pisum_sativum | (no subject)

(no subject)

There is a certain herb, deep in the wood, with leaves so dark and glossy that the dew forms on them the first of all the forest's greenery, and of such virtue that if the dew be collected therefrom and drunk or bathed in, it is wondrously refreshing to the heart and spirit.

Collecting the dew is a painstaking task: it must be done after midnight and before dawn, drop by drop, and stored in acorn cups until ready to use.

The Queen has people to do such things.

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"Good even," Hellebore echoes, smile slow and just a little mocking.

"As it happens, the Queen has sent me about quite another task; one that weighs heavy on her heart. If delay you I must, be assured it is only to better speed you in obeying her wishes."

Peaseblossom glances at Mustardseed. Not warningly; of course not. What could there be to warn him from?

"To be sure," he says to Hellebore, with a charming smile. "We are all her servants, are we not?"

"But of course," Cobweb says, feint surprise at the notion there could be any other way. In the shadows of the glade, her smile is oddly similar to Peaseblossom's.

"If she speaks, we have but to obey."

There is no hint of emphasis on the word she.

"...pray tell," Mustardseed says, cautiously glancing from Hellebore to Peaseblossom and back again. "What task do you speak of?"

Hellebore smiles.

Or.

His teeth show wide and white, which is surely the same?

"One of our people has strayed far from our lands. Too far and for too long, thinks the Queen, and I must agree."

Edited 2012-09-27 22:43 (UTC)

"So must we all, certes." Peaseblossom's smile, in contrast, could never be mistaken for anything but a smile, sweet and winning and utterly opaque.

"And the happy task of welcoming our strayling back to the nest; has it fallen to you then, sir?"

"To me, to all of us who desire to ease our Queen's mind."

(Yeah, you lot aren't getting out of helping.)

"Then you speak of all who are gathered here," Cobweb says, glancing between them.

If the Queen wishes their help, it is hers even if they must obey by bowing to her intermediary.

"But I am sure none could wish our Queen's mind at ease and her subjects united in her court more than you, sir."

"So tell us, sir," and Peaseblossom takes one flitting step forward, "how may such as ourselves aid you in the cause of lightening our Lady's spirits?"

"Our lost one has strayed very far, even for one who could flit over all the Earth on a whim."

Whim is really the guiding force of that one, after all.

"Many eyes may find him faster than one pair alone, so I'd send you on together."

Were it up to Hellebore, he would go ahead quite alone and seize the creature single-handed - but he knows full well that his presence might only cause flight. Not desirable when the one they seek was always faster than he; not stronger, never that - but fast enough that he has to admit the unlikelihood of catching him if he fled.

The slightest hesitation -- long enough for him to be sure none of his comrades are going to speak.

"Send us on whither, pray?"

"He fled very far; to the end of all things, and there he remains."

Hellebore remains contemptous of such cowardice.

And annoyed that the place has been so long out of his reach.

"The way is tricksy, but I have something that may be of help to you."

In more ways than one.

From a fold in the air he produced a thin coil of rope - gossamer woven with just a strand of something else.

Edited 2012-10-16 22:05 (UTC)

"Our Lady is generous, as always," Mustardseed says, cautiously diplomatic. Titania has many eyes and ears that do not belong to anyone involved in this scene.

"Er. How are we to get there?"

... oh. Oh now.

Mustardseed may or may not recognize that cord for what it is, but Peaseblossom certainly does, and it's all he can do to keep a look of naked covetousness off his face.

The Lady's own hair. Oak and ash, that's a powerful thing -- and her willingness to offer it says something about just how important this task is to her.

(And, just by the way, does a great deal to confirm that Hellebore really is acting in her name.)

"Yes, good sir," he says lightly, "pray tell us."

"'Tis a bright place," comes a soft voice from the branches over Hellebore's head. "And no great trial to find, through the woods."

Hellebore lets the rope run through him fingers, a little too smooth and quick for any ordinary rope, and smiles slowly at the sound of the quiet little voice overhead.

"Just so. Magic burns strong there, and with our Lady's will to guide you all I have no doubt you shall find it."

Peaseblossom schools his face to show no sign of startlement at that voice from overhead. Has she been there all -- ?

-- of course she's been there all along.

"Ah, there she speaks at last," he says pleasantly. "Give you good even, Moth."

Moth gives them a little waggle of her fingers.

"Send us on, sirrah. We'll find him for the Queen."

He exchanges a swift glance with Cobweb, and another with Mustardseed.

If Moth knows where they're going already ... well.

This may be a merry night after all.

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