The Faeries' Harp

32: Volunteers

“Thank you for your help today, Bergljot,” Kyrie thanks the unicorn as they travel from the mortal portal they’ve spent the day repairing, the one broken when Saoirse and Bergljot rescued Rhys from certain death, back to the Palace of the Faerie Queen. Though they were meant to have the day off to recuperate from the previous days adventures, all of them volunteered to replace the team the Faerie Queen appointed to repair the portal, finding that preferable to being bored on the palace grounds all day.

Bergljot nickers in response to Kyrie's gratitude. She has had remarkably little to say today; while she is glad that her service has spared Saoirse and Rhys the labor on the gate, allowing them to spend the day coming to terms with who they are and where they are, she has sensed tumultuous emotions from Saoirse even across the considerable distance that has separated them, and she is eager to return.

“It would’ve been much more difficult without you,” Seamus adds. “I’ve never had the privilege of working like that with a unicorn before, and seeing you work makes me wonder why we don’t have more of your kind in the Flower Guard.”

“She just wanted it done so she could get back to Saoirse,” Alastair grumbles. “All the stories say unicorns are notoriously fickle.”

“Takes one to know one, on both counts,” Aeowyn jabs.

“Oh, right, because you’re so even-keeled and pleasant to be around—”

“Please, guys, don’t do this,” Myghal interjects wearily. “We’ve had a good day, with everyone keeping the peace and not arguing. Don’t ruin it now.”

“It’s been genuinely impressive, honestly. The most pleasant duty we’ve had together in quite some time,” Elowen muses with a meaningful glare at Alastair and Aeowyn. Aeowyn sighs and starts counting flowers as they fly through the forest, while Alastair grumbles incoherently under his breath.

“We can ask about the newest additions to the Faerie Court when we get back,” Kyrie says brightly, trying to uplift Alastair’s spirits. “Since we’re the ones that found them and brought them in, it’s very likely they’ll tell us something. Maybe we’ll get to share a meal with them sometime soon.”

“We can hope,” Elowen agrees immediately. “I’m sure you’re very interested to hear about Saoirse’s training with the High Mage.”

“Extremely.” Kyrie herself was apprenticed to the High Mage for a time, before Seamus convinced her to join the Flower Guard so they could spend more time together. She knows more spells and lore than the rest of her unit put together, Seamus would wager, and she’s by far their best healer and illusionist. “I would love to be a part of that, to see what she can really do.”

“She definitely has potential,” Myghal affirms. “What about the other one? Do you think he even comes close?”

“No way of knowing,” Alastair scorns. “He was more concerned with some human than with anything here, and then he was dying.” He barely keeps himself from continuing, from saying He should have died. It’s the truth, as far as he’s concerned, but he doesn’t want to be chastised again. They’ve had a long, hard day, and being in dispute with his unit would only serve to further worsen his mood and bring everyone else down.

“Filial duty and affection are powerful calls,” Aeowyn points out halfheartedly. She knows Alastair will not see this as valid reasoning, but Alastair is not on speaking terms with his parents or siblings, whereas Aeowyn misses her family desperately; her parents left years ago for what was supposed to be a quick mischief-making foray into the mortal realm and never returned, and her sister lives far away in the Fae Wilds, making visits difficult.

“He cannot heed the call of blood when there is no blood connection between him and the human.”

“The call of blood is no match for the bonds forged by enduring hardship together,” Seamus points out. “From what was said in the Throne Room yesterday, he and the human who raised him suffered much.”

“In my experience, families serve only to foster suffering.”

“Well, your experience is not everyone’s,” Kyrie chides gently. She knows, without seeing how Aeowyn flinched and turned away from Alastair at his cold words, how they must be hurting her friend.

Alastair glowers but says nothing; no one here will understand him, of that he’s certain. Saoirse might, though, he muses hopefully. Certainly her fae family were the sort to cause suffering, before she became the ward of the High Mage, and from what we heard while we were surveilling them, when we thought they were human… He doesn’t remember specifics, as he hadn’t paid them much mind, hadn’t seen the value in paying attention to mere humans, but he remembers her being upset, talking about what she’d left behind.

I wonder if I’ll ever be able to ask her about it.

Meanwhile, Bergljot has been observing the Flower Guard carefully, and she likes not what she has seen of Alastair since she first met him. His fiery orange coloring is apt for his temper, but she cannot help thinking that Rhys’s dark hair and wings might be a more fitting depiction of Alastair’s heart.

The rest of their journey passes more or less amicably, and they arrive at the gates of the Palace of the Faerie Queen just as the calls are going out for the sunset changing of the guard. Bergljot peels off from the group as soon as they pass through the pearly gate, headed for parts unknown, as well she might; she is not bound by the same rules as the warriors of the Flower Guard.

“All Flower Guard must report to the Crystal Hall immediately!” a herald calls to them authoritatively.

“I wonder what’s amiss,” Kyrie mutters, leading her unit through a couple hallways, dropping off a small scroll containing their mission report on the Flower Guard clerk’s desk as they go. Immense double doors, each carved from a single massive piece of pale pink quartz, open on a cavernous chamber that glitters with all manner of crystals in varying shapes, sizes, and colors. To the Flower Guards’ surprise, the High Mage stands at the far end of the room, flanked by none other than Rhys and Saoirse.

“I didn’t peg either of them as a military type,” Seamus murmurs to Kyrie, who nods her agreement.

It seems their unit is among the last to arrive, for shortly after they clump themselves in the appropriate formation in a previously empty section of the Crystal Hall, the High Mage calls the room to attention.

“Thank you all for gathering here on such short notice,” he begins. “I have no desire to keep you from your duties any longer than necessary. Indeed, such a thing would be most unwise, as we have reason to believe that the Terror of Blackened Name may soon plague our realm once again.”

Alarmed murmurs and whispers spread like wildfire through the Flower Guard, but Magister Diarmaid silences them with a wave of his hand. “I know this is unsettling news, and the Queen will be giving an address very soon on the matter. However, we must do all we can to prepare before the menace is upon us. To that end, we have come here seeking tutors for these two here with me. A prophecy from the Arvai Fae Chronicles indicates that they may be instrumental in defeating the Terror of Blackened Name once and for all, but as yet they are novices in the ways of the fae and in the use of magic. I come seeking volunteers.”

The Crystal Hall buzzes with quiet conversation and questions from members of the Flower Guard to the High Mage, but Kyrie and her unit ignore them entirely.

“Seamus?” Kyrie whispers, her eyes asking the rest of the question. He nods, eyes alight with something like excitement. “Aeowyn?”

“What can it hurt?” Aeowyn mutters. She knows she’ll be overruled if she says no; Elowen and Myghal look almost as excited about the idea as Seamus, and as for Alastair….

“We should do it,” Alastair urges. “Before someone else volunteers.” This is a perfect opportunity to spend more time with Saoirse, he schemes privately, no room in his mind for anything else.

“Better us than anyone else,” Elowen says.

“We’ve at least met them before,” Myghal adds.

“We volunteer!” Kyrie and Seamus call together over the din in the Crystal Hall, effectively silencing all of their comrades-in-arms. “Our whole unit. We volunteer.”

“That should cover it, then,” Magister Diarmaid smiles, emanating an aura of relief. “Your commanding officers will see to it that your usual duties are no longer required of you. We will start training tomorrow at dawn. Please report to my suite then.”

“Yes, My Lord.”