I chuckled as I watched Zandar mutely hail a young rabbit she found playing at the edge of the woods. The tyke screamed and ran away. Heh heh! Maybe he thought she was a ghost!

Next Zandar found a pair of rabbit femmes gathering acorns in a clearing. They too ran away in a panic. Maybe the rabbits would be so terrified they would abandon their dumb little town! It would serve them right!

But as Zandar approached Bunkirk, a group of mels came out to meet her with guns and pitchforks. They demanded that she explain herself, and of course she could not, so they immediately assumed she was a witch.

Lowfolk! Honestly, what is wrong with them that makes them act this way?

They coiled a length of rope around Zandar, tied it tight, and marched her into town.

I didn't care HOW Unseelie she was, I couldn't let a bunch of ignorant lowfolk treat my queen this way! Those rabbits had gone too far this time! Now I was free, and I could actually do something about them!

There wasn't much time, so I quickly threw together a simple disguise and covered it with a glamer so the rabbits would think I was one of them. I also needed to bring a swarm of Ixies for backup in case things went sour … but a cloud of large insectoids buzzing around would surely draw attention. I had to think fast, so I conjured up a baby carriage and had the Ixies hide inside, under the blanket.

Thus prepared, I pooked into the outskirts of Bunkirk and hurried toward the town square where everyone was gathered.

"What's all this?" I demanded.

"We've caught a witch, Squire," one of the rabbits replied, as if he had known me all his life. My disguise was working perfectly so far!

"Really?" I replied. "What makes you think she's a witch?" I would have to be subtle and get these bumpkins to examine their assumptions without directly challenging them. If they began to suspect I wasn't a real member of their community, then the game was up!

"She came out o' the haunted wood!" the same rabbit answered, after respectfully removing his cap. "Everybody knows that place is full o' goblins an' skunk elves!"

"Sure an' she looks might skunky to me," a femme added.

"She certainly does look like a skunk," I observed cautiously as I stepped through the crowd to get closer to Zandar.

"You chose this," I whispered, to remind her that it had been her own decision to leave the safety of Albric Tor.

Instead of apologizing or asking for help, she HISSED at me angrily and insolently!

"Hey!" one of the rabbits yelled as he prodded Zandar with a pitchfork. "Show respect to Squire Young!"

SQUIRE YOUNG?? Did they somehow know my name, or was that a lucky guess?

"He's a good man!" declared another.

"Him a widower an' raisin' that baby all by himself," a femme added, using her own imagination to fill in the blanks in my disguise. Lowfolk sure are suckers for a basic glamer!

"Good people, please," I insisted, still determined to try and save the situation. "The fact that she is a skunk does not prove she is a witch."

"She's either one of 'em, or she's been with 'em," various members of the crowd called out. "She came out o' the woods! An' look at what she's wearin! She won't talk! I ordered her in the name o' the Deity ta speak, an' she just stood there starin' at me!"

"Well now, that is suggestive," I admitted in a conciliatory tone. Turning to Zandar, I asked her, "Have you nothing to say in your own defense?"

The spell on her collar would have allowed her to speak to me, but instead of trying, she simply glared at me with an expression full of malice.

"How peculiar," I sighed after what felt like a long pause. If Zandar didn't want my help, that was her choice to make. They wouldn't be able to kill her at any rate, because of her strange geas … but at least I could try to dissuade them from burning her at the stake. "I believe hanging at the crossroads is the usual procedure, but you might want to consult a priest first."

"Thankee Squire," said the first rabbit who had spoken to me. "That's just what we'll do."

I turned and walked away as quickly as I could without raising suspicion, as I heard the rabbit say "What d'ye think, Father?"

I rounded the corner and pooked away just as another voice answered, "I'll go with what Squire Young said."

I moved Zandar from the Folly where she had been compelled by necessity to give birth, and placed her in a comfortable bed in the Palace. I set up my stew cauldron and began cooking, so she would be awakened by pleasant and appetizing aromas.

"Ah, you're awake," I said, as she began to stir. "I made stew. Have some. It will restore your strength."

All she said in response was "Where's Wulfrida?" referring, of course, to the princess.

"She's safe," I said, after sipping the stew to make sure it was up to my usual standard. "You really should try the stew. It's delicious."

"What have you done with my daughter?" Zandar reiterated, with a note of belligerence.

"She's safe with a lowfolk family," I explained. "I traded our child for theirs. I believe you are familiar with this practice."

"But why?" she said, rather foolishly since the answer was obvious. Fine, if I was going to have to spell it out for her …

"It's traditional for elves to leave the rearing of our young to someone else," I stated, keeping it as simple as possible so she could not fail to understand. "Besides .. the thought of you with an infant is frankly appalling. I don't want you anywhere near her. Your stew is getting cold," I added, holding out the bowl to help ease the mood since I could see my remarks displeased her.

"Okay," she grumbled, actually more reasonably than I expected. "So what did you do with the lowfolk baby?"

Zandar didn't need to be burdened with the details about the O'Dors' dead child - and I admit I was starting to feel embarrassed about having made, in a moment of foolish soft-heartedness, such an uneven trade with some lowfolk who had not actually done anything to deserve it other than being descended from someone I liked. So I evaded the question by reminding her of the delicious distraction I had prepared for her.

"I made stew," I declared simply.

That's when she went berserk.

In retrospect I can see how, in that context, my words could have been misinterpreted. But only a completely twisted Unseelie mind would ever leap to such a horrid conclusion!

Zandar attacked me and called me all manner of nasty names. I fended off her blows with ease, thanks to Adoyret Sam's training (though alas, I dropped the bowl of stew) and wound up with her in an inescapable Gnostermonger hold.

"I'll kill you!" she snarled.

"That's inadvisable," I said, thinking of the Vulpitanians, Lana, the Shrub Army, Estvan, and the Boy Dukes. "Beings more powerful than you have tried and failed. You're overreacting, my dear. This is all standard elvish practice. I realize it is new and strange to you after living so long among lowfolk, but in time you'll relax and accept it."

"The only way I'll relax is if I'm dead," she protested over-dramatically.

"But Zandar, my sweet," I whispered, "I can't kill you." Which was true; the geas that had been placed on her made her impossible to kill … but more importantly I wouldn't have WANTED to. Once again she decided to interpret my statement in the worst possible way, because she was the worst possible person.

She stared at me coldly for a few seconds, then hissed "I'm leaving. Show me the way out of here."

"Through there," I said, pointing toward the Gateway arch. "But if you leave this realm, you may never return."

"Fine," she growled, clearly not thinking this through.

"Our daughter is protected from you," I called, hoping she might reconsider. "You'll never find her."

The dreadful prospect of never seeing her own child again did not deter her from walking through the Gate and sealing the ban that would prevent her from ever returning.

I pooked to the scrying chamber so I could see what happened next.

Zandar was standing, dumbfounded, in the stone circle - and wearing the outlandish costume she'd had on when she arrived, and which the Gate had removed when she crossed over into Faerie! I had not expected all of that stuff to be returned when she crossed in the other direction, but now that I had seen it, it made sense.

She wrestled with the constricting garments, and was able to remove the shoes and gloves - but Venatrix had made the dress to my exacting specifications, and Zandar could not remove it herself.

After failing to take off the clothes, Zandar cried for a while, collecting the tears in her little magick bottle. I couldn't blame her for having an emotional outburst at such a low point. I had done it myself often enough.

When she had wept enough, she yelled impotent curses at me, then got up and began trudging away - straight toward Bunkirk! Those insane rabbits might do anything if they saw a well-dressed skunkess come walking out of the "haunted" woods! And the collar of her dress was magicked to prevent her talking to strangers! This could be disastrous!

It looks like you've asked more questions:

Ever think you might owe Zandar an apology?

For what??? For giving her chance after chance, and treating her infinitely better than she deserves? I don't regret any of that. Perhaps I should, but it simply takes too much effort to harbor malice toward her.

You still haven't explained about the baby stew.

I'm getting to that! Fuma's sakes, you lowfolk are impatient! A good story, like a good stew, cannot be rushed. It must be slowly simmered, and then savored when it's cooked to perfection.

Are you still rich & single? Any allergies or weaknesses to poison?

All right. Question time is over. Let's get back to the story.

I believe I left off just before our daughter was born. It went smoothly as far as I could tell, but Zandar was exhausted from her travail, and fell asleep. As I sat there thinking, I came to the conclusions I mentioned earlier, namely that neither of us were fit parents for a little elflet (Zandar least of all!) so I picked up the child and used a bit of Gramarye to make sure Zandar would stay asleep until I returned.

I would have to hide the Princess someplace where Zandar would never find her, and I had an excellent idea where that would be. They were even expecting a baby right around this time! It would be perfect! I set out toward the O'Dor residence on a Top Secret mission, accompanied by only one Ixie.

"Continuing the old Changeling tradition then, sir?" she asked me.

"You know about that?"

"It's in the stories," she replied. "I wonder though, when they come of age, how do they know they're elves? Is it some sort of instinct?"

"No," I explained. "Someone is supposed to come and fetch them … or at the very least, tell them where they need to go. I'll be watching over my daughter from the shadows, to make sure she grows up safe and doesn't fall in with a bad crowd. It won't do to have the Princess of Faerie associating with riff-raff, writers, artists, musicians, and other worthless idlers."

"It will require constant vigilance," the Ixie observed.

As I approached the O'dor household in the middle of the night, I couldn't help but sigh as I thought of Vernier. "She ended up marrying another lowfolk," I muttered bitterly. "Even though she confessed that she had feelings for me."

"You mean old Mama Vernier?" the Ixie surmised. "Angela Weakflit told us that sad tale. The reason Vernier never yielded to your desire is because she knew about the curse that befalls all elves who fall in love with lowfolk."

"She did?" I demanded. "How did she find out? Why didn't she ever say anything?"

"It's in the old ballads," the Ixie shrugged. "She probably never said because she wanted to save your feelings, or maybe she knew you'd try to talk her out of it."

That seemed like Vernier. I mulled this over in silence as we walked toward the O'Dor residence. When we finally arrived, I was surprised to see the place still lit up despite the late hour. I could hear a man talking and a femme in obvious distress. I crept into the bushes beneath the window to listen to their conversation.

"Again, Seamus?" Mrs. O'Dor sobbed. "How could it happen again? I was careful! I took no liquor, ate plenty o' potatoes, an' did no heavy liftin' but she came early anyway."

"Tis not your fault, Mary," Seamus O'Dor answered, clearly struggling to seem calm. "Sure an' ye did everything roight."

"Then why?" Mary wailed.

"Fuma's ways are mysterious," Seamus sighed. I was pleased to note that Mephitism had gained a strong foothold in this district, as opposed to the nonsensical cult that the rabbits of Bunkirk followed. "Mayhap it's the Lady's will that we not have children."

Ridiculous! I frowned. Childlessness was never Fuma's will! These lowfolk may have been nominally Mephitist but they obviously still had a lot to learn.

"Twice is enough, macushla," Seamus murmured soothingly over Mary's muffled sobbing. "We daren't try again. Doctor says it'll imperil your health, bedad."

At that moment I made a decision. These were the descendants of one of the only people who was ever genuinely kind to me, and I had the power to mitigate their misfortune. I magicked up a basket and put my precious daughter in it, and I wrote a note:

"I once knew a very kind but unlucky femme named Vernier. She did me a great service once and helped me when I had given up hope. I owe her a wish which she never claimed. Since Vernier now rests in her grave, the wish goes to her descendant. Tonight the debt is finally paid. I shall take away the burden of your sorrow, and leave my own precious daughter in exchange for the child you have lost. Treat her with love and kindness, as if she were your own, just like Vernier would have done. Signed, the King of the Elves."

With a mix of emotions, I placed the basket on the doorstep. I knocked on the door and quickly pooked away into the darkness. I lingered long enough to observe that the note was read and the basket was taken into the house. Then I turned, and my Ixie and I headed for home.

Dropping off Changelings was strenuous work! I decided that when I returned to the palace, I would greet Zandar as she awoke with a fresh pot of delicious stew. That would surely soften the blow of informing her that I had traded our child for one that was already dead, essentially getting nothing at all out of the deal … but it had been the right thing to do!

Let's take a look at some of your questions.

Do you really believe what you say or is it all an act? Also some rubbish about classism and the decline of the elves.

Elves do not lie. I'm not entirely sure what you're implying with the rest of your comment, but it is an established historical fact that too much associating with lowfolk is bad for our health. Staying aloof is the way to prosper.

Was he dabbing?

I have no idea what that means.

While Zandar was sleeping, did you ever use that magic bowl trick to see into her mind?

Fuma have mercy! That never even occurred to me. You lowfolk are truly devious … and yet some of you have the nerve to insinuate that I am Unseelie! Clearly a case of one of your many cognitive defects, the one called … what is it … projection? I think that's it.

Did you turn a low folk child into stew and feed them to Zandar? how did you come up with the "your original biological kid is missing, sent to lowfolk family, and yes, you did ask what did I do with the original lowfolk babe, so hey I made stew!" explanation?

Ah yes, I knew it was only a matter of time before this came up.

The short answer is, we are Royalty, and elvish royalty do not raise their own children! Additionally I came to trust Zandar less and less the more I learned about her. I couldn't let HER raise my child! She wanted to call the baby "Wulfrida," for Fuma's sake! That clearly indicates complete unfitness to be a parent. Furthermore: You can mock my intellectual ability all you like, but at least I had the sense to know that I was ill-equipped (not to mention too busy) to tend to the newborn princess myself.

Like, do you think you could have phrased it better, given how you presented yourself? Magical gate, fields strewn with skeletons, dead city, skeletal king on his dusty throne! You've clearly showed yourself as a great conqueror and killer of elves, wielder of terrible powers! To someone like her, wouldn't that paint you as someone who'd have no qualms making glazed ham out of random lowfolk and elf alike? Do you think this whole gig kinda, like, backfired a bit?

All of that should have charmed and impressed her! I admit it was my fault for failing to take into account the fact that Zandar was a complete stranger to elvish culture and knew nothing of our ways.

Also what herbs and vegetables do you use in your stews and what do you use as a thickener if you use any?

It requires a magickal spice called "paprika" which I believe is only available in Faerie. I don't want to give away too many secrets, because this information in the wrong hands could wreak havoc on your world … but I will whisper two words that will make sense to the initiated: SASSAFRAS FILE.

Now then, to properly explain what happened to the princess and her lowfolk swapling, I have to backtrack and set the stage.

Zandar and I had venery together, and I persuaded her to crown me. I was then able to issue a Royal Proclamation which lifted the geas confining me to Albric Tor, and also (reluctantly) honored the bargain I had made with Dr. Owter Cesawonki (aka Ash Marten.)

After a while Zandar became pregnant. I cared for her as best I could, even calling upon Barkingthwaite and Venatrix and my Ixie network to procure some of the more exotic foods Zandar craved as her gestation progressed.

Zandar was unfortunately addicted to the pernicious lowfolk habit of SLEEPING several hours per day. I joined her a few times, but ultimately I felt I was simply enabling her dependency. Perhaps during some of these naps, I should have used Estvan's water-bowl trick to spy on her dreams, but in retrospect it's probably best that I didn't.

More importantly, I could not stand wasting time lazing about when there was a world to explore! I hadn't seen anything beyond my stone circle and the battlefield in AGES, so every time Zandar snoozed, I was out wandering with a few of my Ixies, seeing sights and making connections. That's how I tracked down the O'Dor family that Vernier had married into so long ago. I also located the Persoc Tor Gate surprisingly close by (it's much farther in Faerie) and managed to get back in touch with Burnside and Rebecca.

But my goodness! Look at the time! That's enough for now, and I'll resume the tale when we meet again, next week. May Fuma guide your steps and protect you from owls until then!

As we entered the dolmen, it occurred to me that I should probably warn Zandar what was about to happen. She had, as far as I knew, never been to Faerie before. That was the reason I had tweaked the Gate (using my hard-earned mastery of it) to send us into the magickal scry-space instead of into the base of the tower. Couldn't have a potentially dangerous Changeling running loose until I had assessed the risk!

Did I forget to mention that? Well, it was something I did as part of my preparations. But to get back to the story…

"Nothing from that world may pass this portal," I warned her, an instant before all of her clothing disappeared. I turned to look, and saw that Zandar was very upset. I needed to let her know that I didn't do it on purpose! It wasn't a cheap trick just to see her naked, like Estvan would have pulled! "Oh my!" I exclaimed, in what I hoped was a convincing tone of surprise and regret. I also tried to make a face which indicated that, although this is not what I wanted to happen, I did still appreciate her beauty.

She was quite beautiful. I gazed a little longer, just to make my point (and to steady myself, since turning around had made my head spin.)

"BASTARD!!!" Zandar shrieked. "You made them put those horrible clothes on me!" She took a swing at me with some blunt object in her hand.

I blocked her attack easily, almost reflexively, thanks to Adoyret Sam's training. One concussion was enough for today! I had to admit to myself though, that this meeting was not going well. "Tut tut, temper, my sweet," I clucked in a soothing and reassuring tone.

Hold on a second; an object in her hand?? I had to keep reminding myself not to underestimate this femme! "What's this you've got?" I asked, peering at the item she had smuggled in. "No, this shouldn't have come through."

I took it from her and turned around to examine it in a better light. It was smooth and cold, fairly lightweight. What was it? "Ooh, no way! It's a.. That's.. WOW!" I muttered as I turned it around in my hands. In the state I was in, it took me more than a few seconds to recognize the item as a glass bottle.

"GIVE IT BACK!" Zandar yelled behind me.

I was raptly examining the bottle. How had it gotten through the Gate? Holy Fuma! Through my brain haze I could see some EXTREMELY dark magicks attached to this thing! What in the Netherhells had Zandar been doing?? "You must have been very VERY naughty to have gotten this, my sweet," I declared. "I'm somewhat impressed, though- OW!"

WHACK! She hit me in the back of the head! Why are femmes so quick to resort to violence? It was all I could do to keep from crying out in agony and falling over. I struggled to maintain my composure as the pain in my head rattled around like broken glass and rusty nails inside my skull.

"Okay, here… Jeez," I grumbled, holding the bottle out in the general direction of the five Zandars I could see, hoping that one of them would take it and be satisfied. "I guess that explains how it was that you managed to survive." I was disappointed to note that I had probably been giving her too much credit when I thought she had mastered preservation magic.

"Why did you bring me here?" Zandar demanded.

"Heh heh," I chuckled, changing tactics. If trying to soothe her with a calm and fatherly demeanor didn't work, then I would have to resort to Wiles. "Come closer and ask again."

"What do you want from me?" she asked, stepping closer.

I chuckled merrily so as not to seem creepy. It was working! She wasn't trying to hit me again! Her lack of murderousness meant she was primed for the coup de grace! I grasped her shoulders, cast a charming glamer over myself, and gave her a Smoldering Look.

"Oh Zandar, you and I are going to shake the pillars of the earth and set the halls of heaven ablaze," I breathed huskily. Pretty good stuff, just off the top of my head! She was surely becoming completely smitten!

"Um… We are?" she replied, in a way that revealed the true extent to which she remained unsmitten.

She seemed to have a high Wiles resistance. I would have to increase the dosage! I reminded myself that I wasn't dealing with Angela Weakflit here. It was time to take the gloves off! I leaned in close and gazed into her eyes. That's when I noticed… What WAS that on her forehead? It was hard to tell through my watery, blurred vision, but it looked like - IT COULDN'T BE - she was growing a third eye!!!

"GREAT FUMA'S WHISKERS!" I exclaimed as I backed away in horror and shielded my mouth so it couldn't suck out my soul. "Answer me plainly, woman, and do not dissemble- What in all the nine Netherhells is THAT?"

"Tis the mark of my sin," she answered glumly.

"I can see that already!" I hissed. What misbegotten demon-pacts had she made to turn her into such a freak of nature?? "FURTHER DETAILS!"

"Made with a silver dagger."

So it wasn't a third eye after all, but just a scar. Still, that was really bad! "HELSBEGONDI!" I gasped, horrified and dizzy. "By whom?"

"By one whom I had wronged."

What did that mean? Did someone try to murder her? Was that why she was late? Was there some deranged elf-hating serial killer going around tracking down and slaughtering Changelings?! I would need to warn Rebecca!

"What stupid, what knave, what miserable doomed cur would dare to do such a thing to you?" I bellowed, in spite of a headache that threatened to split my skull in half. "To one of US?"

I paused to catch my breath, and it suddenly sank in. Someone she had wronged? "Wait. You did what?"

I am well aware that this part of the story has already been told - and although the published version does not present me in a very flattering light, I cannot deny that it is an accurate record of events as they happened. Rather than rehash what you already know, how about you ask me questions and I'll fill in the missing parts.

Barkingthwaite and Venatrix stood up. It was time to reward them and send them on their way.

They had done an exceptionally good job, so I decided to give them a substantial bonus. I put on the most appealing face I could muster (with my forehead throbbing and my vision blurring) to discourage them from demurring and refusing my gift, like they had tried to do before.

"Something for your trouble," I urged as I held out a sack of gold, "as I'm sure the female was difficult. Please take it."

They stared at the sack with a goofy goggle-eyed expression. I groaned inwardly. Were they going to try to refuse after all? Surely this wasn't much more than I had paid them last time. I was too woozy to count it, but it didn't feel that much heavier than the previous loot bag. I couldn't really remember at the moment, but it seemed about the same.

Barkingthwaite reluctantly took the bag, and before he could raise a fuss I declared, "Now a well deserved vacation." I tried to beam magnanimously and make a gesture of blessing along with a gesture of general dismissal. "Go and enjoy each other's flesh, you crazy kids."

That seemed to do the trick. They looked at each other and let out a synchronized lovesick sigh. I watched them join hands and scamper away into the forest. They giggled like mischievous youngsters, and as they bounded out of sight I thouht I heard Venatrix say something about finding a Wolf Mummy King.

"Have fun!" I called after them. "You'll know if I need you again." Presuming my Ixies could find them … but I'm sure that line made a good impression on Zandar.

"Precious," I murmured, savoring the moment. "Those two are just precious." My plan was working so far, and working WELL. That hadn't happened in a long time. The feeling of satisfaction was somewhat muted by the pulsing agony in my head. My ears simultaneously felt like they were burning and going numb.

"Who are you?" Zandar asked, her voice stabbing through my brain and interrupting my pleasant reverie.

How could she not know who I was? I had spent so much of my life trying to find her, which would not have been necessary if she had returned to Faerie when all of the other Changelings did! There had been crystal clear instructions! The Old Crow had even been sent to fetch her, yet still she hadn't showed up!

"Who am I?" I bellowed indignantly. "WHO AM I?? Am I not his MOST Lordship, a, the, Skunk Elf, Prince Randall? Well…? Am I not?" I admit I was a bit confused (yelling made my vision blur around the edges) and was talking to her like one of the lowfolk, but in my defense: She had completely dropped the ball on her end.

"I don't know!" Zandar replied defensively. It took me a second to parse her meaning and recall that I had technically asked her a question.

Her tone offended me, and I began to see red (though that was probably more due to my head injury than anything else.) Everything I had gone through - and I mean EVERYTHING - could have been avoided if this femme had just followed a few simple instructions and returned to Albric Tor on time.

"Hmph," I scoffed. "I know you, Zandar Skönk, my intended, my long absent, my TARDY! Took your own sweet assed time getting here, huh my lady…? I had to FIND you, and that wasn't easy or simple, beloved… No no… Not so simple as the ONE very simple instruction which you UNFOLLOWED, my dear. Did he speak an odd language, my pet? What part did you not understand?" I dabbed my face with my sleeve to make sure my nose wasn't bleeding.

"Who?" Zandar replied. "What do you mean??"

"Great Auk," I sighed, turning away. "The Old Crow died for nothing."

"The old crow died??"

"Not so you could arrive LATE!" I snapped. By Fuma! He died for her benefit and she never even KNEW?? I stopped and took a few deep breaths to calm my rising temper. There seemed like a very real possibility that I might actually go blind if I got too worked up. It did feel good to let out some of that pent-up resentment, but even through my blurred vision I could see that I had upset her. Ah well, it was time to leave the past in the past. Since Zandar seemed to know absolutely nothing, I would simply have to calm down and explain it all to her.

"Please come inside, Zandar," I sighed in a conciliatory tone. "I need questions to my answers."

Time passed and I waited.

It could have been days or weeks; it didn't matter. I had waited entire lifetimes for this moment. What was a couple of weeks to an elf?

I was meditating just inside the dolmen when I heard the trees start rustling excitedly. Jubilantly! I had never heard the Voice of the Forest sound so excited! "They approach!" the trees whispered. "An elf is with them!" the trees murmured. "Could it be the new Queen of Faerie?" they sang.

Excellent! I chuckled as I heard footsteps. They were here! After waiting so long, I was finally going to be free!

"What is this place?" somebody asked nervously. I didn't recognize that voice. It had to be HER!!

I stood up, brushed the dust off of my jacket, and quickly composed myself. I would need to put on a good show for this one, especially if I was going to persuade her to free me. I should have been planning my routine instead of sitting around daydreaming since sending Venatrix and Barkingthwaite off! Thankfully all the time I had spent talking to them worked wonders on helping me get my faculties back. I felt sane, and fully in control. I felt confident that I wouldn't act like a goofy idiot who didn't know how to talk to people.

"It's a gateway to his Lordship's domain," Barkingthwaite explained.

That sounded like my cue to make a dignified entrance worthy of an Emperor.

CRACK! A stone pelted me right between the eyes with the force of an arrow. WHY IN FUMA'S NAME DID BARKINGTHWAITE DO THAT? My thoughts became a jumbled mess again as my forehead throbbed and the light outside the dolmen blurred and bobbed.

Time was wasting! Obviously the thrown stone was supposed to have been some sort of signal to summon me. I had to do something before the moment was lost. I ignored my spinning head and the ringing in my ears, and took a deep breath.

"WHO DISTURBS THE TRANQUILITY???" I bellowed in my most otherworldly and sepulchral tone. Good so far. Nobody could fail to be impressed by that.

"Your servants Pellia and Roger, my lord," Venatrix answered, "come to report the successful completion of their task."

Very nice delivery! I would have to make sure to give the clever spider a bonus in her next loot bag. I squinted through my watering eyes to see … were they kneeling? What a superb little touch! Those crazy love-birds! They'd actually done it! This was the best day ever! This was an unmistakable sign of wise leadership on my part. I clearly had an eye for talent. It wouldn't do to congratulate them too much, though. Just a tiny taste would suffice.

"Ah good," I chuckled mysteriously. "You'll have brought the woman, haven't you?" FLAWLESS delivery!

"We have, my lord," Barkingthwaite replied.

All right, this was it. Time for my entrance. This was the crucial moment. You only get one chance to make a first impression. I couldn't blow it, not now.

I wiped my eyes one last time and stumbled forward, still feeling a little loopy but otherwise focused and in control. I approached the entrance in a stately and shadowy manner, partly to make sure I kept my balance, and partly to enhance the impression of Mystery and Dignity which I was attempting to convey.

"Excellent," I beamed in my most Regal manner as I emerged into the light, enunciating every syllable as if the word tasted delicious on my tongue.

I turned my head slightly to regard Zandar for the first time. Our very first face-to-face encounter! I had to say something to gain her trust, something meaningful to let her know that it would be safe to let her guard down around me.

"Yes, looking good," I purred as I looked her over very carefully. The lowfolk clothes were styled oddly but they did indeed flatter her figure in a strange way.

She responded with a look which told me that, even with a probable concussion, my Wiles were still ultra-effective. She was already smitten. With only a few words she was like putty in my hands. This was going great!

Before the situation could get awkward, it was time to reward the best agents/servants/minions I'd ever had (and get them out of here so I could woo my bride-to-be in private.)

"Arise my children, delight of my old age," I crooned magnanimously over the two kneeling lowfolk.

By Fuma, I was KILLING it with this "mysterious regal elf lord" shtick! I would have to insist that Barkingthwaite include this whole exchange in the chronicle of my deeds which he was surely writing for posterity.

I rubbed my face with an exasperated gesture. I wasn't sure what "Penny Stocks" were, but it sounded frivolous and highly speculative.

"Are you all right, sir?" the Ixie asked solicitously.

"Yes, I'll be fine," I sighed. "You mentioned Uncle Ash. Is that Ash Marten, the Unseelie old fox ever ready with a devious scheme and a sinister plot?"

"The very one," she confirmed.

"Then I suppose he survived and Burnside did not," I muttered ruefully, not sure which of the two outcomes would have been preferable.

"Do you mean Burnside the Raccoon Monster, sir? The famous assassin?"

"Yes," I nodded sadly.

"Ash had to evade her for a long time until he could prove he wasn't a traitor," the Ixie informed me. "After that they formed an Uneasy Alliance, which I'm told is a time-honored Unseelie tradition."

"What about Rebecca the witch?" I asked, hopefully. "Did she turn out to be a Changeling elf after all? Oh, and there was a skunk femme, Vernier, married a chap by the name of O'Dor …"

"No offense, sir, but there will be ample time to catch up on all of this after you've seen to your guests and their undoubtedly Vital Mission."

"Oh yes," I replied, returning my focus to the Business At Hand. "There is something the Ominous Orse may be able to help me with, pertaining to that." (I gave her the address in Londinium.) "Can you see to it that the place is empty when my lowfolk agents arrive? And can you tail them while they carry out their assignment?"

"Consider it done, sir," the Ixie responded with a confident thumbs-up gesture. I dismissed her. She saluted and flew off into the forest.

After that, I strolled around the dolmen, back to where Venatrix and Barkinghtwaite were still waiting.

"Sorry about the delay," I started to say.

"My love for you is equal to the mass of the earth divided by the circumference of the moon multiplied by the distance between Mars and Saturn," Barkingthwaite murmured (not in response to me, of course.)

"Yes, well," Venatrix sighed. "The volume of the ocean added to the mass of the Earth multiplied by the circumference of the sun is not even equal to one-eight of a fraction of the amount of love I feel for you, my darling."

What a bunch of fanciful nonsense! I certainly was glad that elvish courtship was nothing like this.

"AHEM!" I barked loudly, and the two of them sprung apart as if they had been zapped with an electrical cantrip.

"Ah, er," Barkingthwaite stammered, adjusting his tie. "Did everything come out all right, my lord?"

"The inhabitants at the address I gave you are going to be dealt with by other means," I informed them. "All you will have to do is go there, carry out my instructions, and bring Zandar back here to me. Is there any additional clarification you require?"

They said that they understood the assignment, but I explained it again just in case their love-addled brains had missed any important details. Then I sent them on their way.

After that, I sat down to wait … or at least I tried. I found it almost impossible to relax with the final realization of my goal so close at last!

"Are you really he?" the Ixie asked after we rounded the dolmen. "Are you truly the legendary White Elf?"

"Yes," I admitted. "I am."

"Great-Great Grandpa!" she exclaimed as she pressed herself against my face in what I assumed was a familial embrace. "It's so wonderful to finally meet you! All of the stories about how handsome and dignified you are were true!"

"Mice to smee you too," I mumbled out of the side of my mouth.

"Angela told us to watch for the signs, and she was right - as usual!" the Ixie gushed as she let go and hovered in front of me.

"Angela?" I repeated. "Do you mean Angela Weakflit?"

"The Oldest Living Ixie," my great-great granddaughter confirmed with a nod. "She described most precisely the signs by which we would know that you had reawakened -"

"I've been awake the entire time!" I interrupted.

"Are you saying those bigfolk over there didn't rouse you from an enchanted slumber?"

"NO!" I exclaimed. "I've been stuck here for AGES, waiting for somebody who can help me to show up! Does this mean that you and your sisters could have come back here at any time?"

"Well, uh, not at first," the Ixie explained. "I've been told that the rabbits of Bunkirk used to keep a tight blockade around the forest."

"Are they still around?" I glowered.

"Yes, but they've relaxed their vigilance. The forest is widely considered to be haunted or cursed. Nobody goes in … until those two adventurers there. They entered, and then came out, and then came back with items. That's how we knew they must have made contact and were running errands for the White Elf. Gosh, I still can't believe I'm really talking to you!"

"So where have you all been?" I asked. "What have you been doing all this time?"

"In my grandmother's day, our base of operations was in Percysthorpe, and we had to avoid this area because of the rabbits. But recently we set up a major hive in what's left of Tulgeyside so we could keep an eye on these woods. Angela said the time was nigh."

"So you've basically been loafing around the countryside, eating sugar and listening to Angela Weakflit's ramblings for the last three generations," I surmised.

"Not at all," the Ixie contradicted. "There are stories from Great-Grandmother's time of Ixies being worthless layabouts, but Angela and Uncle Ash got us organised into a smooth-running intelligence and espionage operation. The Ominous Orse has hives in major cities on every continent. We know almost everything that goes on, and anything we don't know, we can find out."

"You didn't seem to know that I was awake and waiting for you all this time," I retorted bitterly.

"I'm sorry, sir," she replied sheepishly. "It's an embarrassing oversight."

"A competent spy network would have been extremely useful to me DECADES ago," I grumbled.

"Well I am honored to inform you that you have one now, sir," she declared with a crisp salute. "The Ixies of the Ominous Orse are yours to command! By the way, should you keep ignoring your visitors?"

I peeked around the dolmen to see what Venatrix and Barkingthwaite were doing.

"I love you more," Barkingthwaite murmured.

"On the contrary, Roger dear. I love you more."

"Pellia, my sweet, I love you ten times more."

"That may be so," Venatrix sighed, "but I love you A HUNDRED times more."

"They'll be fine for a while longer," I declared, turning back to the Ixie. "I have some important questions for you. First: Does the current generation of Ixies still have an addiction to sugar?"

"No, sir," she responded solemnly. "I've heard the tales about how sugar compromised the loyalties of my ancestors. An addiction is a weakness which enemies can exploit. We never touch refined sugar. Only natural nectar and sweet aphids, the proper nutrition which Fuma intended for us."

"Do you still have a problem with gambling?"

"Certainly not," she declared. "Gambling is a destructive vice, not to mention just a plain bad investment."

"I must say," I sighed, "that a relief."

"We only invest in worthwhile things."

"Like what?"

"We buy and trade in Penny Stocks!" she announced proudly.

"We've only just started our courtship," Barkingthwaite spluttered, "and already THAT's being brought up?? It's much too soon! I-It j-just isn't proper! Simply not done, by gad!"

"Pish posh," Venatrix pished. "We've known each other since childhood. If anything I'd say this was a long time coming. And besides, the two of us even slept in the same room last night."

"Yes yes, that may be true," Barkingthwaite countered. "We've known each other our entire lives, of course, but we've only officially become an 'item' recently. And don't try to misrepresent our lodging arrangements to His Lordship. You must understand, my lord, Pellia slept on the bed and I was on the floor, on the opposite side of the room, wearing five layers of clothing and two blindfolds. These things simply cannot be rushed into."

"I do seem to recall," Venatrix stated, "that you were the one to initiate our first kiss, and we have done plenty of hand-holding over the past few days. In public, no less."

"Well I, why," Barkingthwait stammered as he blushed and broke out in a sweat.

"All right, all right," I intervened. It wouldn't do for this lowfolk person to have a heart attack here in my stone circle. "You two can have plenty of time to sort out your relationship. I've waited this long; I won't mind waiting a bit longer. Plus you'll have the arduous journey to Londinium to further strengthen your bond."

"It's really not that far, my lord," Barkingthwaite anxiously pointed out. "Not nearly far enough."

"If you can't do it, then you'll have to find someone for me who can," I informed him. "Do I need to point out that honor is at stake?"

"In that case, I shall do my best," Barkingthwaite sighed.

"Good man!" I grinned reassuringly. "Stout fellow! Now then, you'll have to be on your guard because this Zandar is reputed to be Unseelie. She was at one time headmistress of the Floozies' Guild and is a master of bodymagick and Wiles."

"Wiles??" Venatrix snorted. "I'll believe a lot of things, but Wiles as a school of magick is simply too far."

"Nevertheless, it's true," I retorted, "and you'd best be on your guard. I have enchanted the clothing to restrain her and limit her power, so be sure to get her dressed as quickly as possible. Do not let her touch you, and especially don't leave her alone with him. I need her delivered to me untouched and unsullied."

"My self control is unquestionable!" Barkingthwaite protested.

"You've never gone up against a Wiles master," I warned him. "And there's another point I just thought of. I believe the location is a residence, so you may need to case the establishment and make sure the inhabitants are out before -"

"Are you he?" a small voice asked as a large insect buzzed near my head. "Are you the legendary White Elf?"

IT WAS AN IXIE!

"Wait right there!" I told Barkingthwaite and Venatrix as I dashed around to the other side of the dolmen. "I've got to, uh, take a private call!"

"What a charming euphemism," Barkingthwaite reflected. "I may have to start using it myself."

It took Barkingthwaite and Venatrix longer to gather the ingredients than it did to obtain the clothing, but they still managed to return sooner than I expected.

"Everything's here," I observed, as I looked in the bags. "Honestly I wasn't sure you'd be able to do it."

"I'm a bit surprised too, old boy," Barkingthwaite admitted.

"Twas elementary," Venatrix declared proudly. "Folklore is, after all, my field of specialty."

"I'm impressed," I stated. "You've done a good job."

Aside from a few key annoyances (to be expected from lowfolk), these two had been shockingly competent, especially compared to the lowfolk I'd met in the past.

"You've earned your pay," I told them, "and I shall grant you that interview I promised as an additional reward."

I won't bore you by repeating everything I told them. You can find it published in the Journal of the Royal Society of Folklore and Macrology, 1890. Or was it 1891?

Next, I set up a brazier and allowed them to observe me making the Elixir of Revivifaction with the ingredients they had collected.

"Now then," I explained, while the elixir was cooling. "Time to brief you on the real mission, the big one. You're to go to a certain address in Londinium where there is an elf entombed, probably in the cellar. She has been concealed there for almost two centuries, which implies a hidden room. You may need to break down some masonry, and then administer this potion to wake her from her magickal slumber. The spell requires a jolt of energy to get started, and the best way to do this is by performing an act of venery while one or both of you are touching the catatonic elf."

"Egad," Barkingthwaite spluttered.

"Oh my," Venatrix gasped. "So Al was right all along about there being magickal power in that? I always thought he was just trying to … well, you know."

"Now then," I continued, "this next part will be tricky. You will have to gather very specific ingredients in very specific ways. I suppose I should apport a quill and some parchment to write it down for you."

"No need to trouble yourself, my lord," Venatrix grinned as she and Barkingthwaite both produced notebooks and pencils from their pockets. "We are scholars first and foremost. Our original intent when coming out here was to document the ruins."

"That was MY intent," Barkingthwaite corrected. "Your was to meet the White Elf."

"And which did we wind up doing, my dear?"

Barkingthwaite simply nodded.

"While we are here," Venatrix continued, "with notebooks in hand, perhaps you might be willing to give an interview? It would be fascinating to document an elf's point of view. You could issue a definitive correction to the recorded lore."

I did agree that a published interview might attract more followers and make my name more relevant to the public, but for now I needed my helpers to stay focused on their assignment.

"First things first," I replied. "Perhaps I shall grant you an academic interview as a bonus reward if you complete this next task in a timely manner. Now then, pay attention. This will not be simple. It will, in fact, be tricky. First you will need mandrake root. You may have been told that the scream of the mandrake when it is pulled up can drive people mad. This is true, but if you start yelling at it first then it will be cowed into submission and you may harvest it safely. Get at least four roots. More would be better. I also require a pound of tulge, which is a fungus that grows around the roots of trees. There may be some in this forest. A dozen frog's tongues, but they must be collected during the night of a new moon. I'll also need a dash of oregano … no, not your standard garden herb. I am speaking of PHILOSOPHER'S oregano."

"This is most fascinating!" Venatrix exclaimed. "I suppose it means that Mac is correct about all of his ceremonial trappings, and magick is incredibly specific. Perhaps one could even say there's a 'science' to performing magick, eh?"

"Please, no puns," I scolded. "They are not conducive to Gramarye at all."

"Actually, my lord," Venatrix pointed out. "That was merely wordplay. A pun is specifically when -"

I gave her a withering glare and she immediately stopped talking. I finished listing my ingredients and describing thoroughly the methods for obtaining them.

After the duo departed on their new assignment, I proceeded to cast containment spells on the clothing they had brought. I had to protect my agents from whatever fell magicks Zandar might attempt to throw at them, and make sure she could be safely transported here. The ornate collar piece especially, I enchanted so that its wearer would be able to speak to Barkingthwaite, Venatrix, and myself - but nobody else.

When that was done, I settled down to wait.

"Oh," Barkingthwaite replied. "Well, if it's a matter of honor, I suppose we have no choice but to accept. Terribly sorry, old bean. Meant no disrespect."

"Please accept my apologies, my lord," Venatrix apologized. "I certainly wouldn't want to put you out by refusing a gift. This rule wasn't mentioned in any of the lore."

"Just take it," I snapped, as I apported a sack of gold and held it out to them.

"My word," Barkingthwaite exclaimed whe he saw it.

"Are you quite sure?" Venatrix inquired. "That seems a bit -"

"TAKE IT!" I ordered. "If you successfully complete this mission then I will have more work for you. Consider the surplus a retainer for future assignments."

They took the gold and scampered away into the woods.

LOWFOLK! By Fuma, they were every bit as exasperating as I remembered. I massaged my temples and tried to remain positive about the prospect of working with them. They were my only option at present, so I would have to make the best of it.

While I waited, I reviewed what else I would need done.

If even half of Lana's information about Zandar was accurate, she was dangerously Unseelie and quite powerful. Her failure to return to Faerie at the same time as the other changelings indicated a rebellious spirit. I would need a way to restrain her so that she would be unable to escape my agents once they found her.

Zandar's decision to shut herself up in a cellar for centuries showed an exceptionally grim determination. I wasn't sure exactly what crime she was avoiding the consequences of by doing this, but it indicated that we had something in common. It also showed that she had a familiarity with potent preservation spells. My research into the subject had revealed that a counterspell would be required to revive her. I would need to have my servants gather ingredients so I could prepare an elixir. Then I would have to carefully instruct them how to use it.

I also wanted to know more about the exact state of the rabbit settlement. Where were my Ixies? Why had they not returned? What happened to Rebecca and Burnside? It would be nice if they were available to help me, and I didn't have to rely entirely on bumbling lowfolk.

I was still musing on these topics when Barkingthwaite and Venatrix returned, laden with a smallish chest full of clothes.

"I didn't request an entire wardrobe," I protested.

"This is a single outfit," Venatrix explained. "The outer skirts and jacket were bought, as well as the shoes and a few of the structural elements, but much of the foundation I made myself."

"What in Fuma's name?" I asked as I held up a diabolical-looking restraint covered with straps and laces.

"The corset," Venatrix beamed, as Barkingthwaite bashfully turned away. "A wonderful invention that helps ensure a proper fit for the outer dress."

"You seem to have anticipated my needs far beyond what I told you," I admitted as I examined a flexible cage made from lashed-together hoops of a strange material that flexed like a bow but didn't seem to be wood. "Are you planning to trap her in this? Not a bad idea. My only objection is that it seems a bit small."

"Oh no, my lord," Venatrix chuckled. "That's the bustle. It goes underneath the outer skirt, to fill it out and give a stylish profile. Remember, as I explained, these fashions were invented by a spider. It is all the rage among vertebrate femmes to simulate the appearance of a plump arachnid abdomen."

Barkingthwaite began coughing violently. He gasped out something incoherent about his blasted pipe as he excused himself and staggered over to the other side of one of the menhirs.

"She will definitely have trouble fighting in this getup," I surmised with a smile as I looked over the assortment of clothing. "I need to place some enchantments on it to further limit her capacity for mischief. While I am busy doing that, I have another assignment for you. This one will not be as easy."

"I'd be delighted," Venatrix declared excitedly. "After folklore, fashion is one of my passions. The particular style of dress I'm wearing was invented by a spider, as was much of Roger's wardrobe as well. It all started with a talented seamstress named Serica who had two very enthusiastic patrons…"

"… and the Lord Centipede and the Lady Millipede did indeed wed," she continued after what seemed like a neverending, interminable backstory. "And they commissioned Serica to make clothes for all 300 of their children. Each one had to be unique so the nobles could tell their offspring apart at a glance. The wide variety of outfits she created became the basis for much of the costume popular today."

"All right, all right," I jumped in when Venatrix paused for breath. "I wasn't looking for a comprehensive history of styles, just a description of what's trending right now; what's hot on the street, if you will. You seem to have a keen understanding of the subject, so here's what I need first: You must procure an outfit for a fashionable lady; and by that I mean a full set of clothes, everything from the ground up. It must all look most swell, with the elegance and the pizzazz and the hey hey hey, but not attract undue attention. I can give you her measurements, very nice, very feminine, but I'm not sure they are 100 percent accurate, so the clothes may have to be altered slightly when it comes time for her to wear them."

"That shan't be a problem," Venatrix stated confidently. "I don't think I exaggerate when I say that I am a more-than-capable seamstress myself."

"Who is the special lady?" Barkingthwaite asked, with a roguish wiggle of his eyebrows.

"That isn't important yet," I declared. "You'll find out more after you have finished this task, IF you finish this task. Finding me was only the first of your tests. Oh, and I shall give you funds enough to cover all your expenses pertaining to this matter."

"Oh pish-posh," Barkingthwaite scoffed. "There's no need for payment, my lord. The gift you've already given us is all we need. Our newfound love will last a lifetime."

"No really, I insist," I insisted. "I have a huge store of gold. HUGE. Let me reimburse you for your trouble. Traveling here couldn't have been cheap, or easy. The dress will have to be bought somewhere, and I should give you a retainer for future assignments."

Plus, I thought, word of a substantial cash reward might draw more followers!

"Oh it's no trouble at all!" Venatrix protested. "We journeyed here at our own expense. We fully expected a loss of finances. And anyway, traveling between Eire and England isn't all that far. We're happy to perform your tasks free of charge. Not to be too indelicate, but I happen to have a ready supply of fabric which does not cost me a farthing! It's the least we can do for what you've already given us." "Take the money," I reiterated. "For your time, if nothing else."

"Wouldn't dream of it, old bean," Barkingthwaite demurred. "TAKE THE BLASTED MONEY OR I SHALL BECOME QUITE CROSS!" I yelled. "WHEN AN ELF OFFERS YOU GIFTS, YOU DO NOT REFUSE! IT'S A MATTER OF HONOR!"

"Oh don't tell them, Roger!" Venatrix protested. "They'll ruin everything! Mac will want to build a temple here, and Al will want to hold his detestable orgies in it." "Al is a bit of a cad, I admit," Barkingthwaite admitted. "And Art will want to write a book about it all," Venatrix continued. "That's not so bad, is it?" Barkingthwaite countered. "It was a book that led us here, after all. And what about Bill?" "Bill's all right," Venatrix declared. "He's a poet." "What are you two talking about?" I demanded. "What's an Orderly Golden Dome?" "The Mystic Order of the Golden Dawn," Barkingthwaite started to explain. "A group of scholars of ancient lore, would-be sorcerors and magicians …" "Come into the circle where we can talk more comfortably," I insisted. "No need to cower in the bushes. On my word as an elf, you won't be harmed and you can leave whenever you wish." "They don't lie, Roger," Venatrix pointed out. "All of the literature agrees on that point."

The two of them emerged from the undergrowth, and I yelped and jumped back when I saw that Pellia Venatrix was a spider! Dreadful long-forgotten memories of Sheila na Gig rose to the surface of my mind! "Really, Your Lordship," Venatrix snorted. "That is uncalled-for." "Bad form, old boy," Barkingthwaite added, with a stern puff of his pipe. "My apologies," I gasped as I willed my heart to stop racing. "Spider-folk are uncommon among the elves, very rare, and once upon a time I had a bad experience with one long ago." "Ah, understandable then," Barkingthwaite puffed. "You must overcome your old-fashioned prejudice," Venatrix scowled. "It's an enlightened age now." "Quite right!" Barkingthwaite declared ethusiastically. "Britannia rules the waves! The sun never sets on the British Empire! Steam power and telegraphs! You can travel anywhere on the globe in six weeks or less, and get the world's news the day after it happened!" "Horses are all but banished from the streets of London," Venatrix stated proudly.

"Seriously?" I retorted. "And you dare call ME prejudiced? In Faerie, horses are free to go wherever they please." "She means feral horses," Barkingthwaite explained. "Mere beasts of burden. You forget, Pellia, my dear, that here in Eire they still use ants." "Barbarians," Venatrix muttered. "Animals should not be enslaved for any reason. That's why we have replaced their labor with mighty steam!" Who taught these lowfolk the Gramarye they would need in order to ride around on clouds of steam? "Where is the Duchess?" I demanded. "Which one, Milord?" Venatrix responded. "We have several." "Duchess Catherine O'Daisies," I elaborated. "A skunk. Very Unseelie. She was in the weapon-making business last I heard of her." "I've no idea," Venatrix shrugged. "Wasn't there an O'Daisies among Napoleon's entourage?" Barkingthwaite mused thoughtfully. "I can't recall offhand, but I'm sure I know nothing about any nobility by that name now." "What about Rebecca?" I continued, deciding that if these lowfolk hadn't heard of the Duchess then she must not be a major threat. "You said she went wild in the woods? And you mentioned Mother Didelphis?" "Ah yes, a quaint little legend," Barkingthwaite chuckled. "Which I have every reason to believe is FACT," Venatrix interjected. "The tale goes that they tamed the notorious Raccoon Monster and formed a Sisterhood in the northern woods." I didn't like the sound of that, but it would all have to wait until I was free from this circle of stones. "Your manner of dress is strange to me," I stated, as a plan began to form in my mind. "Tell me all about the fashions of your modern lowfolk world."

After the lowfolk finished kissing, they leaned back and stared into each other's eyes. Barkingthwaite put his hat back on and said: "Pellia, my dear, it seems that Lord Randal has given us everything we could ever have needed, despite us never knowing until now what that was. Let us depart and trouble him no longer." "Yes, my love," Venatrix agreed. "Let us leave Lord Randal to his elfly matters and retire back to our lodgings."

I shed a sentimental tear as they joined hand-in-hand and began to walk back the way they had come. Ah, young love! So sweet! They had their entire, short lowfolk lives ahead of them to face together whatever adventures might - Wait a minute!! They were LEAVING!?!!?

"STOP!" I yelled as I leaped to my feet and started waving my arms. "COME BACK! All this way you've quested and it's leaving you are, after only the tiniest, the merest, the itsy bitsiest TASTE, a sample if you will, of the rewards Lord Randall can bestow?" They turned to look at me with moderate interest. "You've already done more than enough for us, sir," Barkingthwaite declared. "But you have done nothing for ME!" I yelled. "The showing up and the claiming of boons, the begging, always the Give me this, Give me that … but who considers an elf, eh? Poor elf, poor, granting wishes for all and sundry, but who grants HIS wish, eh? Think you can just waltz out of here with a blessing and not pay the fee? Not so fast, says the tortoise to the hare! What Lord Randall giveth, Lord Randall can take away!" "He does have a point," Venatrix observed. "He has given us something wonderful. It's only fair we should do him some service in return." "YES YES EXACTLY," I agreed, pointing at the femme and nodding. "What would you have of us, sir?" Barkingthwaite asked. "Prisoner here," I explained, gesturing at the stone circle. "Long story. Powerful geas. Need help to escape." "So that part of the legend is true as well," Barkingthwaite murmured and puffed on his pipe. "What about the tale of Mother Didelphis and Wild Rebecca of the Wood?" Venatrix asked me. "Do you indeed grant wondrous powers and teach the secrets of true magick?" "My student Rebecca went wild in the wood?" I mused, with some perplexity. "Egad," Barkingthwaite exclaimed. "The Order of the Golden Dawn will be very interested in this."

HA! His Majesty is back, and now that he's given me a list of names, heads will finally roll! He hasn't seen fit to remove my magick antler, probably because I'll need it for a disguise! Oh, and there is only one name on this list, but this is obviously the ring-leader. Once I find "Kathy-Slou Drew," everything will fall into place and these ungrateful yew-man traitors will finally feel an elf's justice! What's that, my liege? What do you mean by muttering "The horror, the horror" over and over? No no, your adoring subjects are right here, hanging on your every word. Tell them some more of your story while I go take care of this unpleasant business. It will help ease your troubled mind. And don't worry, Kathy-Slou can't hide from The Sisterhood. Not for long. . . .

"By Jove!" the dog lowfolk person exclaimed. "There he is! He was real all along!" "REALLY?" the fancy-dressed femme retorted. "One glimpse! That's all it took to convince you?" "Seeing is believing," he affirmed. "I was somewhat undecided all along, so this was enough to sway my opinion." "I cannot believe it!" the femme screeched. "Why then were you scoffing and naysaying the entire time?! Was that all just an act?!" "Miss Venatrix," the dog stated solemnly, "SOMEONE needs to keep you grounded and focused. You do have a habit of getting too excited and running off without a thought or a plan." "You are not my keeper! I am an adult, fully capable of taking care of myself!"

I was confused. Had they come here to find me, or had they merely stumbled upon the stone circle while in the midst of what looked like a lovers' quarrel? "Indeed," the dog said skeptically. "The only reason I'm still here is the oath your father made me swear on his deathbed. I promised to keep you out of trouble!" "Oh you're always bringing that up!" Miss Venatrix sighed in exasperation. "Father only trusted you because you were his favorite student!" "Is that a note of jealousy I detect?" the dog grinned. "You would have been his favorite student, my dear, had you actually bothered with your studies instead of fantasizing about elves all day. His own daughter, and such a disappointment." "Stick in the mud!" Venatrix shot back. "Flibbertyjibbet!" "Teacher's Pet!" "Harpy Queen!"

This looked like it was getting good. I sat down at the edge of the circle and watched the pair of lowfolk arguing just beyond the wall of underbrush. "ROGER BARKINGTHWAITE!!" Miss Venatrix yelled. "You INFURIATING mel! That is IT! I cannot put up with this anymore! I want you gone! I never want to see you again!" "Fine!" Barkingthwaite replied hotly. "Keeping you out of trouble has been a tremendous burden! I've put my career on hold just to follow you around and keep you from getting yourself killed in reckless adventures! No more! You can wander about in circles until you starve for all I care, solemn oath be damned!" "You seem to forget," Venatrix sneered, "I've saved you more than a few times! You would have died in that bog if I hadn't thrown you a rope of my own silk to pull you out!" "And why was I in that bog in the first place?" Barkingthwaite bellowed. "Following you on another of your mad capers! You would have been shot by that gang of thugs if I hadn't spent nearly my entire inheritance bribing them off! I've been well nigh reduced to beggary, and for what?" "They wouldn't have actually shot me!" Venatrix insisted. "What kind of mel can't call someone's bluff? Your current reduced circumstances are entirely your own fault. At any rate, you should be thanking me for getting you away from your mouldy old ancestral hall and out of that dusty library! I daresay you've spent every waking moment in there ever since we were both children." "The library was safe and predictable!" Barkingthwaite asserted. "That is the proper life of a scholar! Not running around, engaging in fisticuffs with thugs, like some whip-cracking grave robber! And you're the one who should be thanking me! I'm the only friend you've ever had because no one else could put up with your unbearable nonsense!" "WELL I -" Venatrix blurted, then paused. "Well… We two HAVE been stuck together for quite a long time…" "Indeed," Barkingthwaite nodded. "We've helped each other out rather a lot over the years." "And this journey getting here," Venatrix added quietly. "We've gotten each other out of quite a few scrapes." "I must admit," Barkingthwaite admitted, "we do make a jolly good team when the chips are down." He paused for a moment and puffed on his pipe.

"EGAD!" he barked suddenly. "The legend! Of course! The legend of the White Elf! It is said that those seeking the White Elf would face trials to test them, and that there would be a boon awaiting them at the end of their journey!" "What are you getting at?" Venatrix asked suspiciously. "What is the boon?" "Why, it's us!" Barkingthwaite exclaimed triumphantly. "Each other! How long have we been forced to work together while hating each other the whole time?" "I begin to understand," Venatrix murmured. "All those wasted years." "Our journey here was the trial and this is the boon! Do you see? Lord Randal the White Elf, sworn servant of the love goddess Fuma, knew of our plight and set in motion all the troubles we've had on this adventure!" "Forcing us to work together and realize how much we need each other!" Venatrix added excitedly. "Oh how blind we've been!" Barkingthwaite lamented. "We were the perfect team our entire lives and never realized it! But Lord Randal saw it and made all of this happen to teach us our folly!" "A perfect team, you say?" Venatrix asked coyly. "Perhaps not JUST a team," Barkingthwaite mused thoughtfully. "You know, Pellia, my dear, I've never noticed just how beautiful your eyes are…" "And I've never noticed how dashing you look…" "Sweetie!" Barkingthwaite sighed, enraptured. "Honey!" Venatrix sighed back. "Darling, let's never fight again!" Barkingthwaite suggested. "Oh Roger, my love," Venatrix cooed, "Lord Randal in his infinite wisdom has shown us that we were always meant to be soulmates!"

The two of them embraced and kissed passionately. I began to applaud. I had no idea what was going on, but it was the most entertaining thing I had seen in decades.