Chapter Text
Ivy Morris, now well into her teenage years—the exact number, she couldn't say—had become quite the Wanderer. She'd even been given the title officially, to her delight.
As part of her wanderings, she saw all kinds of landscapes and creatures, discovered hidden places for the first time in Luster's life, and met all kinds of people. Some she liked; some she didn't. Grimwold she liked, hence why she felt no qualms with simply opening his door and inviting herself in, taking the trek through the passageways with a practiced ease, the twists and turns now familiar after so many visits.
Some people, still, she was unsure of her feelings on. That was the aim of her visit.
Ivy had run into the Queen's Players time and time again, of course, but the group fluctuated, people somehow coming and going despite Luster's closed borders. She didn't question this, of course, though it meant the faces changed.
Typically those faces were not familiar, with one exception: Jacques the Tumbler, a scrawny teenage boy a bit younger than her, who had joined the troupe not too long before. His face was so undeniably familiar, it made Ivy feel like her brain was going to explode. The whole time she'd last been with the Players, she'd stared at him so long that one of the others had pulled her aside and asked if something had happened between them.
The thing was, she didn't know. Surely not; when would she have ever had the time to meet a boy like him before? The orphanage she'd been housed in as a child? Some time before that, some time after that? She couldn't pin it down, no matter how many times she thought it over. That was why she was paying a visit to Grimwold. She hoped he would have Jacques's story.
Ivy poked around his underground home, trying and failing to find him in various rooms, which meant he was likely in the Story Room, as he tended to be. She found her way there easily enough—after all, it was probably the place she'd spent the most time in, maybe out of everywhere in Luster—and pushed open the door.
The room took her breath away, as it always did. It was almost overwhelmingly cozy, inviting her in to take a nap next to the crackling hearth, on any pillow or rug of her choosing. A thousand different books offered her bedtime stories, as did the man sitting at his desk. He was rather short, with dark skin and huge eyes. Grimwold, her friend, and the current keeper of the Chronicles.
"Hello, Ivy." He didn't look up from the current book in front of him, his hand only briefly pausing, and even then, it was simply to dip his quill back in the ink pot off to his side. "Do you have a story to tell me? Give me just a moment and I'll find a place to stop."
"No, no," she replied absentmindedly, kicking off her boots before she properly entered the room.
He hummed an acknowledgement and continued his work as Ivy went around the shelves. She looked for any titles including the Queen's Players, but most were in a variety of languages that she didn't know.
She gave up the search rather quickly, throwing herself down on a comfy armchair that she liked. She wasn't in the mood to search each and every book for the information she wanted. For all she knew, he didn't even keep the story in here.
"Do the Queen's Players ever visit you, Grimwold?" she asked, twisting herself in the chair so her legs were thrown over the armrest.
"They do."
She hummed a snatch of a tune, reaching back to undo the braid that her hair was bound in. "Do they tell you their stories, too, even though they're not unicorns?"
"All stories in Luster interest me," he said, "not just those of unicorns. But they are the Queen's Players."
"Right." It was hard to imagine Queen Arabella Skydancer having much interest in human creativity and fun—especially things involving hands—but perhaps there was some secret, silly side to the unicorn queen that Ivy simply hadn't met yet. Moonheart had one, after all, so it didn't seem impossible…
Not that she spent much time in the unicorn courts, anyways. There were so many things to do, and so many places to wander to, and so many people to meet.
"Speaking of the Queen's Players… Have you met a boy named Jacques? A little taller than me, dark hair, lots of freckles…?"
"I've met Jacques," Grimwold replied.
"So… Do you know how he got into Luster?"
"I do."
"How, then?"
"I can't tell you," Grimwold said primly, continuing his writing with practiced precision.
Ivy groaned and crossed her arms with a huff. "Why not?"
"Some stories are private."
"But aren't they part of the Chronicles? You wrote them down so they could be referenced in the future."
"Then go hunt down the tale yourself." Grimwold waved her away, his eyes never leaving the page in front of him.
Ivy pressed her lips together. How unfair! There were thousands upon thousands of books down here, centuries upon centuries of knowledge, surely. How in the world was she meant to find one specific book about one unremarkable teenage boy? It would be easier to just ask Jacques outright.
"That's an idea," she muttered to herself. She pushed herself up and threw her legs back down to the floor, grabbing for her cloak and rushing to the door.
"On your way out already?" Grimwold asked, finally looking up from his work.
"Well, if you won't tell me, then I suppose I'll just have to go to the source and get the story for myself." She donned her cloak with a flourish, snatching up her boots from the floor, but not stopping to put them on. "You should be proud of me. I could take your job, one of these days."
Grimwold just laughed. "Travel safe, travel well, little Wanderer."
She was already out of the door before he could finish the farewell.