The Queen of Fay sat on the ground, sunken in thought.

The moon lit her in its misty glow, setting her hair and skin alight as if burning with a holy fire. Alex sat before her, his legs crossed. He had spent the last hour and a half explaining the events that had led him to her forest, and that was despite making most of his long life into a footnote. The pixies, though still around, had mostly fallen asleep as the excitement of a visitor had died down. Not on him though, as the queen had sternly told them off; all but the first one, the one whose hair shone with purple and gold. She was one of the few still awake, sitting on Alex’s shoulder, her wings occasionally touching his ear. Though from what little he could see of her, out of the corner of his eye, she seemed quite close to dozing of as well; her head bobbing up and down, and her eyelids heavy.

The Queen of Fay raised her head, her eyes glimmering as she looked at Alex. Glowing white locks fell across her face and she pushed them away. “The tale you tell is a hard one to believe,” she said. “Yet I can’t find any fault within your mind. I might not believe half of it, but you believe it all to be true.”

“I know it to be true,” Alex said, and bowed his head slightly. “I lived through it, and though there is much I would rather forget… I can’t, for the sake of those I’ve lost, I must remember.”

She sighed and pulled at her hair in a very human display of fatigue. “Of course,” she said. “I understand. We may be immortal on the surface, but there is an end for us, just as everything else. I remember fairies that left us before your ancestors left their trees, and pixies that spent eternity playing in the glades, only to vanish quietly into the night. Yet I can’t lend myself to trusting your story, or your memories.”

“May I ask why not?”

She snorted. “You mortals are unreliable, your memories short and easily manipulated. But for you: your age and magic give credence to what you say, and the star that shines within you even more so. Still, I am not convinced.”

“And if I say fate led me here?”

“I won’t deny that I have been sending out a call for someone that might be able to help, nor that fate plays a greater role than even I can understand. Yet, your appearance here is—as mortals are to say—too good to be true. You are too mighty, and your arrival too convenient.”

Silence fell over the glade as the fairy quieted. A silence Alex did not intend to break, for he did not know what to say. He couldn’t entirely disagree with the fairy, nor could he offer more proof than he already had. Bifrost would have been enough, he thought, but the staff still slumbered within him, as it had since it broke atop the mountain; as it would until fate led him back to Emily. He sighed to himself, at least the pixie on his shoulder seemed to be without worries. For she had finally fallen asleep, leaned softly against the crook of his neck. In the silence he could hear her soft breathing and feel as she moved in her dreams. He was close to following her into sleep’s soft embrace. Be it the pixies or the fay’s magic, he felt more at peace then he had in a long time, and he had troubles keeping his eyelids open.

Then the Queen of Fay broke the silence with a dwarven oath; one so coarse and harsh it shocked Alex awake. “Time grows short,” she muttered, her face drawn into a tight mask of determination. “Though I am loathed to admit it, I need your help and have no choice but to trust you. Listen keenly, for what I’m to divulge is not for just any mortal to hear. As you well know, are your memories to be believed, darkness can take many forms, be it creatures that lurk in the dank places of the world, or the darkness that lives in mortal hearts.”

Alex nodded. He was quite aware of ‘mortal darkness’ as she put it. Greed, lust, pride, he’d seen them all, and he wouldn’t pretend he wasn’t above a little gluttony at times.

“None of that would matter to us,” the fairy continued. “If not for our bond with the mortals. Or should I say: our bond with one specific mortal. The princess of the mortal kingdom of Nydawin.”

“The one the prince is traveling to collect?”

“The very same.

“News sure get around quick.”

The fairy smiled. “Birds are the greatest gossipers; can’t keep anything to themselves. Anyway, her name—as you didn’t know—is Chloe Lemoine, and she is the bridge between worlds. Between the mortals and the fay, like her mother before her, and her mother before her, going back countless generations. They keep the balance amongst the kingdoms, and through mortal means they protect our forest, and in turn, we protect them.”

“But something went wrong,” Alex concluded.

“Well aren’t you a clever one,” the fairy muttered, her hair was no longer glittering, and her wings had darkened. “But no, not quite. Everything, went wrong you see. The magic that enforced the bond weakened over time, as the original queen’s bloodline was diluted. Something the first Queen of Fay apparently didn’t take into account when formulating her spell. A careless mistake by fairy who did not understand mortal reproduction, nevertheless, it was a mistake that has caused us no end of trouble.

“As a stopgap, the next Queen of Fay asked the first new queen of her time to bring their firstborn daughter to Alveria, so the spell may be strengthened for the child. She did, and so did her daughter, when she had a firstborn to present. It became a tradition, and for every new queen, their daughter’s bond would be renewed within the forest. The young princess would then be educated at the town of Spellhedge, on our border, so she might meet the fay she was to protect.

“It worked well… until it didn’t. The previous queen again, Chloe’s great-grandmother, never brought her daughter to the forest, nor let her live in Spellhedge. I never figured out why, but the chain was broken, and the magic whithered. Until Chloe, that is.”

“She’s different?”

“Very. She wasn’t brought to the forest as an infant, but she was allowed to attend the college of Spellhedge, the first princess to do so in four generations. But that is not all: She has her own magic, and a lot of it.”

“I take this is unusual?”

“Again, very. No other queen—that I know of—ever had much in the way of magic. I don’t know where Chloe got hers, but she has a lot of potential. That is, however, beside the point. What is important, is that she is brought back into control of her kingdom, nothing else matters more. There is too much at stake for some other mortal to sit on that throne. This forest contains too many ancient and terrible secrets. Secrets that are better left forgotten and unmentioned, and the fay are not the strong guardians we once were.”

“That sounds quite self-serving. Only caring for the life of mortal as long as they can provide something for you.”

“I am self-serving,” she said flatly. “I am not a queen like your mortal rulers. My duty is to protect the forest, and to be a bridge to the mortals—if need be. But keeping the forest safe is always my first duty, and the one a Queen of Fay must prioritize above all others. And you mortals are like weeds in my glades: There’s always more of you and nothing you do is for the betterment of anything but your own expansion.”

“Harsh words,” Alex smiled. “But true, perhaps. At least from the perspective of an immortal. Still, I wouldn’t be so quick to condemn of all my kind.”

“Perhaps not. But let us return to the more important topic: The princess. I can’t navigate the mortal world, nor leave the forest, but you can. So can we ask you to keep her safe, and to aid her in recovering her birthright?”

Alex didn’t answer immediately. The pixie on his shoulder moved in her sleep, and he mindlessly moved her to his lap, where she rolled up contently in a fold of his tunic, crumpling her wings. “I can’t say no when you ask for help, or I would be betraying everything I’ve spent my life fighting for. However, I’m not sure if I can navigate this mortal world much better than you. There is so much I do not know about the situation in Nydawin, be it political or economical, nor in its neighbors. I’m not sure how much I can be of assistance to Chlo, if I don’t understand why she is in the situation she is in.”

“You don’t need to understand anything to keep her from being assassinated in the night,” the fairy snapped. “She is still a child, and even if she is brought back safely, and her birthright recovered, she won’t be rising to the throne for another half-decade, at the least. I just need someone to ensure she can rise to the throne when the time comes, nothing more.”

“I suppose,” Alex mumbled. “Still, I don’t know…”

“What is fate telling you?”

“Nothing, at the moment,” he sighed. “Though I suspect it would protest if I were to refuse, and that is the crux, isn’t it. I don’t really have a choice.” He sighed again and rubbed his eyes. “I wouldn’t say no, not when there are people—children, even, that need my help. But I worry for how I might affect this world when I intervene. How will the future be changed by my being here. Will it turn to the better or the worse?”

“You’ll have to trust fate,” the fairy mumbled, more to herself than to Alex. She didn’t need to say it, Alex knew she had the same concerns. “Trust that the path it guides us down is the best for all of us.”

“I have never been very good at blind faith,” Alex said. “But I guess I’ll make an exception this time. I’ll keep Chloe safe until further notice, I suppose.” Then another thought struck him as he rolled his shoulders to rid them of the stiffness of sitting for hours. “How will I convince her I’m not ‘another assassin in the dark,’ as you so eloquently put it.”

“Sof ungr vidr ók draumr um njol.”

“Sof ungr…” Alex muttered. “Sleep little sapling and… dream of tomorrow?”

The fairy nodded. “It’s the beginning of an ancient nursery rhyme. The rest has been lost to time, but the first sentence was used in the renewal spell to put the young princess’s to sleep. Even if the current princess was never here, I’m sure she’s heard it from her mother or grandmother.”

“Alright,” Alex said and rubbed his eyes, the hour was growing very late. “I can see some problems with that theory, but I guess it’s the best I’ve got.”

The fairy hummed. “You’ll have that pixie to, I’m sure she’ll be able to help you convince the princess.”

Alex lowered his hands and blinked. “The pixie?”

“The one sleeping in your lap. She’s taken to you, and would not appreciate being left behind. Whether you like it or not, she will follow you for at least a decade, perhaps more.”

Alex looked down on the pixie sleeping in his lap. She seemed entirely content with her accommodations in his tunic. Her soft-green skin, misty white dress, and shining gold and purple hair seemed quite ethereal in the semi-darkness. “Why?” was the only question he could formulate.

“How much do you know of fay?”

Alex looked up, thinking for a moment before answering “Not much, I’m afraid. There were only a handful left on Mónvell before the war, and as far as I know, all laid down their lives in defense of their homes.”

The fairy’s eyes flared, but with what, Alex could not tell. “I’m glad you enacted an appropriate revenge upon the immortals responsible,” she said, her voice tense. “And may the fay live forever in the glades of the mists.” Then she took a deep breath and blinked, turning her eyes back to normal. “But to make a long story short: All fay start their lives as pixies. Most even remain pixies forever, but not all. Some turn to nixies and live in the lakes of the forest, and others turn to sprites for whatever element catches their fancy. But only a few select ever become fairies, the greatest of fay. For to become a fairy, a pixie needs to bind themselves to a mortal, and travel outside the forest. Its the journey of an eternity for a kind that never leaves their home, and only the boldest and most adventurous pixies will ever make that journey.”

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Alex looked down on the pixie again. Then he looked up as thought struck him. “Then you bound yourself to a mortal at some point, no?”

The fairy nodded. Alex hummed, but didn’t follow up the question, if she had wanted to speak of it, she would have. Instead he motioned for the pixies, and asked, “Does she have a name?”

“No. Fay do not have names. Though if you were to give her one, I’m sure she’d be delighted.”

Alex hummed. “Do you have a name?”

“I do.”

“Will you tell me what it is?”

“Not a chance, that’s between me and the dead.”

Alex chuckled. “I have a few of those to, guess its an aspect of a long life.” He quieted, and considered the point of naming the pixie, by letting his mind wander. He’d met a lot of people during his long life, and he had a lot of names bound to different faces. Yet none seemed quite right. Then suddenly, a rosy cheeked girl popped up before his inner eye, a memory so old he hadn’t even remembered he had it. “Sylvie,” he said, looking down. “I’ll call her Sylvie.”

The fairy nodded, and mumbled something: A spell to quiet to hear, but Alex felt the magic. The pixie in his lap stirred, but didn’t wake. “A good name,” the fairy said as the moment passed. “If a little uncreative.”

Alex chuckled again. “I blame the lack of sleep. It must be getting quite late, and—” He interrupted himself with a yawn. “—and it’s bloody hard to tell the time in this forest.”

“You’re right,” the fairy said, and fluttered her wings to bring herself standing. “The night grows long and the shadows dark. You may sleep here in this glade tonight, surrounded by us so we may give you some of our magic. I’m afraid that is all we can do to aid you in your task.”

“I’ll be glad for any help you might give me. Especially any of the magical kind.”

“I suspected as much,” the fairy said and approached Alex. “No, don’t stand. Lie down, that’s good. Leave Sylvie where she lies, she’ll sleep better if the bond is strong, and contact is the best way.”

He put his hands under his head, marveling at the softness of the leaves and flowers upon which he lay and looked up at the stars twinkling far beyond the rustling leaves and branches. He knew it wouldn’t be long before he fell asleep, he could already feel it approaching, like a soft cloud, enveloping his mind. Not even the sudden warmth as the fairy lay down beside him, snuggling close could keep him from sleep’s warm embrace.

“Sof ungr vidr,” she mumbled, her wings laying still. Sylvie moved where she lay upon his stomach. “Sof ungr vidr ók draumr um njol.”

***

The sound of churning water brought Alex out of his sleep. He lay still for a moment upon a carpet of grass, listening to the water and basking in warm light of the sun. Then he fought of the last mists of sleep, and opened his eyes. Looking around, he knew the Queen of Fay had done more than just give him some magic, for not far from where he lay flowed the river Spell, and on his other side ran the road towards Spellhedge. Looking up, he found the sun to be close to noon, and he hoped the fairy had dropped him ahead of the escort, or he would have to walk the rest of the way. Not an enticing prospect.

He was about to get up from his comfortable position when a pixie popped into his view. Sylvie buzzed above him for a moment, before landing upon his chest, her eyes wide as she looked across the river, towards the unknown there beyond.

“Morning,” Alex said, and held his hands below the pixie as he sat up. She beat her wings in a short burst, moving to his hands. “Did you sleep well?”

Sylvie looked up at him with large golden-brown eyes, and for a moment, Alex wondered if she didn’t understand the common tongue. But then she nodded, and said something in her quick, chattering language, whilst speaking animatedly with her hands.

“Sorry,” he said, when she had finished. “But I don’t speak pixie.”

Her face fell and she looked at him with eyes shining with disappointment, then she motioned for him to follow, and flew off towards the river. He did, and found her standing upon a rock that lay a couple paces into the water, its top wet and slippery from the waters washing over it. Sylvie’s wings beat slowly to help her stay standing as droplets of white froth coated her dress. The river wasn’t very deep where she stood, a foot at best, but for a four inch pixie, a foot of water can be a lot.

Alex stopped upon the rocky beach. “Be careful out there,” he called to the pixie. “The waters can be dangerous, and the stones slippery.”

The pixie made no move to show she had heard him, she only stared across, watched the trees on the opposite bank move in the wind, and branches—heavy with leaves and flowers—drag in the water.

“Is this your first time at the river?” Alex asked.

This time the pixie did look back, her face stained with foam as she nodded. She was about to say something, when a sudden wave washed over the rock upon which she stood, dragging her into the dark waters downstream.

Alex didn’t didn’t waste a moment, as if acting on instinct he lept into the river, his boots filling with water as he splashed downstream. Eyes sweeping the frothing waters, filled with debris of the forest and sharp rocks. Suddenly he saw a spot of gold, and dove forward, never considering what might lurk beneath the surface. He landed hard in the shallow waters, his knees hitting the rocky bottom as his head dropped beneath the surface. For a moment the sounds of the forest were replaced with a deep churning, as his ears filled with water, and his eyes were closed as his hand closed around something soft and fluttery, he hoped to heaven it was the pixie and pushed himself to the surface.

He held his open hand before him as he quickly blinked the water out of his eyes, and found—to his relief—that it had been the pixie, and that she was now sitting in his hand, hugging his thumb and coughing meekly. Drenched and rattled, but alive. He breathed a sigh of relief, and ran his other hand through his dripping hair, pulling it back. He had perhaps needed a bath, but this wasn’t how he had wanted to take it. At least the water—fresh from a mountain lake—was not freezing, but lukewarm, thanks to the warm climate. It was soothing, as flowed around him where he sat, on his knees in the middle of the river.

Sylvie coughed again, and he turned his attention to his hands. She was a pitiful sight where she sat, clinging onto his thumb; her dress and hair clinging to her body, and her wings drooping from the droplets of water hanging off their edges.

Alex smiled kindly. “What did we learn from that little tumble?”

Sylvie looked down, her face hidden behind clinging strands of hair. Then she said something in her native tongue, and hiccuped Alex didn’t understand the words, but the tone was unmistakable.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said. “You are okay, and that’s what’s important. We all make mistakes, especially when we do something new, that’s why we travel together, so we can make up for each others mistakes. And you are quite exited about leaving the forest, aren’t you?”

The pixie looked up, hair hanging across a face that were not only drenched by water from the river, and shone with surprise.

Alex smiled again, and used his fingers to carefully push the hair from her face. “Being adventurous and taking risks is exciting, even quite valuable at times. But you have to be able to manage the risks, and know where your limits are. Okay?”

The pixie nodded, but stayed sitting in his palm.

“Good. I’m sure we’ll end up in more situations like this whilst we travel, and every time we’ll grow a little stronger and a little wiser.” He stood up, cringing at the feel of water in his boots. “And now we’ve learned that small pixies and churning rivers do not make a good match.”

Sylvie smiled a small smile, and eased her grip upon his thumb, and as he walked out of the river—his feet squelching within his boots—she again looked at the far shore, but stayed sitting in his palm.

“We’ll have time to see what’s on the other side,” Alex said, and stepped out of the river. “But for right now, we should dry off and figure out how we are supposed to get to the princess.”

The pixie gave the shore one last wishful look before turning away. With a quick buzz of her wings she rid them of water, and the stream of air began drying her hair and dress. Alex—who didn’t have any wings—had to make do with the sun, which thankfully shone bright from a cloudless sky. He found a patch of grass between the road and the river, where he pulled of his boots, and most of his clothes, leaving only his underpants on. Then he lay down on the grass beside his clothes, and put his hands under his head as he basked in the heat.

After a moment, Sylvie landed lightly on his chest. He barely noticed she had, until he felt a slight trickle of magic flowing out of him. He looked inwards and realized that his source wasn’t dried up anymore. Though not nearly close to full, there was a not insignificant amount of magic within it, and Sylvie was taking some of it for her own use. She needed it to live, he supposed, just like all immortals, and like him and Emily, to a lesser degree.

But the fays’ magic felt strange within his source. Jovial and carefree it bounced around within him like a child on a trampoline, not unlike the fey themselves, he supposed. But eventually it would settle, would become his own magic. Cold, calculating. Methodical. It would probably be best if he didn’t cast any spells until then. But he wanted to be sure, and tested the magic either way. It went about as expected. He felt the error before the spell even fired, but couldn’t stop it in time, and the rock—which he had intended to hover a few inches above his palm—rocketed away across the road, and buried itself two palms deep in an ancient oak.

“That has not quite gone the way it was supposed to,” he said as he peered into the newly formed rock-shaped hole. “Good thing it didn’t hit anyone.” He leaned away from the tree and found Sylvie hovering nearby, watching him intently. Alex pointed at her, and said, “I partly blame you for this. Your pixie magic is complete chaos.”

The fay only shrugged, and landed on his shoulder, she and her dress had dried in the sun, and only her hair still held a hint of water. Alex checked his clothes and found most of them to have dried.

He put them on, but left his boots off as he sat on the grass and wiggled his toes. The wind blew through the forest, along the road and the river, carrying scents from further south, from the mountains and the plains beyond. It carried birdsong and the sound of insects, bees and dragonflies buzzing amongst the flowers that grew beside the river where the sun could reach the forest floor.

How long had it been since he had been able to relax like that, without any world-changing worries? Five? Ten? It might even be more. Though he supposed it wouldn’t last forever, for now he had new worries, and though they might be lesser in scope, they were equally important for those involved. He sighed, how would he protect the princess? He had some magic now, which would help, but there were still thirty some trained soldiers between him and Chloe, and he didn’t know how loyal the magicians in Spellhedge were to the crown, nor how powerful they were. If a few of them went against him, would he be strong enough to counter? He didn’t know, and not for the first time, he wished Emily was there with him. Not even for the magic or her companionship, but for her skill with the sword.

A sudden shout snapped him out of his thoughts, and he looked around. Relief washed over him when he saw where it had come from: the prince and his escort had arrived. The Queen of Fay had indeed dropped him off further ahead down the road, and he sent her a silent thank you before getting up. He felt Sylvie hide on his shoulder as he waited for the approaching moas to slow down from their canter. He sensed a beat of magic emanate from the pixie, and felt her presence fade, until he could barely feel her at all. When Charles reigned in his moa before him, Alex could just barely tell the pixie was still there, and the other mortals clearly didn’t see her.

“Stranger,” Charles said, failing to hold back a smile. “I heard you vanished during the night, and feared we had lost you to the forest. But I can see now you only used the monsters to gain a head start upon our journey. But worry not, you can re-join us now that you’ve taken care of the beasts. Your moa is at the back, and is loaded with your gear.”

Alex bowed his head. “Thank you,” he said. “And I must apologize for he trouble I’ve caused.”

“There is no need,” Charles smiled. “It’s the least we could do.”

The prince, who had ridden up beside Charles from his position at the center of the escort, did not look like he agreed with his commander. He dared not speak up, but Alex could see the discontent bubbling in his eyes. Lingering—Alex decided—was not a good idea. He bowed his head again, and hurried to the end of the column. As he passed, the soldier who had given him his sword nodded with a smile, his hand on the pommel of a new sword. Alex nodded back with a strained smile, his hand on the pommel of the soldier’s old sword. He really hoped he wouldn’t have to use it on it’s previous owner.

At the back, but before the moas carrying luggage, were his moa, saddled and with his pack and bedroll tied on.

“Hello,” Alex mumbled as the moa bowed its head to great him. “Sorry I wasn’t there this morning, I had something to do.”

The bird chirped happily, as if forgiving him when he mounted. The escort had already been stopped for too long, and started again before Alex had properly seated himself. But after a moment of fumbling with the reins and the stirrups, he was seated as comfortable as anyone, which let him focus on the pixie.

Sylvie had abandoned his shoulder, which she had sat on since the escort had arrived, hidden from sight for anyone but himself, and instead seated herself atop the moa’s head. The bird seemed aware of its tiny passenger, but didn’t seem to care much either way.

“Can you choose who sees you?” Alex asked quietly as he leaned forward to pet the moa’s neck.

The fairy nodded and gathered up a few more feathers to make herself comfortable.

“That’s quite handy,” Alex mumbled and leaned back in the saddle. “But I’ll throw an extra disguise on you before we get to Spellhedge. I don’t know how sensitive the magicians of this world are, though I doubt they are any better than the average on Mónvell.”

He realized then the pixie had fallen asleep, her tiny chest rising and falling as where she lay atop the moa’s head on bed of yellow feathers. Alex smiled as he shook his head. Too much excitement already, he thought, and resorted to mumbling a short spell that would ensure she didn’t fall off. The magic, forced into a modicum of control by his spoken spell, did as he wished, and with the pixie secured, he settled in the for a long day’s ride. One that he wished would be longer, if only to give him more time to think, more time to decide: How many lives would he sacrifice for the greater good? He only hoped that this time, it would not be so many that he lost count.