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Falling in love happens so quickly. It’s running across a cliff face, yelling at a friend over your shoulder, and not hearing their warning before stumbling off and dropping hundreds of feet to a raging ocean below, only to find the ocean transformed into a field of flowers that reach for you and carefully cushion your drop. It’s like if the sunset was a liquid, silky and rich and sparkling, and you were to imbibe every last drop and sit, drunk in the soft warmth of what you just did.
Falling out of love isn’t quite like that. Falling out of love is more like looking back from where you came from and realizing that you’d walked down a whole mountain without realizing. It’s seeing the cliff face your friend guided you down from and seeing the jagged rocks she worried about.
Rue doesn’t realize they’re falling out of love until they find themself preparing dinner for one for the second week in a row. It’s a nice dinner, something made of mostly rice that shimmered gold and stirred with whatever root vegetables they’d bought from the morning market. Rue would be the first to admit that they’re not an amazing cook, but they know how to cook five different things that turn out pretty good in their opinion. It’s not the food that makes their stomach sink, though; it’s the unwanted recollection of evenings spent giggling and, once, covered in flower pollen when Hob tried to help and inadvertently popped a bag with his claws or teasingly brushing past him with an armful of squash and chestnuts.
Then Rue remembers the first time Hob quietly confessed to not finding the foods that Rue cooked to his tastes, his palate too warped by the goblins’ strange appetites to be able to adjust to the rich foods of the Court of Wonder. Rue had hurried to comfort him, to tell him of course, I should have thought of that! and handed him the peelings and scraps from preparing the sumptuous stews and breads they’d made that night. Afterwards, Rue had arranged all of such leavings into an artistic pile on a plate for Hob to enjoy, and they’d still eaten dinner together, laughing and speaking in soft, coy tones to one another.
Rue throws the peelings from purple carrots and pinkish-white onions and yellow potatoes onto the compost heap and sits at the dining table. They eat alone in silence.
•ꕥ•
To the being who was once-Wonderful Mistrex of the Bloom and is currently my good friend Rue,
I hope life has been treating you kindly as of late; our mutual friend Hob dropped by just the other weekend to dine with our Courts (former and current) in celebration, and he said that you weren’t feeling well enough to come. I hope whatever ailed you then has since ceased, and that you are doing better now. Despite your inability to join our banquet, both Binx and I miss you dearly, and we would love if you could come to tea with us. The Unseelie Court has grown more… shall we say, livable as of late thanks to its close alliance with the Court of Craft, and I would be more than happy to host you in one of our citadels. Perhaps one close to that darling home you and Hob share?
Sincerely, with great respect, and with all of my love,
Andhera, heir apparent of the Unseelie Court
•ꕥ•
Rue never liked solitude. They’re not a very extroverted fae and they spent most of their life terrified that someone would discover their true form, but they still hungered for company and flourished seeing others’ joy. Once upon a time, they’d thought that being in love would mean that they’d never feel lonely again. Surely, if someone loved them, they’d never want to leave, and if they never wanted to leave, then Rue would always have someone by their side. Not physically, of course, that would be ridiculous, but emotionally, spiritually, souls entwined, two becoming one.
Rue snorts at their past naivete.
The cottage that they had carved out in the woods at the outskirts of the Unseelie Court’s lands was small to be home to an owlbear and a bugbear, but Rue had liked that they could hear Hob wherever he was bustling around and Hob had liked that he could find corners to squash himself into. It had been hard to entertain guests, but they’d made do and their home felt all the warmer the more people they managed to pack in.
The walls hold deafening silence around Rue now, and they quickly finish their cup of tea before sending a letter off to an old acquaintance who might better fill the space.
They hear their guest long before they see him. This isn’t unusual; it’s a fairly difficult twist of magic to silence thirty-odd cranes, and Lord of the Wing Squak Airavis would never even think about muting such beautiful creatures, especially since it means that everyone is probably staring at him as he flies overhead.
The cranes land and a carriage appears in the middle of the flock. The door swings open, revealing a slight bird-fey who grins at Rue so openly and charmingly that they have to firmly tell themself not to melt at the sight. The delicate orange that curls across his face has been accented by dramatically applied red eyeshadow that dances up to his temples, and he wears a jade satin coat over a cream shirt and silver silk pants.
“Delloso de la Rue, daring and darling Master of Ceremonies!” The fey says with more gusto than Rue has ever heard someone say their name before. The crown feathers that demurely peek through his hair extend around his head like a halo as he bows deeply to them, hand outstretched for theirs.
“Oh, stop that, you’re making me blush,” Rue says, carefully slotting a claw into the offered hand. “You know I’m not the Master of Ceremonies anymore; that’s from a past that I don’t want any part in.”
Squak presses his lips to their claw before gently releasing it and standing tall once more. “You may say that, Mistrex Rue, but you must know that the Bloom truly… bloomed under your watchful eye, and for that reason alone will you always be my Master of Ceremonies.” His eyes are wide enough that a hint of his sclera is visible around dark, dark eyes.
“You’re such a flirt. You know I’m engaged.”
“As am I!” Squak brushes past that like it’s not a staggering revelation. “But platitudes and gestures between two friends surely cannot be misconstrued in such a way.” Squak raises his eyebrows at Rue as he fully sashays into the little cottage and drapes himself on a wooden dining chair as if it was a golden throne. “Besides, the delightful Baroness Alven and I have an agreement with each other in regards to our nuptials; we shall both continue as we have while reaping the benefits of our match together.”
Rue feels the feathers around their neck fluff up at the thought. “What a cold marriage you propose, Lord Airavis,” they say, walking to the kitchen and silently offering a pot of tea.
“On the contrary!” Squak nods and studies the teacup that Rue sets before them. He stirs in three sugar cubes and a dash of honeysuckle milk, watching the liquid turn from deep purple to a shimmering caramel color. “Dear Rue, you must understand that the key to a successful marriage is communication . Alven and I entered our engagement knowing each other’s full character, and while I’m afraid that my inclinations don’t quite match with what she offers, I myself am more than happy to see her happy by wearing a ring of the Seafoam Court on my finger until the day we both tire of each other or dissipate into dust.” He shrugs. “Besides, you’ve seen the floozies that flock to me. Do you really think I should do more than bed them?”
“Many things ‘flock’ to you,” Rue says. “Though, I do recall your groupies and yes, I would personally not call them marriage material.”
“And so, Delloso de la Rue’s judgmental edge wins out over their passionate daydreams of romance,” Squak chuckles. He takes a sip of his tea and sighs appreciatively. “You may have left the Court of Wonder, my friend, but this tea is the only wonder I have ever experienced in this long life of mine. It’s absolutely perfect.”
“You flatter me.”
His eyes peer over the side of the cup. “Speaking of my upcoming marriage, where is your affianced? I thought he might be hiding somewhere in a shadow, but I’ve not seen or heard a single hair on his head.”
Rue doesn’t try to parse out what it might mean to hear hair. “I don’t know where my lovely Hob has gone off to today to amuse himself,” they say, “but I will be sure to let him know that you were asking after him.”
Squak hesitates. “Well, if the two of you are, shall we say, gallivanting on your lonesomes for the upcoming while, could I bother you to escort me when visiting my cousin and her wonderful family at some point in the next couple of weeks?” His gaze glances over Rue’s whole form, and they suddenly realize that they’re wearing a midnight blue gown under a frumpy, stained apron that they meant to take off when Squak arrived. “I might be acting a bit presumptively, but I think you and Esme would get along quite well. And if it turns out that your misplaced fiance is available and willing to trek into the mortal realm, I’m sure that Chirp would be delighted to see him as well.”
“I would love to,” Rue says. They don’t speak for Hob. Squak gives them a knowing look but thankfully says nothing as he finishes his tea.
•ꕥ•
My love,
I apologize for not being present at home as of late; the Viscountess Grabalba has requested my assistance in assuring that her wedding goes perfectly to plan and that she is not once again jilted. The ceremony is scheduled to be in some months’ time in a demiplane that our dear friend Binx is creating for the precise event. While I apologize that we do not know exactly when it will be yet (the Trickster Court is insistent on waiting for the Plane of Air to go into retrograde, and apparently predictions of such cosmological events won’t be detectable for quite some time), I know that you approved of this particular match and would be honored if you would accompany me when the time comes.
With all of my heart,
K. P. Hob
•ꕥ•
“Rue! Oh, come in, come in!”
Rue can’t help a smile at Binx’s contagious enthusiasm. They simply bow their head and demurely step through the door that she holds open for them.
From the outside, the citadel that Andhera directed Rue towards looks like stalagmites that have been fused together into a cruel looming building. The second they step inside, they see evidence of Binx scattered around: little carved-crystal trinkets lined up on the obsidian mantel, a half-finished stuffed animal made of dried leaves and seeds hastily swept away and piled on a side table made out of a petrified stump, driftwood shelves in the corner of the living room that are filled with small picture frames made of shells and branches. Rue wanders over to the shelves to see children’s drawings of two figures, one with wings and one with purple skin, proudly displayed. One shelf’s drawings slowly become more and more detailed, though they don’t lose the strange proportions that make the drawn figures’ eyes slightly too large.
“Aren’t they precious?” Binx says with a grin. “The ones on the top shelf are a bit old; Jeff’s on his own adventure now, but those are from when he was still a kid. Peep’s just gotten better at her sketches.”
“I can see that,” Rue says.
“Andhera’s on their way over,” Binx says, ushering Rue to sit on a sleek leather couch. “I think he had some last minute arrangements to go over with Fable for the wedding.”
“Oh, the wedding,” Rue says into the pause after her words.
Binx nods. Her wings vibrate excitedly. “It’s an amazing chance to cement the Court of Craft within the political infrastructure of the Feywild,” she says, her fingers idly twisting around some stray thread on her burlap skirt. “If it goes off without a hitch, there might be some archfey who are even willing to leave their positions in their own court and join mine! I’m not really counting on it, but Andhera seems optimistic and some of the fae from the Trickster Court were apparently asking a lot of questions about how the demiplane is going to be built, which is a really good sign because they were more interested in how it would be crafted than how it would work .”
Rue can feel their head spinning. “That sounds amazing,” they say after parsing Binx’s rapid-fire words. “Did Prince Andhera help you arrange that?”
She shakes her head, her hair bouncing in an imperceptible wind. “Not after the first introduction. It’s nice that his station makes it easier to get those conversations started, but I was pretty adamant about being the one to negotiate for my Court’s work.”
“Adamant is putting it lightly,” an amused voice says from behind them. “I think she delighted Fable at how stubbornly they ignored me for that entire meeting.”
Rue turns, though not before seeing Binx’s cheeks flush crimson at the memory. Andhera has both grown more solid and more insubstantial in the years since Rue’s last Bloom; he’s somehow filled out his shoulders even more, and shadows float through his hair and around the outline of his body. For a second, Rue thinks that he’s going to slip away into the breezes and the darkness the way his mother has, but Andhera gives Binx an adoring grin that brings him fully into physical form for but a moment.
Binx slips into a pout. “It’s important that the Court of Craft doesn’t just look like part of the Unseelie Court,” she says. It sounds like this is an old argument.
“Of course it is, and I gave you my apology for making it seem like it was,” Andhera soothes, taking Binx’s hand and gently kissing the pulse point on her wrist. He gives her one last smile that brightens his entire face before turning to Rue and letting it settle into something— not more formal, but more at ease. “How have you been since your retirement, dear Rue?”
“I’ve been quite lovely. I never thought of it as a retirement, per se, but now that I think about it, there is no word more fitting.” Rue gives Andhera a slight bow, barely more than a nod.
He nods in return. “We missed you at dinner,” he says, drifting towards a glass cabinet filled with chipped tea sets. “It was a rather gloomy affair; I’m sure it would have benefitted from your magical touch.”
“You flatter me,” Rue says, a stone beginning to settle in their gut. They trace a crack in the leather of the sofa with a claw. “I didn’t think that Viscountess Grabalba would have welcomed me at an event meant to plan her wedding.”
Andhera’s hand pauses over a teapot that seems to be made of dark brown earthenware and slightly squashed. “I didn’t consider that. It seems I need to ask Assistant to help me work on my political acumen further. My apologies,” he says. He goes to pick the teapot and accompanying set up.
“Andhera, not that set,” Binx says, sweeping over. “They’re still a bit tired, I think. The porcelain set here is feeling much more enthusiastic today.”
“Of course, dear Binx,” Andhera says, and his eyes soften in a way that Rue feels a pang upon seeing. “You would know their will far better than I. Does the teapot have an opinion on what kind of tea we should serve, as well?”
Binx sniffs, her nose held in the air, but Rue can tell it’s all in jest. “Of course not. A teapot doesn’t have taste.”
“Ah, one shortcoming on a very short list.” Andhera puts the teaset on a tray and whisks it away to where Rue assumes is a kitchen.
Binx sighs as he walks away. “Sometimes, I wonder if they enjoy winding me up over nothing.”
“I think it’s sweet,” Rue ventures.
She smiles. “It is,” she says. “I think if he stopped doing it, I’d be a much more despondent fey.”
Rue doesn’t think of a reply before Andhera returns, carefully balancing a tray now laden with tea, sugar, milk, a jar of jam, and a small bowl of biscuits that look like they’re made of black crystal. They watch him carefully spread jam over a few before arranging them artfully on a plate and handing it to Binx. The two of them exchange nothing more than tender looks as Binx graciously accepts the plate, but Rue suddenly feels clumsy in a way that they hadn’t since publicly revealing their true form.
•ꕥ•
My charming Rue,
Word has reached me from my cousin that you will be accompanying him on his biweekly visit to our little family in the mortal realm. This news could not be more thrilling to me! I would be delighted to host you here for an afternoon or evening, along with my wonderful wife and beautiful baby girl (Peep has asked that I inform you that she is, in fact, not an actual baby anymore, but rather a child of near-eighteen. Isn’t she darling?). Please let me know if there is anything that I or Esme could do to make our home more welcoming for your visit. Don’t feel obliged to bring any sort of guest gift; your presence is present enough (ha!).
Yours, as the bird flies,
Lady Chirp Featherfowl, wife of Esme Paserni, Countess of Cluckingham
P.S. Peep is (finally) old enough to get one glass of wine with dinner now. If you see my cousin trying to give her anything more or worse, please dissuade him as Esme will have my head if she were to find out.
•ꕥ•
Rue is still pondering tea at the Unseelie Court that evening when the cottage door opens and they hear both a quiet muttering and the unsteady gait of Hob’s footsteps along the hallway. They lower the book they were ostensibly reading and turn towards the doorway of the dining room.
“I didn’t expect you,” they say. “I’m sorry; I’d have dinner ready for you if I’d known.”
“That’s alright, dear Rue,” Hob says. He sounds more distracted than usual. “I’ve already eaten this evening. I just came to see if I’d dropped the token I promised to Fable here. It seems like it’s not here, though, so I’ll have to head back to the Trickster Court to keep finagling some final preparations.”
The word ‘dear’ being used with so distracted a tone after hearing Andhera and Binx exchange it all throughout tea ruffles Rue, and they can’t stop the terse tone their voice draws itself into. “So you’re leaving again?” Even to them, their voice sounds cold, unforgiving.
Hob freezes where he’s bent over, peering under a settee. He quickly rights himself and turns fully towards Rue. There’s concern in his eyes, and Rue seethes knowing that he hasn’t looked at them that way in weeks (of course, it’s because they’re being pissy).
“Is something the matter?” he asks, and Rue knows that once upon a time, they would have melted at the words.
“No, nothing for you to concern yourself with,” Rue says, pointedly turning back to their book.
They don’t know what they expect Hob to do. Perhaps they expect him to come and sit beside them, to ask them what’s wrong, no really, I must insist, and maybe he’ll sigh and realize just how lonely Rue has been and promise to swear off the Goblin Court’s insistent grip on him the way he had years before and the house will be filled with warmth and companionship again.
Instead, Hob hesitates before awkwardly nodding to them, excuses himself with quiet mutterings about being expected, and takes with him the warmth of the fire burning merrily in the hearth.
•ꕥ•
To the wonderful Andhera, Prince of the Unseelie and heir of air and darkness, and the impeccable Binx, Weaver of the Court of Craft,
I wanted to take a moment to thank you both again for a lovely tea. We simply must try and meet up more often, especially as my dear Hob is working so closely with you both. Please let me know when I can visit you again.
I believe I’ll be accompanying Hob to the wedding; if we don’t get to share a dinner or otherwise before, I’ll see you then.
With my love,
Delloso de la Rue
•ꕥ•
Rue sees Binx again sooner than they’d thought they would, though after a second of thought it makes sense that the archfey most tied to the mortal realm would be the one guiding others through an interplanar portal.
“Rue!” Binx sounds just as excited to see them now as she had been at tea. At least some things stay the same.
They give her a gracious smile. “Hello, darling Binx.”
She laughs. Rue marvels at how open and free it sounds. “You look lovely, as always.”
“You are far too kind,” Rue allows.
“No such thing,” Binx says with a firm nod. Rue wonders if her attitude comes from her detachment to the Feywild as a whole or if she’s always been like that.
It doesn’t take Squak too long after then to arrive fashionably late and fawn over Binx’s latest fashion choices (she’s wearing a hairpin made out of wine corks carved into flower petals). Before long, the three fey are facing a shimmering golden screen that will bring them to a world ruled by gravity and physics and non-whimsical magics.
Rue takes a shaky breath before summoning the one vestige of Wonder magic they clung to. They picture what they want to happen and carefully begin turning a wish into reality.
“Rue…?” They’re just barely able to make themself turn and offer Binx a weak smile. She responds in kind, but her concern is far too blaring as her gaze darts across their form. “Why are you wearing that glamour again?”
They self-consciously reach up with unseen claws and carefully trace the shape of a long ear. “Well, I have to make a good first impression, and I can’t imagine Chirp’s wife being ecstatic to have a monstrosity in her home.”
“Don’t talk about yourself like that.” Surprisingly, the words come from Squak, who has abandoned his typical light-hearted pomp for a shadowed brow. His eyeshadow today is blue, and it makes him look far too similar to a calculating magpie. “Esme’s a good character, even for a mortal who has only thirty years left on her hourglass.”
Binx turns her gaze to Squak, her tragedy turning to bafflement. “Are you still hung up on her lifespan?”
“It’s so horrible, ” Squak says, his voice lifting into a near wail. “Only eighty years on her coil, and a quarter of that is spent growing up? What a waste of two decades! How strong my cousin’s love for her is, and yet it cannot stop the forward march of time!”
“Her coil?” Rue repeats, the knot in their stomach gently loosening in light of this new distraction.
Squak waves his hand dismissively. “The mortal one, of course.”
“Right.” Binx turns back to the portal and reaches out. The dusky, incorporeal veil washes over her hand like honey, and she smiles at it kindly. “Lord Airavis, do you have the token?”
“Do I have the token— of course, I have the token!” Squak says. He summons a letter written in Chirp’s distinctive scrawl, peels off the wax seal, and hands it to Binx with a flourish. She takes it delicately, carves something into it, and offers it to the portal.
The wax seal lifts out of Binx’s hand and is gently enveloped into the golden aura of the portal. The portal pauses before it begins to emanate soft light that feels like laughter melted into mist, and it gains a clarity that overlooks a small, happy looking stone cottage overladen with ivy. It looks loved. Rue’s breath catches in the back of their throat.
Squak makes a noise that sounds like a triumphant hawk’s cry. “Oh, Chirp! Look, everyone, she’s finally convinced Esme to put up honeysuckle vines for the hummingbirds!”
Rue tears their eyes from the house itself to look around. Honeysuckle climbs up a trellis that’s been neatly laid against one side of the house, and as Squak mentioned, jewel-bright hummingbirds dart between the flowers. An ax has been left somewhat carelessly on top of a pile of chopped wood. There’s a tree in the front yard that’s laden with birdhouses and bird feeders and a rope swing and Rue aches with a strange want. They don’t know what it is that they want; they’ve never been fond of feathered things the way that the Lords of the Wing are.
“Very charming,” Binx says approvingly. She glances at them. “You’ll have to go through first; I’m going to be in a different section of the mortal realm to make sure that Gwyn and the rest of her party are doing well.”
“But of course. Come, Rue, we cannot possibly delay,” Squak says, taking Rue by the glamoured-claw and dragging them through.
•ꕥ•
Dearest, most beloved Captain Hob,
I will be spending the day with the Lords of the Wing in the mortal realm. I’ll pass on your good regards to Chirp and her family. I was going to inform you of the occasion, but you seem quite busy with your business and I didn’t want to disturb you. Perhaps we can coordinate another visit that you can accompany me and Squak to.
My honor and respect are, as always,
Yours,
Rue
•ꕥ•
Binx gently places them on the grass by the tree that Rue had observed before. It’s a much larger tree than they realized, its branches gnarled and its bark scarred. It’s not a particularly beautiful tree, they think, though that’s probably why Chirp kept it around.
Squak immediately walks towards the cottage as soon as he has his feet back. “Cousin!” he calls out, his voice high and swooping.
“Oh, cousin !” Chirp calls back, the door of the cottage swinging open a moment afterwards. She wears a shimmering green dress that looks like it could have been woven from the essence of peacock tail feathers, and she bounds towards them with a bounce in her step. “It’s so lovely to see you again. And of course you as well, my most favorite defector from the Court of Wonder,” she directs towards Rue with a wink. “Your diminutive form is, as always, incredibly charming, though I think Peep was expecting something more… hulking.”
Rue blinks. “I didn’t think I would fit in your home,” they say slowly.
Chirp laughs in that coquettish way that defined her at Blooms past. “Dear Rue, I’ve seen you wear your glamour for long enough to know there aren’t any physical changes involved.” She pats their claw. “If you feel most comfortable being seen like this by mortals, though, we don’t have to mention it to the others.”
Rue glances nervously towards the now open door of the cottage. “Perhaps in a bit,” they say a bit shamefully. “I— not that I believe your family the judgmental sort, but it’s just that—”
She quiets them with a knowing look, the flighty Countess of Cluckingham replaced by some being far older than Rue, and they’re reminded why the Lords of the Wing have escaped being tied down to a Court for so long. The look fades almost immediately. “But of course!” she sings, tugging them both towards the door. “Now come, lunch is cooling. I made the bread for the meal, so when you eat it, you must shower me with all of the compliments I deserve.”
“Oh, and how couldn’t we, cousin!” Squak says with a grin. “There is no bread more flavorful, so easily perfectly paired with any sort of confit that the heart could desire.”
“Oh, even before trying it— you flatter me, cousin!” Chirp squeals. She closes the cottage door behind them.
“I know it will be perfect, if your hands are the ones that made it,” Squak says, but Rue’s no longer really paying attention to the Lords of the Wing as they fawn over each other, transfixed as they are by the inside of the cottage.
If the sight of the outside curled around their heart like a vexing sort of vine, the inside tears them open and seeds a deep yearning in their core that they hadn’t truly felt before. Rue thinks they’ve felt an echo of this want before, every time they braved a tea with Andhera and Binx and were forced to witness their tender administrations to each other. The Unseelie Prince and leader of the Court of Craft are far more demure with their affections when surrounded by others, though, and Rue’s never appreciated just how reserved they were.
Once upon a time, Chirp told Rue that she was in love, that it had been as unexpected as it was deep, and they hadn’t truly believed her. There had been something so antithetical for a Lord of the Wing to be tied down, as it were, and Rue always wondered if she’d just told them whatever they wanted to hear so that they would dismiss the spontaneous wager they’d spun to try and prevent the Lords of the Wing from ruining their final Bloom with their typical antics. Then, Rue had heard that Chirp was married to a mortal and even had a family on the Material Plane that she planned on living with until the reasonable end of their lives (as morbid as that was), but when she qualified that reveal by winking and claiming that she was just waiting for the chance to abandon her wedding band and go back to her flirtatious ways, they had wondered just how true her love was.
This home erases the rest of those doubts. It’s the same size as the house Rue and Hob share, but it feels softer, with rich jewel-toned carpets laid out on the stone floor and tables carved from dark, polished wood covered in the remnants of a well-lived life. Lanterns hang from the ceilings, some filled with lit candles and others with small motes of light. Yellowed paper covered in childish scribbles cover the walls, with canvases covered in pastel landscapes and still lifes displayed almost pointedly on top of them, as though the artist was embarrassed by a refusal to take down earlier works.
Rue lingers on one of these paintings. It’s a careful rendering of the inside of Chirp’s nest, complete with the crystal fireplace and the wall-mounted shelves of liquor that the cousins keep on it. It’s not a perfect recreation, clearly drawn from a photo rather than from observation, but it’s been created with a practiced hand.
“Rue, where have you wandered off to?” They quickly walk to where they’ve been summoned.
The Lords of the Wing are sprawled out on settees that face each other, Squak half slumped over one’s armrest while Chirp leans into a human woman who Rue assumes is her wife on the other. They both perk up when they walk through the doorway, and Chirp straightens just enough to address them while still embraced by the woman.
“Delightful Rue, this is my beautiful, amazing, perfect wife Esme,” she says, leaning over to kiss her on the cheek.
The woman flushes at either the display of affection or the epithets; it takes Rue a second to remember that humans sometimes do that when they’re embarrassed. “Lovely to meet you,” she says. She has a deep complexion and mostly dark hair (some strands grow in grey, which is fascinating to actually see and not just hear about it from Binx) that’s been cut fairly short, and she wears a sturdy pair of corduroy trousers, a jacket that’s been left unbuttoned, and a plain white shirt tucked into her pants. She’s just in socks at the moment, but there were a pair of black boots at the doorway that Rue assumes are hers.
Rue decides to greet her like how they were taught to greet the royalty of the Court of Wonder and sweep themself into a low bow, their actual beak just barely grazing the floor. “It is my honor to meet the one who captured Lady Featherfowl’s heart,” they say. “I am Delloso de la Rue, and I’m absolutely delighted to make your acquaintance.”
“‘Captured Lady Featherfowl’s heart’, huh?” Esme says, giving Chirp a sideways glance that she responds to with a sunny grin. “Is that a hard task, lovebird?”
“Oh, she even knows about lovebirds!” Squak says, sweeping his legs off of the settee gallantly so that Rue can sit down. “Chirp, we are definitely keeping her.”
“Please don’t take me to the Feywild without my permission,” Esme cuts in tartly.
Chirp trills in the back of her throat. “Of course not, lovey.”
Esme pats her hand with a soft look before turning back to Rue. “Do you prefer Rue, or can I call you Delloso?”
The question catches Rue off-guard. All their life, people have referred to them by the last part of their name; even their closest friends and loved ones simply call them Rue. It’s been many centuries since someone even considered calling them by anything else.
But they pause before saying this. They know Esme is asking this out of some mortal tradition, one where people are referred to by a first name to denote closeness, and Rue doesn’t dislike their first name any more than they dislike their typical one. Perhaps Rue has been pushing people away by subconsciously insisting on being called Rue, for reminding people that they may leave whenever they wish.
“You may call me Delloso, if you so wish,” they say, and both Lords of the Wing gain that calculating gleam in their eyes that Rue recognizes from clever bluejays and thieving magpies.
Esme smiles knowingly as well, and suddenly Rue wonders what pushed her to ask even after both Squak and Chirp readily labeled them Rue.
“Darling dolemate, where is our little daughter?” Chirp asks, drawing her wife’s attention back to herself. “I know she disappeared into the woods to make more paints, but surely she must be back by now.”
Esme chuckles. “She has more than her looks from you, Chirp,” she says. “Peep will be back home when she wants to return. There’s no forcing her.”
“Oh, do you think she’s ready to fly the nest, soon?” Chirp asks, perking up slightly. “She’s been our little fledgling for so long, I never thought to check for remiges.”
“Half-fey she might be, Peep is still just a girl trying to find her way in the world,” Esme says soothingly. “She’ll ask us when she needs help, and if she thinks she’s ready to leave, she’ll tell us that too.”
“What a heavy conversation,” Squawk whispers to Rue, passing them a small flask he surreptitiously pulled from somewhere.
Rue blinks before sniffing at the lip of the flask. They jerk their head back slightly at the fragrant punch of sweet alcohol.
“What is this, Lord Airavis?” they murmur back.
“Only the finest mead that Peckersburg offers,” Squawk says back, none of his bluster lost with his lowered voice. “Please, enjoy yourself on our behalf. You can relax here, Rue.”
Rue hesitates for only a second longer before taking a quick swig of the nectar-like drink and passing it back before Esme and Chirp notice.
•ꕥ•
Darling Rue,
Thank you for the note— I arrived home this morning and was quite taken aback when I realized you weren’t here. I nearly thought someone whisked you away as some sort of strike against my honor before I found your missive. Worry not; I’m afraid the final negotiations for the catering at the wedding are to be wrapped up tonight and finally, I will be free from my obligations to the Viscountess Grabalba. If we are to wed, I must request that you keep me out of all of the planning, as after this experience, I know for certain that I have absolutely nothing of note to say when it comes to decor and aesthetics.
I must be off, though I hope to be home in time to see your return. Perhaps, tomorrow, we can enjoy a walk through the woods and be able to reconnect after these past trying few months.
My heart is yours,
K. P. Hob.
•ꕥ•
Just as Chirp pulls out a few trays covered in strange delicacies and canapes that Rue has never tasted before (Esme points out some of what she calls ‘fingerprint cookies’ and advises them to start with one of those), the front door of the cottage bangs open and someone loudly kicks their shoes off at the door.
“Peep, we’re by the unlit fireplace, little chick!” Chirp says, her face brightening as she beams.
“Oh my gods, Hen, don’t call me that,” a grumbling voice returns, and Rue steals a glance over their shoulder at Chirp’s wayward child.
Philippa is a broad-shouldered youth who’s still growing into herself, from what it looks like. She’s inherited Chirp’s delicate facial structure and distinctive mask and the relaxed ease of Esme’s bearing, and though her parents call her Peep she reminds Rue more of one of the pigeons that frequently flock to Chirp. She’s retained a mortal’s dusky brown complexion and red-brown hair, but feathers peak through the messy self-cut shag that shimmer iridescent in the lantern light of the cottage. Her eyes are a dark enough brown to appear black at first glance, though which parent she inherited that from, Rue’s not too sure. She ignores the couch that Rue and Squak are sitting on to pout at her parents, Chirp for her words of endearment and Esme for not stopping them.
“Your Uncle Squak has brought a close acquaintance of ours to visit,” Chirp says, gesturing towards them.
The feathers on Philippa’s head puff up in surprise for a second before she whips around wide-eyed. Rue’s halfway through sticking a petit four in their mouth.
“Hi,” she says cautiously.
“Hello there— Philippa, am I correct?” Rue says.
“I know your rules,” she says bluntly. She wears the gleam of corvids as well as Squak and Chirp do. “You can call me Peep like everyone else does.”
“Is that how you want to be called?”
Philippa hesitates.
“Peep, be polite,” Esme says as she leans over to pick up a small tart.
“Philippa is okay,” she says quietly.
Rue gives her a soft smile and prays that their glamour conveys it well enough. “Okay. My name is Delloso de la Rue. You may call me whatever you wish.”
•ꕥ•
Dearest Wuvvy,
I want to start this letter by telling you that I’m sorry. Once, I prioritized my happiness over yours, and though I don’t think I would act any differently were I to go back in time, I should have been a better friend and given you more of my consideration.
You promised me many lifetimes of loyalty and love, and you showed me just that. I should have had the decency to offer and show you the same.
I have been thinking of our friendship as of late with only fondness and regret that I did not do my part in maintaining it since the last Bloom. Though in our eyes it has been only a blink of an eye, every day that I did not think to speak with you is a day our friendship wastes away. I cannot imagine that I am a piece of your happiness still, but you remain one of mine.
Will you accept my groveling and give me the privilege of your company for just one more time so I may tell you all of this in person?
With hope for a shared future,
Rue.
•ꕥ•
It takes only a few more minutes for Philippa to truly relax in Rue’s presence, and just over an hour longer with Chirp’s family for the tension in Rue’s form to slip. Between the slowly dwindling plates of treats, the tea that Esme eventually offers, and the flask of mead that Squak slips to Rue every now and then (and once to Philippa, who drinks a mouthful of its contents swiftly and passes it back with a practiced hand), Rue feels their grip on their glamour teeter slightly.
“Dear Esme and Philippa,” they say.
“What is it, Delloso?” Esme asks, and the novelty of the name has been worn smooth by its constant use but still hasn’t lost its daring edge.
“I must apologize, for I’ve lingered here under a falsehood. If I may, I’d like to strip it away and show you a truth that Lord Airavis and Lady Featherfowl are already aware of.”
Philippa just shrugs. “Sure,” she says.
Esme simply nods.
Rue takes a deep breath to center themself before fully peeling their glamour away. They know how it looks: a blanket of golden starlight that washed over their form and replaces it with their true, hulking mass, a sea-green complexion replaced by mossy feathers and a humanoid face replaced by a hooked beak and predator’s eyes.
Esme blinks. “Have I been addressing your chest this whole time?” she demands.
Rue’s breath catches in their throat before it turns to laughter. “Oh, nothing of the sort,” they say. “The glamour translates well enough; anything directed to what you thought was my face was magically directed to my actual face, large though this body may be in comparison.”
Philippa cautiously reaches out, her hand hovering over Rue’s arm. “May I?” she asks.
Rue nods, and Philippa gently lays her hand on their arm and traces green feathers with a careful finger. “Whoa,” she breathes out. “That’s so fucking cool.”
“Language, Peep,” Chirp says with no fire.
Philippa just rolls her eyes.
Later, the girl tracks Rue down as they head towards where Binx promised to open the portal for them. Squak had made plans to stay that night and leave in the morning, but Rue did still cling to the tiny hope that Hob would be home that night rather than be forced to stay in the Goblin Court because negotiations lasted for too long.
“How do I do what you do?” she asks immediately.
Rue blinks. “Are you talking about my glamours?”
“Your magic in general,” she says. “It’s… different from the magic that Hen gave to me and Mom. And she’s smaller too, and her power is a lot more bird-specific.”
“Birds are her court, to be fair,” Rue says.
“But you’re not in her court, right?” Philippa asks. “Your magic is focused on something else. It feels more fey. And your glamour is so much more advanced than anything any illusionist could try to make. How do I do that?”
Rue turns fully to Philippa. She’s tall for her age, not as willowy as Chirp is, and she’s got her hands in fists though they aren’t fully clenched. She stares at them in a combination of determination and, if they’re not mistaken, sharp interest.
“Fey magic is dangerous for mortals, especially the kind I’ve been taught to wield,” Rue says as gently as they can. “I’m not sure if it’s a good idea for you to learn how to channel it.”
Philippa deflates slightly. “But you were from the Material Plane once, right?” she asks. “I— I don’t want to be taken to the Feywild. I like it here. But you’ve clearly learned how to become more fey, and use their magic, and eat their food. Can’t I do something like that?”
Rue nearly tells her no before they remember the scribbles that Binx still displays proudly, over Philippa’s own art, childish doodles from a child she knew once…
“Why do you want to know fey magic?” they ask.
Philippa looks wistfully towards the woods. “I love it here,” she says as if in a confessional. “I really do. And I love that I may speak with birds and they speak back. But I’m… sort of bored here. I want to go out there , and find… some sort of inspiration, I guess. Something that makes me want to create even more, some spark that drives me to distraction.” She gives them a wry grin. “Is that too idealistic?”
“Far be it from me to call anyone a romantic or idealist,” Rue says, and though Philippa doesn’t have any context she nods.
“I’m not agreeing,” Rue warns, and even as they say that Philippa perks up. “And you need to speak with both of your parents before I do anything more, and they have to agree to help you. But I know that there are some fey who… patronize a mortal, as it were. They create a contract in which the mortal promises something to the fey in exchange for a sliver of their magic. It’s much safer, since the magic is still being conducted by the fey, just from another’s hands. If both Chirp and Esme allow it, have one of them send me a letter and I will look into what I must do to form such a pact. If you agreed to it, you’d be able to do ‘that’, as you call it.”
Philippa’s eyes are wide as she takes in their words. “Okay. Okay. Yeah, I can do that,” she says half to herself. “Are you really okay with that?”
Rue smiles at her, and they hope it’s not the dangerous one. “Of course. Your desire to seek and create beauty— I’ve always stood for things like that. I’d be happy to lend you some of my arcane ability for such a mission.”
Philippa just barely holds herself back from an excited squeal and nods fervently at Rue instead. “Yes! Okay, I’ll ask Hen and Mom about it tonight.” She hesitates before boldly sticking her hand out. “Thank you,” she says. “I was sort of expecting a full no.”
Rue takes a moment to admire her boldness before graciously shaking her hand with a single claw. “It’s my pleasure, truly,” they say.
Philippa’s face breaks into a bright smile as she turns back towards the cottage.
•ꕥ•
Dear Hob,
I’m delighted to hear that your duties come to a close. I’m afraid I’ve decided to retire a bit early this evening; many apologies for missing you. I must call on a few people on account of a contract I promised to write this week, and as such I am uncertain whether I will be free tomorrow. Is there a chance you will remain unfettered by your honor for a few days longer, and once more our paths will cross?
I remain yours,
Rue.
•ꕥ•
The Court of Hoof and Claw is not a welcome place to Rue, even though their form is more than fitting of this wild woods. They ignore the whispering jackalopes and sneering qirins as they make their way further through the brush towards a home carved in a copse of trees that had remained empty for long before recent events.
Rue grimaces as Theodore approaches them. In his home court, he doesn’t bother with the niceties of the Bloom and wears his third form freely, his muscles flowing fluidly between the hulking mass of a bear-creature and the taut tendons required of a springing buck.
“Delloso de la Rue,” he says, his face blank.
“Theodore of the Great Hunt,” Rue replies, head bowed contritely. “I mean no harm. I have been invited here.”
“As you must have been, to have entered so deeply into our woods without losing your mind,” he says. “I’ve been asked to direct you to your destination.”
“I appreciate the kindness,” Rue says. “I hope it doesn’t inconvenience you.”
“Anything you do, Delloso de la Rue, inconveniences me,” he says. “However, my fellow Champion has asked that you come to no harm while you are here, and I respect her more than I disrespect you.”
Rue holds their tongue and follows Theodore silently through silver-barked trees to a home hidden in iridescent brush.
Wuvvy stands outside of the home, her hands behind her back. She’s in her truest form here as well: a towering thing of twisted spiraling horns, fawn spots that blink like eyes, and hair that flows into mist or brush or some other unintelligible shape that one’s mind would not be able to twist into sense. Rue averts their gaze from her; being unmoored from a court means that Rue doesn’t have enough presence of mind to behold something as terrible as Wuvvy is right now.
A hand reaches out to them. When Rue braves a glance up again, they see that Wuvvy wears a compromise of a form now, her face more comprehensible even if the rest of her is still a constantly fluctuating, borderless mass. “Hello, dear Rue,” she says, and her voice echoes with the knowledge of the trees and the night sky over a hunt and the wild things of the forest.
Rue bows deeply to her, just barely holding themself from going prostrate to a fey teeming with power the way she is. “Champion Wuvvy,” they say.
Wuvvy gently touches their shoulder and bids them to rise. “None of that,” she says. “I may be of the Hoof and Claw once more, but before returning I was your friend, and I promised to be your friend or peer or whatever we shall be to each other when we next met. I left that to you, as I knew that you were the one least certain of your future. And you have come. That’s not a small thing.” She opens her door and welcomes them in.
Rue walks into a home of wood that’s been bleached pearlescent and white, with furniture that grows from the floors and walls and ceiling. There is no light fixture for the walls themself glow with light. “You have a beautiful home,” they say.
“Thank you,” she says. “When I returned to my home court, it was treated as though I had merely left for a season rather than the many years we spent together. The house returned itself to the state I’d left it in, and it’s as if you never happened.”
Rue swallows.
Wuvvy gives them a sharp look. “None of that,” she says again, more sharply this time. “You were one of the best things to have happened to me, and I cherish the memories of those years and who you were to me far more than I ever cherished this house. Returning was nostalgic. To see you again is to come home.” She gestures for them to sit. “Would you like anything to drink?”
“Please serve me as you would yourself.” Rue glances out a window to see that Theodore has completely vanished. “How have you been, Wuvvy?”
She pours herself a flute of something clear that shimmers magenta. “It’s been a transition to return,” she says. “But not an unwelcome one. More importantly, how have you been? How has near-married life treated you?”
Rue barks out a laugh they can tell is hollow and accepts a flute of their own, though Wuvvy’s gaze gains a concern that isn’t completely welcome. “It was paradise for a bit,” they say. “And then my darling Hob allowed the politics of the Goblin Court to ensnare him once more, and I haven’t seen much of him ever since.”
“It’s hard to ask a man so dedicated to a duty to give it up,” she allows. “But he makes you feel unloved?”
Rue takes a breath to defend Hob, but the words stick in their throat. “Not unloved ,” they say weakly.
“Unwanted then. Undeserving.” Wuvvy’s eyes narrow into something more dangerous than she’s ever been. “I would have demanded satisfaction for you from him the moment he began to flag in his affection, had I known.”
Rue laughs. It comes out limp. “I know you would, but I’m not that type, as you know,” they say. “His duties to the Viscountess Grabalba have ended, he claims, so I will hopefully see more of him.”
“To hope for devotion is to not have it,” Wuvvy says. “I did my best to never leave your side. You were precious to me.”
“We were a bit codependent, you have to admit.”
“Perhaps we were. Is that not expected of us? Are we fey not possessive creatures who would lay claim to all that belong to them?” Wuvvy finishes her drink. “No matter. That’s all in the past. We have not been that to each other for a little bit.”
A silence settles between them. It’s a comforting one, one that Rue feels like they’re allowed to breathe through.
“I missed you,” they say plainly, and it’s the truth.
“I missed you as well,” Wuvvy says. “I hoped you were happy during your time away from me. I’m sorry I wasn’t able to be there for you when you weren’t.”
“Maybe I wasn’t happy, but I was content. That’s good enough.”
“That’s not good enough. You deserve joy in every moment of your life, as unending as ours might be.”
“Are you that joyful, Wuvvy?” Rue asks.
Wuvvy hesitates for a moment, clearly trying to work out how to word something. “I am,” she says carefully. “Rue, it occurs to me that you are at a bit of a disadvantage. Even as I joined your former court to stand with you, I did not explain the secrets of mine.”
“I never thought you needed to,” Rue says hurriedly. “The Court of Hoof and Claw should keep as many of its secrets as it would like. Just because we were close doesn’t mean that you should have betrayed that.”
“It will help to explain, though. You know of our multitudinous forms: of how we have two that are more perceptible and a third that is… well.” She gestures to herself vaguely. “The third form of those of the Hoof and Claw isn’t just a physical form, but a reflection of them. I told you on multiple occasions that I loved you with all of my heart. I still do, to an extent: you own a part of my heart. And those who own a part of a heart of Hoof and Claw are reflected in their third form.”
Rue’s own heart skips a beat.
Wuvvy allows herself to slip back into the mosaic tapestry that is her third form, but she reaches out and grips Rue’s hand as she does so. “Rue, look at me,” she says softly.
Rue looks at Wuvvy’s true form for the first time.
It’s subtle. She’s still herself, as expected, and she’s still primarily faun as she’s always been. But there’s a careful heart of feathers that circles her face, and a halo of moss-green feathers borders her hairline just before the wild white curls of her hair. She grips their hand harder, and Rue feels more than they see the talon-like fingernails on her hands. There’s even a slight sharp edge to the bottom of her nose that could be part of a beak, if you look carefully enough.
“Wuvvy,” Rue says, but they can’t think of the words to describe whatever ineffable emotion fills them.
“You’re a part of me,” she says. Her face ripples back to the one Rue’s most used to seeing, and she gently lets go of their hand. “And you always will be.”
Rue offers a soft smile. They’d noticed something else in that moment of seeing Wuvvy for her true self, something that she hadn’t voiced. “Has your true form changed since we’ve last seen each other?”
Wuvvy freezes, and for the first time she looks like the frantic assistant she used to be. She gives a tiny cough. “Well.”
Rue’s smile turns into a slight grin. “Your hair didn’t do that before,” they say, gesturing at the ends of it. “And your antlers were always beautiful, but I’d be remiss if they weren't more horns now.”
A blush makes its way to her face and she pretends to take a drink out of a flute Rue knows is empty. “And what of it?” she asks, crossing her arms petulantly.
“I’m happy for you,” Rue says. “You deserve it.”
Wuvvy’s expression startles wide-eyed before softening again. “Thank you,” she says quietly.
They smile to each other, and they wile away the rest of the afternoon and evening in quiet conversation.
•ꕥ•
Rue! Darling, wonderful, incredible Rue!
Peep spoke to me of the conversation you had with her. She wants me to include an apology to you in this letter; apparently it took her quite some time to dredge up the courage to speak with me and Esme. I told her it would not bother you, but if you could assure her yourself, I’m sure it would matter more than hearing it from her Hen.
I’m beyond honored that you’d be willing to grant my child some of your beautiful magic. I’ve always wanted to give her more of mine, but we Lords of the Wing have always been more charm than magic, and I couldn’t give her too much before giving up more of myself.
If your gracious offer is still open, please let us know; Esme would like to read the contract you and Peep will take first, but I’m sure that you will not ask for anything too big from my baby girl.
Thank you, once more,
Chirp
•ꕥ•
Rue’s in the process of penning a response to Chirp when Hob walks out to the garden and sits across from them.
“My dear Rue,” he says, and the warmth of his words rivals that of the sunlight, and suddenly Rue feels nervous.
“How are you, dear Hob?” Rue asks, setting the letter aside.
“I’m quite well,” he says. “I’m deeply contrite that I have not been able to see you as much as I’d like, thanks to my outstanding duties with this wedding, but as those have ceased, I’m more than happy that we can return to our life together.”
A lump forms in Rue’s throat at that pronouncement. “Well, I’ve gained a couple of new duties myself,” they say lightly.
“Oh?”
Rue smiles as they glance at Chirp’s letter again. “I’ve agreed to form a pact with Chirp’s child.”
Hob blinks. “A pact like those of Binx and their warlocks?”
“Exactly like that,” Rue says. “I’ve a letter to pen to her, in fact, to ask how they worded their pacts to ensure the safety of both parties. It’s been illuminating, and Philippa’s quite the clever child.”
“That’s very exciting,” Hob says. “Can you support a warlock without the power of a court?”
Rue hesitates. “In case I can’t, I’ve been thinking of joining the Court of Hoof and Claw. They seem most aligned with my goals, and Wuvvy told me she’s willing to help me transition over if I must.”
There’s a thick, wary pause after their words. “The Court of Hoof and Claw? They’re a bit insular , aren’t they?”
“They’re a kind enough group when they want to be,” Rue says stiffly, eyes trained on their pen. “Wuvvy’s already convinced Theodore that it’s a politically good move to spread the rumor that I’m thinking of joining, thanks to my former position among the courts, and that’ll help fight any detractors, should they exist.”
“And what of me?”
“What of you, Hob?” Rue asks, looking up to see Hob’s thunderstruck expression. “It wouldn’t get in the way of your own political machinations, and it would be the smartest move for me.”
“Am I to be of the Hoof and Claw with you?” Hob asks uncertainly. “I don’t know how well I’d fit in.”
“It might be a bit more difficult for you to join,” Rue says. “It’s up to you, really.”
“Would you not be happy joining one of the courts closer to us?” A note of desperation has entered Hob’s words. “I’m sure Prince Andhera or Mx. Choppley would be more than willing to allow you accommodation. The lovely Binx especially would know how to help you gain enough strength to help this new warlock—”
“And Binx has helped me tremendously with this,” Rue says, cutting him off, “but I think of all of the courts available to me, the Court of Hoof and Claw not only would be most fitting for someone like me, but would be easiest for me to be accepted. I don’t want to be Andhera or Binx’s charity case any more than we already are, and I’m willing to put in the political work to make it all happen.”
“I thought you were quite done with politics, dear Rue.”
Rue sighs slightly. “I told the Herd of the Court that I’d be willing to step into my old position within the Bloom when it happens next in exchange for joining their numbers,” they admit. “It would grant a larger spotlight on them and it’s something that I can easily offer, as long as the other courts agree to it. Wuvvy has already said she’d cede it to me if that becomes a concern.”
There’s another silence. “That’s a large promise,” Hob says.
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t want to discuss it with me?”
“You’ve been quite busy with your own politicking. I’m not an ignorant child, Hob, I can take care of myself.”
“I never implied you couldn’t.”
“You did,” Rue says mildly. “But that’s fine.”
“Are you angry with me?”
“I’ve passed anger, dear Hob.” Rue watches Hob wince. “I’ve passed most of the periods of grief, actually. I’ve long since settled on acceptance for our sorry state.”
Hob stares as though he’s never seen them before.
“I loved you,” Rue says plainly.
“You speak in the past tense.” Hob’s voice is low, calm, but Rue can see his agitation from the way he holds his shoulders too stiffly and how his ears twitch.
“I do.” Rue can’t keep looking at him, but they don’t know where else they could look. “I don’t want to, but I do.”
“Is it something that I did?”
Rue hesitates over the immediate ‘yes’ or ‘no’. “I don’t know. I think it’s something that you did, yes, but also something that I did, as well as something that neither of us did. As much as I detested the artifice of the Court of Wonder, they were the ones that raised and taught me, and they taught me that the greatest miracle that a being could create is that of love. They taught me there’s a magic in coming together with however many partners you choose and creating something bigger, warmer, heavier than who you were individually. And I wanted that, Hob. I wanted desperately for someone to choose to come together with me and create something bigger than just the two of us.”
“I wanted that too,” Hob says. He speaks in a whisper, as though he can’t trust his full voice.
“I don’t think you did.” Rue tries to say it gently, but Hob looks like they slapped him across the face nonetheless. “I think you understood that I wanted it, and I think you wanted me to be happy. But I think that my happiness was a duty to you, just another thing to take care of on a list of things to take care of.”
“And that doesn’t equivocate?”
Rue thinks on their words again. “You told me once that I’d never know a lonely day again, as long as you drew breath.” The words are imprinted on Rue’s mind, and they’ve always been able to call them up. “And yet, for months, I woke alone, and I ate alone, and I slept alone as you carried out the duties that are so important to you. I do not wish to take that away from you; your honor and your responsibilities have always helped form you, and I admired that in you, but that doesn’t mean I was any less lonely.”
“My work is important,” Hob says quietly. “Am I meant to throw it all away just for your sake?”
“No,” Rue says. “It’s just that our futures don’t exactly line up right now—”
“Why have you given up on this so quickly?” Hob interjects. “The courts are bigger than two unassociated fey. The fact that I’ve been held to my prior importance still is something that can’t be spat upon, and it helps rebuild whatever reputation I may have lost by formally leaving the Goblin Court for me to be seen working to tie the Trickster Court to it. That’s bigger than us.”
“And I don’t want someone who sees anything as bigger than what we could be,” Rue snaps back. “ That’s why I’ve ‘given up on this’. Our goals are unaligned. Neither of us want to capitulate. That’s fine. It just means—”
“What does it mean, Rue?” Hob growls.
Rue lets their gaze sharpen. “It means that perhaps this isn’t working,” they say shortly. “What you want is a warm home to come home to. What I want is someone to build that home with. That’s fine. We can both have what we want, just not with each other.”
Hob sits silently before standing. “Fine,” he says. “I can see I’m no longer welcome here.”
“You’re welcome wherever you want to be,” Rue says. They look back to their letter and for a silent moment despair for the peace of mind they’d been writing it in. “I don’t want to keep you from your home.”
“This has always been more your home than mine,” Hob says, and that does sting, the thought that this too-empty house that Rue has felt choked in was another concession he made for them. “I’ll speak with Prince Andhera and ask if they know of anywhere I might stay. My apologies for being so repugnant for being unable to hold myself to your lofty standards.”
“I’m holding you to your own fucking standards, Hob,” Rue snarls, and they finally let their feathers puff up and the fur along their spine stand on end the way it wants to. Hob actually takes a step back, but that just gives Rue room to throw the entire table to the side and step forward. “You expect me to think you can keep your word when this entire relationship was built on a broken promise? I may be a romantic, ” and they spit that word as if it’s rotten fruit, “but I have standards , and unfortunately for both of us, those standards include being honest .”
Hob’s hunched over, and Rue sees the wild look in his eyes that the whole Goblin Court wears.
They force themself back into their prior composure, and they turn around dismissively to pick up the table and retrieve the letter (they’ll have to rewrite it; it partially landed in the puddle of ink that spills from their fallen inkwell). “Get out,” they say.
A moment later, they hear Hob storm back into the house and out the front door, slamming it loudly as he leaves.
Only then does Rue allow themself to crumple back in their chair and cry.
•ꕥ•
My dear friend Rue,
Hob has told me of your fracture. I’m so sorry for any grief I myself may have caused, even if I can’t think of anything to apologize for while writing this. I’m granting him shelter, so you don’t have to worry about him returning to your home. I’d say to make it into your sanctuary, if you so wish. Binx and I can come to retrieve any final things of his if you don’t want to see him so soon. I’d imagine not.
Though I have Hob under one of my many roofs, that doesn’t make our friendship any less valuable to me. Please, please feel free to reach out if you have need of anything; I would be more than happy to make it happen.
All of my best, as well as my condolences,
Prince Andhera of the Unseelie Court.
•ꕥ•
To the inimitable Prince Andhera,
Thank you for your considerate words. You have done absolutely nothing wrong, and I don’t accept your apologies for they are unnecessary. I don’t think you have to worry overly for me; I’m sure the Rue you once knew would be torn to shreds over this, but I am currently focused on the new pact I’ve formed with Philippa and it’s proven to be enough of a task that I am properly distracted. As my sole warlock, she’s able to draw on a much greater pool of magic than Binx or I anticipated, which means that we speak with each other daily to ensure that she can cast it safely. Perhaps after this initial hump, I will find myself with more time to mope, but I’m doing well enough keeping busy for now.
I’d imagine my invitation to the grand wedding has been rescinded due to recent events; please send me any sort of image of Binx’s fine work when it concludes so I may frame it, and perhaps we can see each other for another tea soon.
My regards to you,
Delloso de la Rue
•ꕥ•
Dear Rue,
Why is it so so weird to send mail to the Feywild??? Hen had to show me an entire ritual involving no less than eight candles, the petals of ‘a rose picked at dawn’, whatever that means, and three apple seeds that I had to chew into a paste. You Archfey are so, so bizarre.
Hen thinks that I should be more flattering in my address, by the way, and Mom thinks I should be more casual. Do you have a preference? It feels weird calling you like, I don’t know, perfect or entrancing or incredible when you’re just sort of a guy to me right now. Is there some other cool title I could call you? Is that rude to ask? Please don’t take the pact back :(
Speaking of which, I wanted to ask you when you think I’ll be ready to leave home. I’ve really loved growing up here, but— I mean, you know what I told you. I want to go out to the world and find my muse, and I’ve long exhausted the ones here. I know you said I needed to have a better grasp on my magic first, but I think I’m really getting there! So I was hoping you would have a timeline as to when I might be able to head out.
That’s all, really. Thanks for everything you’ve done so far and will do for me in the future.
-Philippa
P.S., I’ve included the leaves from the honeysuckle vine you asked for. Is this another weird fey thing?
•ꕥ•
Dearest Philippa,
Is that a true ritual? Truth be told, I only have to ask one of my fellows to send my letter through a portal we have to the mortal realm from our side. The reason I asked for the leaves of that plant is because it helps with the location magic; you should have found this missive tucked away by the vine that you cut the leaf from.
I don’t exactly wish to go against your parents, but I know that Lady Featherfowl was raised in the same manners that I was. I’m sure it seems stilted and over-the-top to both you and your mother, and I don’t mind if you decide to forgo them in your own responses. If you truly wish to call me something besides any fragment of the name I have given you, I suppose you may call me your Tyto. And there’s very little that would make me rescind our pact, fret not.
I believe you are… at the very least, very close to being ready. There are a couple of other spells I’d like to see you perform to some degree of success before giving you the full clear, but I can’t imagine that you’d have a hard time with them. Our brand of magic is both far easier and far harder to invoke than the other archfey I know who works closely with mortals, so half of the battle is ensuring that we are mentally on the same page. I believe I will have to visit with you twice more and then declare you prepared for the road.
I hope these answers satiate you. I’ll also see if there’s anything more convenient for you when it comes to sending me a letter; have you considered asking your Hen how she sends hers to her cousin?
Honorably and truly yours,
Delloso de la Rue.
•ꕥ•
Rue,
Are you doing okay? Sorry to start so abruptly, but Andhera mentioned that they hadn’t heard from you in a while, and I really haven’t heard from you in a while if we ignore all of the warlock-patron conversations. Please know that I’m your friend, and you don’t have to hold me at arms’ length outside of professional conversation. I care about you and your welfare, and I hope that you’ve found peace.
Hob wanted me to pass on that you’re still welcome to attend the wedding. He seemed to be under the impression that you didn’t think you were? It’s going to be a big political event, so it’s not like they can uninvite anyone. I hope we see you there! I’d love to show off all of my work to you.
Besides all of that, I miss you, my friend Rue. I’m so sorry that something like this has sundered our little group, and I hope that we can go back to our camaraderie without too much work.
How is Philippa doing? You seemed a bit worried about her last time, but knowing the Lady Featherfowl and the kind of chick she would rear, I don’t think there’s too much to be concerned with. She seems like a good egg, at the very least. (Is that enough bird puns for the Lords of the Wing, do you think?)
Write back soon. Or not, if you don’t want to! But I’d love to hear from you.
All of my best,
Binx Choppley of the Court of Craft.
•ꕥ•
Most beloved Wuvvy,
I thank you for the help you gave me, despite ending up not needing it. I’m sure Theodore, at least, is pleased that I will not be taking it up with your Court after all. What I did see of the Court of Hoof and Claw was beautiful and wild and free , and while I never professed to it, possibly joining was an alluring prospect. But I must focus on dear Philippa, in the end, and her enthrallment with my specific arcane nature!
I did miss you these past years; though we are everlasting creatures, I’ve felt each passing day without you like a keen blade to the side. Let’s never leave silence between us like that again.
I look forward to seeing you again soon,
Rue.
•ꕥ•
Pleasant Rue,
I apologize for any erratic behavior you may have seen from me during our chance encounter at the wedding. Though both Mx. Choppley and the Prince Andhera warned me of your presence, I did not quite believe them until I saw your entrance. I’ve been reassured that the three sparrows that found their way into my mouth are generally unharmed, though a bit shaken still.
You looked lovely. A vision in red. I hope it’s not overstepping for me to say so.
Perhaps the pain is still too close for us both, but I await the day I can one day be
Your friend,
Hob.
•ꕥ•
Captain Hob,
Struggling for adjectives, were you? Apologies for no longer having a lofty title you might have been able to use as your neutral word. I’m glad to hear the sparrows are doing well, though I’m sure I would have heard more about that particular faux pas from Lord Airavis if not.
Thank you kindly. You looked dashing yourself in your jacket.
It may be a bit unhealthy, but I have been singularly focused on my warlock recently, and through her I am rediscovering a love for the world. She asked for my magic so that she could go out and seek out a muse, and already she has faced hardships and found a beauty in them I was never able to find myself. In a strange way, I must thank you for the opportunity to have met her while I was still lonely and adrift, for what she has taught me now is far more reaching than anything I’ve experienced in the past many centuries.
One day, I am sure we will once again be friends. Perhaps, on a further day still, you may call me
Dearly yours,
Rue.