across his swollen cheeks.

It made her harrumph and cough in an attempt to hide a giggle, bubbling at the back of her throat.

"What do you want, you buggering witch?"

"See this little trinket here, Wolf?" - the sorceress said - "What if..."

Imoen peeked over Morrigan's arm; on her outstretched palm, a ring lay - rather shoddy-looking band set with some black stone. For all she knew, it could have been a paste, just as well.

Her lip curled; Millara detested cheap bling.

The sorceress unknowingly added insult to injury.

"This ring is known to reveal one's true form when twice twisted around finger." - Morrigan went on - "You see, I am not going to interfere with your whims and pleases, as long as certain appearances are being kept."

The half-elf made a move as if to snatch the ring from her hand, but the sorceress simply smiled, becoming transparent, only to reappear a few feet away.

"Do find me at noon, Wolf, so we may talk about the details of our agreement." - she said dismissively - "And now, if you excuse me... I am absolutely parched."

"Bitch!"

Imoen hesitantly patted Millara's back.

"I need to take a hot bath. And get dressed. And do my hair." - the half-elf announced in a voice that suggested she was torn between the urge to cry, and the urge to change into the Slayer again.

Millara was always prone to hysterics.

Need to find Galahad, Imoen decided, strolling down the corridor. Then maybe she could get him to accompany her to the Tower of Fallen Leaves - her very own part of the castle, nestled by a beautiful lake and separated from the main building by a maple grove.

Making sure she was alone, she took the chain off her neck.

The power surge that made her invisible tingled at her skin as Imoen slipped the Ring - she felt as if it should be called with a capital letter in the front - on middle finger, the sound of fire crackling loud in her ears.

She cackled gleefully.

Before she would set off to look for the knight, there was another thing that needed to be done. With decision made, Imoen skulked toward the kitchen to check if there was any cream cake left.

Chapter Text

The arachnoid's jaws opened and closed with an unpleasant, screeching sound.

It smelled sickeningly of carrion.

Renal considered the nearest escape route, but didn't move. He couldn't - his legs seemed to become permamently fixed to the ground, knees soft and jelly-like.

"You looked a little pale before, mister Bloodscalp, but now you're quite green!" - Alice remarked.

"Huh." - the master-thief said, watching a thick glog of saliva that dropped from the spider's mouth.

It sizzled, scorching the greenery at the creature's legs. The girl didn't appear to notice.

"In fact, mister, I insist you should have taken the smelling salts!"

"Why, yes, you're right." - he mumbled - "Surely enough, nothing better than smelling salts to solve all problems, and especially in a situation like this. I like lavender. And then, maybe-"

"Then let us go get them!" - Alice said cheerfully - "You will see, you will feel so much better!"

She climbed down onto the ground and took a two steps toward the eight-legged beast.

"Alice, don't-"

Renal broke off, watching the girl approach the spider, then swallowed loudly. Maybe it would be satisfied with her. Even though skinny, she looked well cared for, and if the creature-

"Excuse me, mister Spider!" - Alice curtsied, adressing it politely - "Please, would you be so kind and perhaps move out of the way just a bit? My friend, mister Bloodscalp, is unwell! Could we pass?"

The spider's jaw moved, gurgling as it stooped towards Alice; the master-thief bit on his lip, hard - he so didn't want to watch the outcome.

Alice merely frowned, pointing finger into its eyes.

"It was very rude thing to say, mister Spider! I was only asking, no need for this kind of language! More so!" - she continued, frown on her face deepening - "My dear Mamma would have me wash my mouth with soap for that, but you do not appear to brush your teeth at all!"

More gurgling and sizzling.

Renal felt a hysterical laughter bubble at the back of his throat; Alice's fists clenched and she huffed indignantly.

"No, no, no! That was enough of your impundence, mister Spider! Go back to whatever hell-hole you have crawled from, right now!"

The spider screeched as the tip of the girl's shoe struck it in the face, then hastily retreated among the web-entangled ferns.

The master-thief stood there with his jaw slack. He had seen compulsive spells at work on various occasions, but none of them quite so powerful.

The girl had an innate ability to will just about anything into reality, and yet, she still had no idea about it.

All the better, he decided.

"The cheek on you!" - Alice called after the spider, long after it was gone - "Die roaring, you smelly bastard!"

Air reverberated with a pained shriek. Something warm splattered on his face. 

Renal supressed a shudder, and smiled instead; he only needed to strike whilst the iron was still hot.

"Alice dear?" - he cleared his throat - "Tell me something. What is it you would like to do in the future?"

The girl pursed her lips, thinking, then beamed at him.

"I want to marry a nice gentleman! And have children, and a big pretty house with a garden, and a cook, and a-"

He needed to be very, very patient.

"I, ah, didn't mean that. I was thinking more about, umm, a career opportunities? A clever girl like you should..."

Renal fervently hoped he managed to play it out right, seeing as at the end of his rushed explanation Alice's eyes were a bit more fawn-like, rounder, and brighter than before.

"A highwayman?" - she squeaked - "And we would rob the well-off to give to the less fortunate, just like Robin Hood and Little John? It's what you do, is it not?"

The master-thief had never heard of neither. Actually, it reminded him of an annoying wench he's stumbled upon earlier today, the one who watched him as he rested nursing his bruised knee and crammed a coin in his hand while spouting some nonsense about the need of reliving the common folk's hardships - but he nodded eagerly.

"Yes. Exactly. I rob the rich and share the coin with, ahh, men." - he coughed - "The poor lads."

"I never was anyone's apprentice before! How lovely!" - the girl hopped up and down in excitment - "Does it mean you will call me Kitty and I can call you uncle?"

"Of course. Kitty."

Alice let out another overjoyed squeak, wrapping arms around his waist. Renal gritted his teeth, refusing to go off the smile, now painfully tugging at the corners of his lips.

He needed to be patient and polite and nice.

"It's going to be great, uncle Renal!"

They continued through the overgrown lane, toward the garden's gate - the girl seated on his back again and babbling incessantly, the master-thief doing his best to tune her out.

It was snowing behind it; the landscape a winter wonderland with firs and yews swooping under the white blanket, icicles that hung from their branches sharp and glistening with the last sunrays, bluish shadows lying thick on the ground.

There were no other footprints than their own on a virgin snow.

Renal couldn't think of the one possibly worse moment to discover that the girl's magic had its limitations.

"Kitty, d-do focus and try-y-y again. P-p-please? For me?"

"I wa-want to go t-to Athkatla!"

Nothing happened.

The sky was still purple-grey, alien, white flakes whirling around. It was absolutely freezing, dry, crisp air biting viciously at bare skin, and even Alice seemed to loose her cheer; the only sound leaving her mouth was that of teeth chattering.

The master-thief stumbled around half-blind, unable to find the garden's walls in steadily approaching blizzard - the path he tried to keep to long gone from his sight, the ancient wood closing in - dark, unfriendly and silent.

"Are we going to die uncle?" - Alice leaned to whisper into his ear - "Our maid told me her second cousin went out for a walk in the new year's eve, and they had only found him in the spring, and he was all blue and rotten, with crows and ravens pecking at-"

"I'd much rather avoid that."

The girl was a limp weight on his back, and sounded as if she was dozing off, too tired for exclamations.

"Kitty, don't sleep."

"Uhm."

"If you fall asleep, I will dump you under a tree and leave you all alone."

"You wouldn't do that, uncle Renal."

"Oh, but believe me little one, I absolutely would, and-"

Renal let out a muffled 'owww' as his boot caught under some hidden root. He fell forward - dropping the girl in process - and landing, face first, in a snowdrift.

"Beshaba's curse."

Alice got up first, shaking snow off her dress and turning to stand over him, her eyes wide awake from the shock.

"Is that so, uncle? But you promised we are going to be rich and famous!" - she said, pouting and stomping her foot - "You can't leave me here! I want to be a highwayman, and a hero, and a princess! I want to go to a magical realm! And-"

Crack.

The sky above shattered and burst with an ear-splitting noise, raining purplish shards that, somehow, half-way to the ground morphed into falling leaves - first shimmering in all colours of the rainbow, then settling down to amber, russet and brilliant scarlet.

Carefully, still curled on the ground, the master-thief looked around.

It wasn't winter anymore.

The woodland tract was broad and - judging from a pile of horse dung lying just next to his side - apparently well travelled

Light filtering through the tree's canopy was a soft, hazy glow of the harvest-month, the sun still high against the deep, brilliant blue backdrop. He took in the dusty road, brambles on the roadside heavy with fruit, patches of heather under the silver-barked birches, birds rustling and chirping among the branches.

The surroundings - even as unfamiliar as they still were - looked surprisingly, refreshingly normal.

There was creaking of a wagon's wheels coming from afar, beyond the road's bend, accompanied by a sound of what appeared to be singing contest.

Renal scrambled to his feet.

Alice busied herself with shaking remnants of snow from her pinafore, then looked at him, blinking.

"Uncle Renal, where are we?"

"No idea." - he said, listening intently to the clatter of hooves - "But I might just have a plan."

Chapter Text

Anomen was someplace dark.

Again.

The someplace was warm, cramped and claustrophobic - even though there were no tangible walls, no floor or ceiling to speak of, just a vague space he was suspended in - and altogether uncomfortable. In the stagnant air, his companion's usual reek was ever stronger, more ripe, and much harder to bear now that not even a slightest breeze reached them.

It didn't help that the only source of light came from deep within the creature's eyes - the twin malignant points of glimmering red that did nothing to allow him to actually see the surroundings, but served only to disconcert him further.

"You buggering, hare-brained fool!"

The rabbit's furious snarl rung inside his skull for a hundredth time.

So far, it seemed intent at calling him each offensive term that has ever been invented.

Repeatedly.

Anomen deliberated briefly about pointing the similarities between the hares and rabbits, then decided that voicing it wouldn't have been a particularly clever idea, afterall, and said nothing.

"Just look what you have done! It's all your fault!"

"But my lord Caerbannog-"

"Be quiet, you imbecile! I'm trying to think!"

The Helmite's teeth ground at another insult.

Silently, he swore that one day, the foul creature will pay for all the slights and wrongdoings.

"But my lord, do consider though. How in the Watcher's name was I to suspect I would need a bag of some worthless crumbs..?"

"You said it suddenly appeared in your pocket when you were about to set off for that stupid quest of yours, has it not?"

"Well, it was as you says indeed, but I did not think it actually-"

"Ah, and yet, it has never occured to you that since it happened, it must have did so for a good enough reason!"

It let out an exasperated sigh.

Just then, the heavy air around them shimmered and rippled, and a bright rectangle appeared above their heads, growing, spreading.

Anomen blinked rapidly - once, twice - squinting in the daylight.

He seemed to stand, solid on his feet again, on the already familiar bridge. He wasn't alone - the rabbit was there of course, curled on his shoulder, and a pair of children, barefoot and clad in a rough, homespun attire. A boy and a girl - siblings, most likely twins, judging from the striking similarity of their fair hair and freckled, dimpled cheeks.

The boy bowed with an obvious respect while his sister hid behind him, and only gave Anomen a shy smile.

"Good morrow, m'lord." - the boy adressed Anomen politely - "May the gods look kindly upon ye, can we pass the bridge?"

Anomen grunted and was about to let the children go when his companion's disembodied voice shrieked in his brain, so loud it made him wince.

"Salt and bread, you sodding nitwit! Ask the brat about your share of salt and bread, now!"

"I shall allow it, young man." - the Helmite said - "Still, I will require a-"

"A keeper's payment. I knows, m'lord."

The boy nodded, retrieving a tiny bundle from his sister's apron's pocket, then meticulously shook some of its contents onto Anomen's outstretched palm.

Crumbled bits of a dark crust mixed with white crystals. The Helmite could only stare, cringing a little at the rabbit's furious snarls filling his head.

"Tell me something, boy." - he cleared his throat - "Do you normally go around carrying these in your pockets..?"

Both children nodded vigorously.

"Aye, m'lord. Mamma takes a great care seein' to it, takin' as we live in the hut over there, and got to cross yon bridge comin' back from the woods."

"That would've been so horrible." - the girl's eyes widened - "To get stuck under it forever."

Anomen nodded absentmindedly.

"A horrible fate indeed."

"Anyhow, we'll be on the way, m'lord, lest Mamma begins to worry. Hurry up, Gretel."

Hesitantly, the girl reached to stroke the rabbit's head. Unbeknown to her, it growled, low and menacingly.

"Hansel, look. Poor creature, it lost it's paw."

Anomen saw the children walk towards the cottage, and then, with a quiet whoosh, he was back in his strange prison.

The silence, both around him and inside of his mind, has quickly grown oppressive.

"Lord Caerbannog?"

"What?"

"Am I correct, or does that means we have to stay locked here, waiting until someone who cannot pay for the passage shows up..?"

He shuddered when the creature's teeth nipped at his ear - viciously enough to draw blood. Anomen felt it, a warm trickle running down his neck.

"Astounding, you have finally reached this conclusion on your own." - it said, the voice deceptively tranquil - "Yes, knight-boy. This is precisely what it means."

Chapter Text

"So, who is it you want me to kill?"

"Oh dear. And just why would you think I shall require you to kill anyone?"

"Isn't it what everybody wants? What with me being an assassin, not to mention a god's of murder brood and whatnot."

Millara snorted and savagely bit into lamb's leg.

"And anyway." - she mumbled between the mouthfuls - "If it isn't about offing some bothersome fool, what's the point of dragging me into cooperation, then?"

Morrigan of the Fey let out a short chuckle; she picked delicately at her own portion of roast partridge in cider sauce, a wine goblet in her other hand.

"You are too much, Wolf."

Queen Guinevere - with her hair held by a silken net sewn with pearls and seated at the opposite corner of the heavy, lavishly decorated table - didn't touch the food placed on a trencher before her at all. Instead, she watched Millara with an unfeigned disgust curling at her lips.

"We are not amused."

On her side, Millara was intent on doing her worst - she slurped her soup noisily, stabbed peas with a knife's point, picked teeth with her fingernail, and, after taking a too big bite of her lamb, promptly spat it on the rushes.

Imoen was nowhere to be found, most likely busy playing a lady on a castle and making calf-eyes at sir Galahad.

Some sister she was.

"Oh wait. It must be about stealing something then, right?" - she regarded the bone in her hand, then ostentatiously dropped it under the table; a happy bark made it clear that at the very least, the hounds were appreciative - "You want me to swipe some magical bauble of sorts?"

"No. Well, not exactly."

The queen let out a quiet, petulant sniffle. Millara wiped her mouth in her tunic's sleeve and turned to the other woman with a smile of polite enquiry.

"What is it, your grace?" - she asked sweetly - "Need to borrow a handkerchief, perhaps?"

The sound that left Guinevere's throat was an outraged shriek.

"Thou shan't speak out of thy turn in the presence of one of the royal blood!"

Millara shrugged.

"Oh, fine. Whatever my beloved queen says, although in this case, we'll most likely stay here for a while."

"Thou art a vile blackguard, and a-"

"Ladies, ladies." - Morrigan of the Fey clucked her tongue, visibly bored - "If you could just stop for a moment and-"

"Fat chance, she called me a strumpet just the other night!"

"I called thee a common strumpet, and rightly so! Thou hast no shame!"

"Oooh, are those sour grapes? Maybe if you didn't miss playing with a stick you wouldn't have such a mighty one lodged up your arse!"

"How dare-"

The unexpected sound of a metal being slowly and deliberately dragged against glazed clay made all in attendance - including the perpetrator - equally wince. 

"Peace, please." - Morrigan put the fork away with just a smallest shudder - "There's too much to discuss without you two behaving like spoiled bairns."

Guinevere said 'be silent, sorceress' the very moment Millara said 'shut up, witch'. They both huffed, and glared at each other.

"So you can be single-minded, see?"

The sorceress in question smiled, taking a long, slow sip from her goblet. The half-elf wondered whatever it was somehow permamently fixed to her palm, and then eyed a rather cheap-looking silver ring Morrigan kept on the table's top, just barely out of Millara's reach.

Her lips pressed into tight line.

There was no way she could snatch it in plain sight. At least, not for long, and it was difficult to predict what other nastiness the woman might think to inflict upon her, had she even tried.

Turn her into a frog, most likely.

"Fine. Look now, Morrigan, I really don't have a problem with her." - she sighed, feeling a little defeated - "Imoen and I already promised Galahad we would help you with that prophecy of yours."

"We, the queen of Camelot, shan't show neither prejudice nor reluctance towards thee and thine." - Guinevere declared in tired tone that mirrored Millara's - "I only shall ask thee to strive for a more respectful conduct while by my side, so long so thou be required to act as Lord Protector of the Realm."

Millara was about to sneer at the use of the royal 'we', when the realisation dawned on her.

"Wait. What?" - she squeaked, immediately grimacing at the unnaturally low sound that left her throat - "Does 'staying by your side' means I'm to pose as the king? As in, your husband?"

It was Morrigan who answered in the queen Guinevere's behalf.

"Oh well, I'm afraid we'll need to have you continue masquerading as a man. The prophecy spoke of the White Wolf of the Stars, the Protector of the Realm. It did not specify the exact gender, but some of the folk around here are, sadly, somewhat narrow-minded and would expect a fierce warrior of a lord to fill the role. But it will be the fun part mostly we'll need you to participate in, I'm sure you will love it. Attending feasts and tourneys. Wearing ermine cape and waving sceptre around. Listening to minstrels singing praises." - she grinned - "Fret not, you're only to act as the queen's regent. No one's going to expect you to go about fulfilling king's duty and siring a heir or such."

Both the half-elf and the queen cringed.

The sorceress gave Guinevere an odd, pointed look - the queen's cheeks flushed at that, a deep, deep crimson, clearly visible against her fair complexion. It made Millara wonder.

"And as I told you before, Wolf, I won't interfere with whatever pleases you during all other hours. By every means, go make merry with knights or servants, your bodycount is no concern of mine."

It was a small comfort, but one nonetheless.

"You know, just in case you didn't notice, everyone has already seen I'm a woman, despite what you did to me." - Millara objected, still not quite managing to keep resentment out of her voice - "I don't see how it's supposed to work."

"Oh, it will. It's only the queen's most faithful knights that know. Others do not."

"But I'm no warrior. I'm not even a human. Wouldn't that be suspicious?"

"Yes, you have the Fey blood in your veins, same as I. But even though you are not of this world, you've just recovered the holy sword. And the chalice. You saw how these men gaped? Not to mention your, ah, second performance. Quite unforgettable really. Such a powerful avatar. Hall of the Round Table will never look the same again."

Millara's teeth ground. 

She hated, hated bloody Slayer. 

"Anyway, we're not at war so charging in front of galloping cavalry won't be neccesary, they will still absolutely believe you to be Arthur's chosen one, to act in his stead before he comes back from Avalon."

The half-elf's quirked an eyebrow, now utterly lost.

"Galahad mentioned it, I think. Avalon, that is. It's a... Well, doesn't it mean the king is, like, uhh, dead?"

"Technically, yes. And you see, this is where the heart of our problem lies." - Morrigan stared into her empty goblet, then reached for a jug - "But we're running too far ahead, given as not everyone mentioned in the prophecy has shown up and we need to-"

"This kind of reminds me. Why does no one yet bothered to explain us what's this thrice-damned prophecy precisely about? Not Galahad, not you, not her."

Millara crossed her arms, one shoulder shrugging in general direction of the queen Guinevere, now silent and thoughtlessly picking at blackberry pudding.

"We promised to help and it's all sunshine and rainbows, but Immy and I would like to eventually go home, you know."

The woman waved her hand, unconcerned.

"You will learn everything in the right time, Wolf. And yes, I happen to know just someone in power to find the path that will lead you and your sister back to your world as soon as possible."

"You'd better."

"As for the present, we require you to show in the royal court once in a while, do a good regently impression, I am positive you will do your best to not bungle it up, you may find the results entirely not to your liking..."

Millara felt a renewed, powerful urge to stick her spoon into the sorceresses' green eye.

"Huh, threatening me now, are we?"

"Not at all, Wolf. But given how you are now a hero biding her time, you might as well enjoy doing something useful and befittingly heroic."

"Does it going to involve me killing things, afterall? Please say yes."

"Indeed. There's a bit of larceny, too."

"Perfect." - Millara sprang to her feet - "So. What do you want?"

"See, I require you to find the shrubbery."

The half-elf stared at the woman, unsure whatever the sorceress could possibly be drunk again at such an early hour.

"A shrubbery."

"No, not just any shrubbery, of course." - Morrigan continued - "The shrubbery. There's an old citadel south from here, with an evil giant being its sole occupant. It's hard to miss, it's got the highest, spikiest hedge on this side of the Lake."

"I've been to High Hedge before." - Millara remarked - "I've met a talking chicken there, would you believe it?"

Her interjection went largely ignored.

"The giant is a big, ugly brute, but grows most magnificent blue roses, which he jealously guards. I imagine they would look just lovely in the castle's garden. Wouldn't they, your Grace? If you could bring us a wee cutting of these, Wolf, we'll be much obliged."

Millara snorted.

"I so love these grab-and-fetch quests. Anything else?"

"Indeed. The highwaymen seem to had grown much too bold lately. Relieve some of the common folk's hardships and do something about it?"

"I will. As soon as you make good on your part of agreement."

"Yes. Here is the promised trinket; turn it once to disguise yourself, twice to resume your real body. Oh, and try to not fiddle with it too much, I can't be hold responsible for resulting mishaps."

"Sure."

"Remember to use it at your own discretion, too, or otherwise I'll be forced to do something... Unpleasant."

The sorceress picked up a silver ring off the table, and pushed it towards Millara, who snatched it and immediately crammed onto her finger, rushing to the chamber's exit.

"Morrigan. Your grace. I'll be on my way then. See you around."

She has only reached the door when they opened, revealing an unfamiliar knight - in shining armour and, as it was - tall, dark, and handsome. The half-elf nearly tripped over her feet and beamed brightly at the man; the newcomers's reaction was a startled rise of his eyebrows.

"Well met, Sir." - he inclined his head in greeting; Millara deflated, only then noticing that overjoyed as she was, she had yet to use the ring.

She spun around at the sudden rattle of cutlery falling to the floor; the queen Guinevere all but jumped to her feet - in very un-queenly manner, the half-elf thouth sourly, noticing the other's woman's pale face growing paler still.

These were definite signs of some drama about to unfold, Millara could tell, and wanted no part in it.

"Oh by Tymora's tits, I'm so outta here." - she mumbled, turning the silver band around her finger and patting her chest with satisfaction as magical surge shimmered through the air around her.

The mysterious knight did not spare her a second glance, his eyes locked with the queen's.

"Sir Lancelot of the Lake."

It was all Guinevere said - in a small, trembling voice that made Millara unwillingly turn back and frown.

Uhuh.

Chapter Text

The cart that appeared at the road's bend was exactly to Renal's liking.

Its frame darkened with age, it looked comfortable enough without being ostentatious - wide benches and sturdy wheels, drawn by a tandem of matching sorrel horses. The animals seemed strong and well groomed, too, their coats brushed glossy and manes braided with ribbons.

Renal moved to stand in the tract's very middle, waving his hands and effectively blocking the passage.

"Hail travellers! - he called - "I, ah, entreat you, do stop and hear me out!"

To be entirely honest, this wasn't the first choice of words he would have used under similar circumstances any other day, but Alice - Kitty - hidden amongst the brambles and, as for the moment, thankfully quiet - insisted he ought to be polite and kind and behave like a proper gentleman always.

Even if he was about to commit a crime.

As expected, the cart slowed down - there were two men sprawled upon the benches, one of them singing and plucking lazily at the lute's strings, the other nursing an ample sized wineskin in the crook of his elbow. The third man - with a coiled whip in his hand - perched in the coachman's high seat.

Renal's eyes sparkled like two newly minted coins as he regarded them, making a quick mental equation.

There was a padlocked wooden coffer and several linen sacks at the coachman's feet; pouches at the journeymen's belts were fat and obviously not stuffed with sawdust, their clothes - strikingly unlike the plain cart - made of flashy, richly hued fabrics and extravagantly cut. The fashion around here seemed to favour tunics with puffed sleeves and scalloped trims, and tight, particoloured pantaloons which the master-thief privately thought rather gaudy.

"Uncle Renal, mummers!" - Alice called, peeking from behind a bush - "How fun!"

"Indeed. But hush now, child. I need to think."

Admittedly, the girl had a point and the group could have been a mummers troupe. Their odd attire certainly fit the image.

Only, the more he looked, the more it seemed to be something just vaguely off about them.

The master-thief frowned as he took in yet more details, noticing crude short swords slung at their sides and boots - the particular kind of tall boots with heavy soles - that were worn and dusty in comparison to the rest of their garb, and how their clothes appeared a wee bit ill-fitting, with sleeves too short and taut over beefy arms. Lastly, there were their features - although completely dissimilar, all three men had shifty, squinting eyes, set in rough faces under unkempt hair. An ugly scar marred brow and most of the right cheek of one, the other wore a leather eye-patch.

In short, they looked like they belonged in a city gaol or some shady watering hole down the slums, and Renal found himself suddenly wondering whatever it was his imagination playing tricks, or the lute in the scarred man's hands and the song he sung - not surprisingly, one about fair maiden and some knight - both begun to sound unpleasantly out of tune in his ears.

Maybe, just maybe, his plan wasn't quite so good afterall.

Still, it was too late to reconsider, now that singing ceased and the cart pulled to an abrupt stop. The master-thief beconed to Alice to come forth, then tucked the girl under his arm, making sure to cover her mouth with his palm.

"Be quiet now, Kitty, and let me do the talking, alright?"

"Mhm!""

Please? Pretty please..?"

"Mhmmm!"

"Thank you, sweetling."

The coachman leaned from his seat.

"Forsooth!" - he called hoarsely - "Goode morrow. What is it ye want?"

"It is a blessed day indeed. Do tell me, my kind friend, how far from Athkatla are we?"

The man blinked and scratched at his ear.

"Must be far." - he replied after a moment - "To be sure, I never 'eard of yon place before."

Renal nodded; Alice stirred and mumbled into his fingers.

"Mhmm!"

"A pity." - he cleared his throat, ignoring the girl - "But then, may it be we're anywhere near Waterdeep?"

"This I knows. It'll be to th' west. Th' Lake be near me old man's hut, an' no doubt to it bein' a deepest water I've ever seen. Bloody cold, too, but abound wit' trout, an' we used to-"

"A most fascinating story, alas, not precisely what I've meant. What about Neverwinter?"

"Eh, well. I think..." - the man's forehead furrowed in an obvious effort - "I think nay. What wi' winter, it be summer still for awhile."

The master-thief sighed.

It was disappointing, to learn he was obviously still stranded so - but also, somehow to be expected.

"How about... What was it called again, Kitty?" - he glanced at the girl - "This city od yours?"

"Mhm! Mhmhhh!"

"Ah yes, I do recall now. London? Is it far?"

The coachman picked at his nose - which was very large, very red and impressively hooked, as if it was broken once or twice before - and continued doing so for such a long, thoughtful moment that the master-thief felt a stirring of renewed hope.

Alice's family lived in London. They would surely shower him with silver and gold upon returning their little runaway home, hale and in one piece to boot.

Once he collected the bounty, he could focus on finding means to return to Amn.

The hope died right after the man - letting out a satisfied huff for a good measure - smeared a freshly dug bogey against his trousers' leg and shrugged.

"No city o' this name around that I knows of."

"I see. Are you at least able to tell us where are we?"

"Mhmm!"

Renal winced, his eyes watering as Alice - Kitty - somehow managed to bite his thumb.

"I mean, could you perhaps be so kind and elaborate a little on our whereabouts, please?"

The coachman regarded him with expression changing from mildly confused to suspicious.

"Why, 'tis the realm of Caerleon, accourse."

"I beg your pardon, the realm of Caerwhat?" - it was Renal's turn to scratch his ear - "Oh, nevermind. What will be the nearest settlement then?"

"Lemme think... That'll be the town of Ol' Stones an' then th' castle Camelot, albeit it's still many miles from 'ere."

At that, Renal perked up.

"A castle you say? Big, rich castle?"

"Aye, fer sure as big an' rich as they come." - the man cocked his head - "Ehm. Why's yer hair blue?"

Renal deflated a little, deciding to pretend he didn't hear the question.

"So, about this Camelot place. Were you just travelling there by any chance?"

"Well-"

"Excellent. My niece here is so tired, she's nearly asleep on her feet, the poor thing." - the master-thief leaned to affectionately ruffle Alice's dark tresses; there were pine needles and dry leaves stuck in their wild tangle - "I trust you won't refuse a child and her only remaining family if we asked to join you on your journey?"

The coachman opened his mouth; an unintelligible grunt escaped it, confirming Renal's impression that the fellow wasn't to be counted amongst the brightest torches on the wall.

The other man - the one with a lute and scarred face, who until now seemed only moderately interested in exchange, snorted.

"Actually, I will refuse." - he raised his hand in a haughty manner - "We have no place in our cart and we aren't heading to Camelot anyway. Begone, beggar."

Renal gave him a wounded look, struggling to keep squirming Alice quiet and securely pinned to his side.

"Mhmm!" - she protested.

"Your assumptions hurt me, my friend. We might be a road-weary travellers with nary a coin to our name, but we are not beggars." - he shook his head morosely - "And my precious niece, truly, does she look to you like a mere scapegrace?"

The master-thief hid a grin, fully aware of the sad tatters that were left of his clothes and Alice's grubby hands, her dress rumpled and muddy after wading through the pond-garden. The man with lute eyed them up and down, then looked at his companions.

All three roared laughing.

"I am not your friend." - the man put the instrument away, still sniggering - "But by the Lady's of the Lake graces, shall you or that draggle-tail come any closer, I may simply ask Cadell here to introduce you both to his whip."

"And right ye be, Flypp." - the third man, with an eye-patch, mocked - "I'd rather live on gruel and water again than let any of them pests near. I's sure they must be acrawl with lice. She's some kind o' lunkhead, that niece of ye's, is she not? Crawled outa swamp did ye, eh, girl?"

Renal felt Alice tremble in umbrage, and flashed the men a broad, sunny smile.

It was far more bravado on his part than he would have actually liked to admit - if he made a mistake and his plan was to fail, it was somewhat fair to suspect they were neck-deep in big, really big troubles.

"Alas as I feared, no help to be found here." - he said - "In that case, there is something else I would need. Not much, only-"

"Are you bloody deaf? Heed my advice and begone. We have no time to waste on vagrants."

"Bah. Seems he's plain dyin' to taste me sword's pointy end, this 'un."

"Your cart, gentlemen. I'm afraid I must intercept it." - the master-thief continued blithely, pointing his finger at the man with the lute - "And, as for you there, your clothes. I want them. They seem about my size and will have to do, even though I cannot say I like them all that much."

"What?"

"Yes, you heard right. Your sense of style is something you badly need to work at, friend, and this particular colour is simply garish."

The scarred one spat on the ground.

"Enough." - he leaned from his seat and over his companion's shoulder, tugging at the reins - "Get off the way, lest you or your whelp get under the hooves."

The coachman clucked his tongue.

Renal shook his head, a deliberately sorrowful look back on his face, and let Alice free.

Which meant, here was coming his biggest gamble thus far.

"Go gobble an orc, arsehole." - he muttered under his breath then sniffled loudly. - "Did you hear, Kitty? Let us be on our way, our friends here think us some mangy tramps. They laugh at us and say we are filthy, won't share their nice cart, and just look my dear, with all the money they have we could help others and-"

"Shut up!"

His eyes stung with tears - for a second time in quarter a bell, no less - when his own teeth clamped viciously over his tongue. The master-thief yelped and staggered back.

Alice stared at the men with her fists clenching and unclenching and cheeks flushed scarlet with pure fury.

It made him shiver.

"You..! How dare you! To call me dirty!" - Alice screeched, stomping her foot - "To say I have lice! And I am not a beggar, I'm a highwaywoman and when I'll be a princess, I shall have your heads mounted on spikes, you rotten maggots!"

Not surprisingly, her declaration caused another bout of merriment, raspy laughter echoing through the forest, startling birds and squirrels in the nearby trees.

"The cart, Kitty. Please." - Renal reminded, whispering theatrically behind her back - "We need it."

"Yes! Uncle Renal had only asked you ever so politely, and we could have all travelled together like good friends! Mamma always told me that one ought to share, and if you won't share what you have got, you don't deserve it altogether! Get off the cart, right now!"

The laughter suddenly died. For a breath or two, all three men gaped in turn at them and each other. Then, as if by some miracle, they sprung to their feet and begun clumbering down, ungainly and in apparent hurry.

"You little witch..!" - the scarred one yelped as he tripped, landing flat on his backside - "What have you done to me!"

"An' me! Oww! Me shin!"

Alice raised her hand, two fingers flicking in a gesture the master-thief did not know, but which must have been rather insulting - then, rude or not, it didn't really matter as it happened to have much desired effect of terrifying the already terrified men even further.

"It's magic! Foul magic!"

"She cursed us! We're doomed!"

"Move, bastards!" - Alice yelled shrilly - "Faster, you dog vomit, you stinking sewer-froth!"

The men's efforts doubled, as if they binged on the oil of speed, their curses and cries for help pitching higher and louder than before.

Renal approached the girl on his tiptoes - fuming as she was, Alice was likely to unwittingly make something hideous happen to him, too. He swallowed and gave her a very careful pat on the shoulder. To his unspoken relief, the angry furrow scrunching her face disappeared, replaced by the usual expression of over-eager wonder.

"Yes, uncle?"

"You did excellent. I need to ask you for one more thing, though. The clothes, Kitty. We need some new clothes." - he instructed the girl - "Or someone will mistake us for paupers again. We wouldn't want that, would we? I think if you asked-"

"You there, ugly motherfucker! And you, and you too!" - Alice roared, obediently pointing at the men, now trembling and cowering on the ground - "Undress and get the hell out of here!"

They seemed to freeze at that. It didn't last overly long.

"Flypp, do somethin' would ye!" - the coachman groaned - "It's all yer fault, ye bloomin' eejit!"

The man with a scar folded his hands in plea, his companions beginning to remove their attire, unclasping their cloaks and belts and pulling their boots off.

"Have pity, m'lady!" - he wailed - "We didn't mean to be disrespectful!""

"Never!"

"Mercy!"

"I don't give a damn! Uncle Bloodscalp says we need your clothes, so you do what I say!"

Renal watched the scene with his arms crossed and lips stretching in a smirk of vindictive glee.

In spite of everything, his improvised plan worked out just fine, the master-thief concluded smugly, giving the cart brief inspection. Then, he reached to Alice and placed his hand over the child's eyes, gently steering her away from the screaming, howling, increasingly naked trio.

"That's my girl." - he murmured - "I swear I never had a finer apprentice."

"Really?"

"Cross my heart and hope to die. But come now, Kitty dear. Don't look."