Work Text:
Tarsakh 1455
Baldur’s Gate
“…and they lived happily ever after. The end.” Eliwyn sets the book in her lap and leans her head against the trunk of the willow tree.
“Again!” comes a little voice from the other side of the tree.
“Again? I’ve read it three times already,” says Eliwyn, craning around towards the source of the small demand.
“I know, but it’s my favorite one.” Francesca pokes her head around so that she is almost nose to nose with Eliwyn. Her smile lights up her face.
“Hm,” murmurs Eliwyn, her eyes narrowed playfully. “Well, alright. After all, it’s one of my favorites, too.”
So, for the fourth time, Eliwyn reads the tale of a young woman who goes on an adventure to find an archfey and gain the power she needs to save her village from a horrible monster. Of course, changes have been made to make the tale more suitable for a six year old. The archfey becomes a fairy godmother and instead of making a feypact the heroine makes a wish which is then granted, naturally. And instead of the tale ending with a rather harsh lesson about the dangers of becoming a warlock, Eliwyn's version ends as all fairytales must.
“…and they lived happily ever after. The end.”
Francesca is now curled up in Eliwyn’s lap, but when the story ends she turns and purses her lips. “Eliwyn?”
“Yes, dearest?”
“Are you my fairy godmother?”
Eliwyn scrunches her face. “Goodness, what a question! What makes you think I might be?”
Francesca twists fully and places her palms on Eliwyn’s cheeks. “Because mama says you’re very old, but you don’t look it.” She squishes Eliwyn’s cheeks together then presses them taught. A wide grin spreads at the silly effect it has on Eliwyn’s appearance.
“Oh, does she now?”
“Mhm,” says Francesca with a nod. “And you have fairy ears and really long hair. And! You can do magic.”
Taking Francesca’s hands in hers, Eliwyn laughs. “It seems you’ve found me out, you clever thing.” Eliwyn taps her on the nose. “Which means, you have earned a wish. So, what shall it be?”
“Hm,” Francesca murmurs as she continues to twist a finger through Eliwyn’s hair. “I want to be a princess.”
Of course she does. Yet even for a true fairy godmother, making someone a princess is no easy task. It requires a complex set of magical invocations—ideally sung, and Eliwyn is no singer. One must also need a patch of pumpkins and a couple of mice and a wand that can turn and ordinary slipper into glass. Eliwyn is woefully unprepared for this undertaking and is about to tell Francesca as much. But then she sees the elated smile of anticipation on the little girl's face and she knows she must, under pain of death, make this wish come true.
“Very well,” she says, casting about in search of how to make Francesca a true princess. An idea comes to her as her eyes alight upon the small flowers surrounding them. “To be a princess, you need a crown.”
Eliwyn pulls down several fronds from the willow tree and braids them together. She measures it about Francesca’s head and fastens it with a bit of string plucked from her shawl. Amidst the budding leaves of the willow she weaves in the tiny white blooms of blue star creeper and yellow buttercups and purple bugleweed.
A beam of delight shines upon Francesca’s face when Eliwyn crowns her Princess of Baldur’s Gate.
“Can I have another wish?”
“What is it you desire, dearest?”
Francesca smirks at her then whispers into her ear.
“Another one? But you’ve already eaten half the bag!”
A pleading smile spreads beneath scrunched eyes and the lopsided flower crown. Eliwyn sighs. She simply cannot deny Francesca’s smiles. So she pulls out the bag of fried dough from Harbreeze Bakery and plops one of the balls into Francesca’s waiting palm. Then, Francesca takes off across the park after a rabbit that bounds out from one of the nearby bushes.
Eliwyn leans back again and watches Francesca leap and sprint and squat to inspect a butterfly as it warms its wings on a rock. More than anything she watches Francesca smile. She cannot help but smile as well.
In due time, Hemma joins Eliwyn beneath the tree. “How rotten did you spoil her today?” she asks, nodding to the bag from the bakery.
“Only slightly more than usual,” Eliwyn says.
Hemma laughs. It is a laugh that Eliwyn would listen to for the rest of her life if she could. “Here, I saved one for you.” Eliwyn hands the last bit of fried dough to Hemma.
“She looks a bit like Gran, don’t you think?” asks Hemma as she bites into the dough hall.
“Yes, she does indeed.”
The two women watch Francesca stick flowers into a second woven crown of willow fronds. Just then, Francesca looks up and gives Eliwyn the gentlest of smiles…
Perrin’s smile.