Chapter Text
3rd February 1912(Evening)
Dusk had long given way to the inky expanse of nightfall. From the hedgerows drifted the scent of hawthorn and fresh primrose; the ground beneath the great stallion’s feet sprawled a carpet of lush moss with the occasional patch of daisies winking white beneath the twilight. Ahead of us stretched the forest. The attentive oaks were(thank god) asleep, undisturbed by our passing, their trunks swathed in ground mist and leafed eyes shut. Silently, I hoped the shimmering notes of harp strings which spilled from our party aided in lulling rather than waking. At least for now.
Our silver-clad persuasion danced gracefully and silently down the wood, the only noise— save for the instruments— being the occasional chitter of laughter from the small folk. From the corner of my eye, I could see as, mirthfully, they weaved through the sleeping trees. The melody they played was unlike anything I’d ever heard, and echoes of flutes rose with the wind to create a rhythm so unfamiliar to mortal conception that one could no longer discern whether they’d been enraptured by the music for moments or an eternity.
Experienced as I am, I’m ashamed to admit that I succumbed to its effects more than once. It wound its way through my mind in dizzying circles, rendering my sensibilities to a dreamy haze of intoxicating bliss. The only reliable keeper of time was the beat of my own heart. After some time, I began to doubt that too.
I tightened my grasp around Wendell. I closed my eyes and counted my breaths. As tradition demanded, we were the only two on a mount, a great thing, with fur of bright white and steps that shook the earth beneath us.
She was adorned finery worthy of any other member of our court; her belled bridle flashed with every movement, ringing melodically to herald the approach of our great company. Folk from every corner of the kingdom had assembled, draped in their fineries—or, at least, what each considered to be their finest. ( The dreadful odor wafting from a warrior, clad in the rotting carcasses of his enemies, was enough to make even the bravest recoil). Amidst the assembly of ethereally regaled folk sporting cloth softer than Angora fur to the fabics more radiant than the moon, with out a doubt the finest dressed among us was, naturally, my very own husband.
Enshrouded in a spider-silk veil, freckled with a complex design of constellations, small diamonds twinkled upon it like distant stars. Beneath, he donned an elaborate robe, cloth spun from midday clouds and dyed the deepest obsidian; his train floated behind him, unfurling in curling plumes of smoke like ink blots upon the glade. Beneath the veil gleamed a great pair of silver antlers, not unlike the deer found in the Wildwood; his choice of a crown for the evening, he explained, was made in commemoration of all who resided there.
Simply put, he was breathtaking.
At last, we broke into a wide circular clearing. The air crisp and fresh, no longer smothered with the scent of fragrant flowers. The moon loomed over us, a silver sickle bathing the clearing in radiant light. Most spilled into the clearing, in a blurring mass of glittering opulence, sharp teeth and beastly faces, while others—particularly of the smaller and more theriomorphic in nature—lingered at the threshold of the tree line. The occasional flash of eyes the only indicator of their presence. The music abubly came to a halt. A reverent silence had befallen the crowd; folk looked on wide-eyed, a mix of terror and awe.
“There she is,” murmured Wendell, his voice no longer sounding human.
Before us, in the clearing’s centre stood the mother tree. She rose like a gash upon the landscape —a thick, knotted trunk giving way to gnarled branches that twisted around themselves, encircling the ancient giant in a woody halo.
Truly, she was a sight to behold. I reckoned it would take no fewer than five people, arms outstretched, to fully encircle her weathered girth. The attentive oak found in the Silverlilly’s secret island paled in comparison.
Despite her age, she remained lush and powerful, each branch heavy with dense emerald leaves. The eyes upon them closed—at rest—like her countless children.
Wilde, Emily. "mater oculorum(i.e the mother tree)". 3rd February 1912
I was not one year into my reign when the hibernation began. though it's been three years that day and it's events have been permanently etched into my mind, for better or for worst. I remember the morning air, cool and laden with the aroma of fresh moss. It had rained all throughout the day prior, rather than soak myself to the bone, I relegated myself to our chambers, intent on having the day for myself and my work. At the time, I was in the heart of my longest, unbroken stay in this realm. The turmoil of court life was beginning to take its toll. Each day bled into the next in a frenzy of scandals, banquets, revels, and the overall madness that accompanies a fae realm.
In search of relief, I had taken to wandering about the woods just outside of the castle, the same route every day, my thoughts as my only companion. Wendell had forged this path for me at my request. A route forever unchanging, a place I could visit day after day and find every stone, river, or tree where it should be. A treasure in a realm as unpredictable as this.
Morning dew decorated the grass blades, little beads glinting in the dawn’s light in shades of soft pinks and pale oranges. I exhaled contentedly; a surprising calm had settled over me, much like morning fog draped upon the hills. For the first time in a while, I truly felt as though I was alone. No servants bustling in and out, no demanding councillors listing off their numerous thoughts, no nosy courtiers following me around eagerly for the next morsel of gossip—when I thought about it, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt as though there weren’t eyes on me.
A sinking dread gripped me then. How had it taken me so long to notice:
The eyes… where were the eyes?
I spun around frantically; the eyes on the attentive oaks had disappeared. I furiously tried to tamp down my dread: Perhaps these were not in fact attentive oaks,I reasoned. Perhaps I had taken a wrong turn into an unfamiliar grove, or the land had shifted.
Alas, after an assessment of my bearings, those possibilities were thoroughly debunked. Everything was as it should be.
Everything except the trees.
My mind immediately went to Wendell and his connection to the trees. What if something had happened? This morning when I left, he was sleeping, bundled in a mountain of pillows. Something must have gone wrong—I regretted ever leaving.
My legs moved faster than my thoughts; in a flash of instinct, my feet were racing me to the castle. The forest around me blurred; branches slapped my face and pulled at my clothing as I passed. In my haste, I tripped several times over roots; nevertheless, my adrenaline carried me on.
At last, I reached the castle. I paid no mind to the very confused guards as I raced past them. I burst into the Great Hall, breath ragged and legs burning. The courtiers and servants alike turned as one, their expressions a mixture of surprise and curiosity. No doubt caught off guard at the sight of their queen sweaty and disheveled bursting in a panic at the blush of dawn. I rushed immediately towards the only council member present; unfortunately, it was Lady Thorns and Thistles.
I had not given her a moment to say so much as a greeting before crying:
“The trees! Something happened to the trees!”
They erupted in a chorus of shocked whispers. Many rushed to the windows to see what on earth I was talking about, and in a fit of panic, a little fae girl even dove under the table.
Many exclaimed and questions were levied my way, but they received no answer.
"My dear queen, fairer than the breeze,”she gasped, her goat-like eyes shimmering with barely contained excitement, “Pray, what of the whispering trees?"
“The trees’ there eyes… gone!” I babbled.She covered her sharp-toothed smile behind a delicate hand. “Where’s my husband!” I demanded.
She tittered a laugh; Lady Thorns and Thistles found my distress amusing. No doubt perfect fodder for her next ridiculous poem.
I wanted to slap her.
“Excuse me,” I said swiftly, attempting to get around her and out of the hall. She’d proven to be utterly useless, and I wasn’t about to waste more time than necessary at the risk of my husband’s life.
Before I even managed a step—with inhuman swiftness— she grabbed my hands in hers. The crowd around us broke into sudden, giddy laughter.
I attempted to wrench them away, but her grip tightened, ice-cold fingers digging into mine. My eyes met hers, and they creased with unnerving delight, a smile curling her too-red lips. The inhuman laughter, her wretched smile— it swirled around me like a storm. I no longer felt safe; I felt like a small child, unable to comprehend what was occurring.
A sudden fright seized me at the look she gave me, an animalistic urge to run had settled itself within my bones. I was at the moment very aware as to why I avoided her when possible.
"Eyes, you say?”she whispered. “They have gone away?”
“yes, the eyes on the trees are gone,” I reiterated, hiding my growing unease with frustration. ”You go. Summon the guards, and if you’ll excuse me, I must go check on the king.”
“Be at ease, dear one? There is no need to leap.” She purred, a strange softness in her tone. “Why trouble yourself over the trees? They are simply asleep.”
With that, the laughter grew to near manic, jarring, and dissonant, still not quite understanding the joke. I looked around, bewildered . Folk were pitched over, clutching their sides, faces alight with mirth, wild and uncontrollable. I turned back to Lady Thorns and Thistles, a confused look on my face. She gave me a pitying look, explaining that Wendell was perfectly safe; the trees had simply begun their hibernation. Every three centuries or so, the trees rested for three years and three days.
My face burned with embarrassment, Naturally, this was common knowledge to everyone but me. She patted my hand once before releasing them from her frigged grasp, taking the opportunity I swiftly thanked her, apologized for the confusion, and promptly excused myself.
Once Wendell had woken and heard the news of the ruckus I had caused over his well-being, he was all too eager to hear the details. I caught him, on several occasions throughout the day, grinning at me with a look that could only be described as mischievous. A swift reprimand brought that to an end, though. I told him, as firmly as I could manage, cease bringing the matter up. He, of course, bemoaned that it was difficult not to, given how rarely I make such grand romantic gestures. I cannot abide that he seems to perceive my worrying over him as some sort of romantic offering. It only encourages him to act even more recklessly, and Lord knows he is already reckless enough without any added provocation. After practically begging him to spare me the further embarrassment of reminding me how I appeared such a fool in front of my own court, he reluctantly agreed to never mention the matter again.
I unfortunately can not say the same for Taran.