As flames spire towards the smoke stained heavens and screams pierce the air, Robert Gardner can only assume that he has finally found for himself that ashen plane which mortals call Hell. No matter how he struggles, a wall of arms holds him steady to watch his worst nightmares spring to life before his eyes. His own voice is drowned out in the cries for vengeance. For justice.

Atop a pyre, the young Paragon of Prophecy pleads for mercy from an unyielding mob as fire climbs its ladder of straw and wood. He is seventeen. Still just a boy, with baby fat softening his terrified features. Piercing blue eyes scan over so many angry faces, hoping to find his sister or mother amongst the scores.

Finding himself disappointed, Daniel turns that terror towards his mentor. He begs. He pleads for help from a man who is helpless to do anything but observe. He sobs and cries and screams as the bleeding sunset meets its end, and the shadows of night descend upon his execution.

In the end, Robbie find himself doing the very thing he was meant to do in the first place. He watches. He watches as the flames of hatred consume the child he had taken under his wing so many moons ago. As his failure comes to bear in such a brutal way that he finds himself choking on it, he still claws and strains against fate with every breath. Smoke and desolation cloud his lungs as screams climb higher, and the ashes begin to smell of flesh.

It is not until silence descends that he is released.

The very second he is able to, he is sprinting into the tower of flames, scorching his palms as he pulls the now motionless body from its boiling tomb. He drags the boy he had come to think of as his son from the ashes, and cradles him close. His tears clump the ashes of his ragged clothes, now reduced to dust.

“Cowards!” He screams, voice raw with pain and horror as he picks his head up to level the gathered people with a distraught glare. “He was but a boy! And all he did was to warn you!”

Just as before, his cries are met with the indifference of those too willfully ignorant to see the truth in anything other than that which resembles their own. Father Bailin, disdain written clearly across his face, steps forward to speak.

For a moment, beyond the roar of the fire still consuming the wood of the pire, there is utter silence.

“Leave this place, Robert. We know you cannot be killed. But let this be a warning to you. If you return, you will burn as well. And as with this,” his voice dips with contempt as he nods towards the burnt corpse of Daniel Caughlin, “sorcerous filth, we will not cut you down until you have stopped screaming.”

It takes everything in Robbie’s being not to rip the priest apart with his bare hands now that he is not being held back by half the village. But they both know he won’t. They both know he has something more important to do.

“How wonderful of you to join us, Robert. Please take a seat. We were just about to begin.”

Robert Gardner beams from ear to ear as he is granted entry, stepping through the doorway without missing a beat. He wears a white dress shirt beneath a spring green vest- the latter patterned with playfully sprawling vines- and khaki slacks. A warm brown tailcoat completes the ensemble, and his shoes have been freshly shined. His hair hangs in ornate braids that have been fussed over for the better part of an hour. He is ready.

“Thank you, your Majesty. You are too kind. Please excuse my tardiness- I’m afraid the royal stables are still in a bit of a tizzy from the arrival of Pepermint. I’ve spent all morning attempting to sort out her care schedule. She is with the smith now, and is being fitted for her winter shoes,” he explains, bowing gracefully towards the table set for tea.

Pepermint is the most recent in Rosalind’s collection of plastic ponies, gifted to her a few days ago on her sixth birthday. Oh, how her eyes had sparkled when the tissue paper was pulled away. Like charoite beneath the setting sun. She’s not yet old enough to wear the color contacts to help draw less attention to herself, and he can’t help but be so grateful for that every time she smiles. She has no reason to believe she needs to hide herself, yet. No reason to be afraid.

Against all reason, he hopes that will never change.

From her seat at the table, his little girl giggles, and it is a sound that could melt the thickest ice. She waves him over, hands clad in the white gloves from her dress-up trunk. They’re ruddy from frequent use, and her tiara is a bit crooked, but in all his many years, Robbie cannot remember ever seeing a more beautiful princess.

“That’s alright, daddy. Come sit! We have cookies! And I need my royal ‘visor.”

The table she invites him to is set for four, which gives him a moment’s pause as he moves to take his seat. Sir Milton is present, as always, and so is Dawa. But the fifth place setting that usually appears beside her beloved rabbit’s is surprisingly absent. “Is Puffball not going to be joining us today?”

His daughter sighs so dramatically that he has to force himself not to break character and giggle. She’s scolded him for that before- it’s not realistic if you don’t pretend right, daddy- and so he’s trying to be better about it. “That’s what I needed to talk to you about,” she says, as though it’s obvious.

He nods sagely as he reaches his seat, trying to keep up. “Ah, I see. Well, then, let’s get started, shall we? Milton, my good sir, it’s always good to see you. And Madame Dawa, you are looking quite lovely today. Have you done something different with your hair?” Bowing to each guest in their turn, he pulls his chair out to take his place. He takes great care in ensuring the coat of his tail falls correctly as he stoops to sit, ever the picture of poise. It’s only befitting of the Princess’s royal advisor, after all.

Said sovereign grins impishly as she reaches to pick up her little paper fan. It takes her a second to get it opened, and she has to manually spread it the rest of the way when her initial wrist flick proves insufficient, but she gets it figured out all the same. Raising it to cover her nose and mouth, she pretends to fan herself lightly.

It is then that the magic begins in earnest.

Milton, the Furby frog, is the first to respond. The click-clack of his beak and eyes have always unnerved Robbie a little, but he’s careful not to show it. The little guy one of his Rosebud’s favorites, and has to be treated as such. No matter how creepy he may or may not be. “𝕋𝕙𝕒𝕟𝕜 𝕪𝕠𝕦. ℝ𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣𝕥. 𝕀𝕥 𝕚𝕤 𝕘𝕠𝕠𝕕. 𝕋𝕠 𝕤𝕖𝕖 𝕪𝕠𝕦. 𝕋𝕠𝕠.”

She’s getting better at projecting the tone she wants; the croaky rasp of Milton’s voice is almost strong enough he can’t hear his daughter’s sneaky whispers beneath it. Pride flares brightly in his chest. She’s amazing. His daughter is absolutely amazing.

“𝒴𝑜𝓊’𝓇𝑒 𝒶𝓈 𝓉𝓊𝓉𝑒 𝒶𝓈 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇, 𝒹𝑒𝒶𝓇 𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹,” Dawa speaks up, then. Her button eyes almost seem to glimmer in the glow of the tea lights. “𝐻𝑒𝓇 𝑀𝒶𝒿𝑒𝓈𝓉𝓎 𝑔𝑜𝓉 𝒶 𝓃𝑒𝓌 𝓈𝑒𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝑜𝓌𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝐻𝑒𝓇 𝒷𝒾𝓇𝓉𝒽𝒹𝒶𝓎! 𝒲𝒽𝒶𝓉 𝒹𝑜 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓉𝒽𝒾𝓃𝓀?” The head of the plush bunny tips a bit to the side, allowing her ears to fall in a way that shows off the floral barrette. The motion is still a bit rigid- the accent, a bit wonky- but for her age, it’s incredible.

“I think it’s absolutely lovely. The Princess was kind, to share her gifts with you.” The creasing of his little girl’s eyes speaks to the smile that blossoms behind the worn paper fan. She wiggles in her chair a little, too happy to sit still as her father reaches to pick up her pretty tea pot and begins to pour.

“𝒮𝒽𝑒 𝓌𝒶𝓈! 𝒮𝒽𝑒 𝓁𝒾𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝓉𝑜 𝓈𝒽𝒶𝓇𝑒 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝑔𝒾𝒻𝓉𝓈 𝓌𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝓊𝓈. 𝐼𝓉 𝓂𝒶𝓀𝑒𝓈 𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓅𝓎.” As Dawa finishes, though, Rosalind clears her throat to draw attention back to herself. She does not set the fan down, keeping it close in hand, but she does stop hiding behind it for the moment.

“I’m sorry to disturb you, but there is business to discuss.” She doesn’t even wait for him to put the tea pot down before she’s going for the sugar cubes: one in Milton’s cup, two in her own, one in his, and one in Dawa’s. Then a splash of milk in all four, just like normal.

“Yes, of course. You wanted to discuss Puffball’s absence, right?” He retrieves his spoon, then, and begins stirring the contents of his teacup. The tea is not hot enough to risk burning anyone, but it is warm enough that the sugar dissolves in fairly short order.

“I did,” she answers after a moment, voice taking on an almost solemn tint. It makes Robbie focus in a little more, caught off guard by the shift in tone. Had something happened to the Popple in the last….26 hours since he’d seen it last?

As if hearing her father’s internal questions, Rosalind continues with her explanation. “She got hurt during our walk this morning. The Healer sent her to the hot springs to get better, but she hasn’t come home yet. I fear for her, Robert. What if she can’t make it home on her own?”

Ohhhhh. So that’s why Jessamine had been running the washer this morning. He had been curious, knowing that he’d finished the last of the laundry last night, but…not enough so to get up and check it out. While his girls have always been early risers, he is…decidedly not. And that’s before taking into effect how little sleep he was able to get last night.

That’s why Jess had decided to take Rose to the park in the first place: to let him get a little more rest before today’s big to-do. He feels a sliver of guilt about not being there, but he also knows both would call him silly for it. They need their bonding time just as much as the next mother and daughter anyway, and everyone needs lazy mornings. Still, he always feels a sliver of regrets for the moments he misses in passing. One day, he won’t have a tea party to attend when he wakes up.

“Ahh, I see. That is troublesome.” Deciding against waiting any longer, he takes a sip from his cup. The warmth washes over him like a sunrise, and he closes his eyes to let the feeling of this second in time sink in. No matter what the future brings, they are together, here and now. And when he opens his eyes to find hers looking back at him, that is worth more than anything he’s ever owned.

“Perhaps when we’re finished here, I can go and escort her home myself?” He’s pretty sure he heard the dryer going not long ago, so with any luck, she should be clean and ready to go. If not, they’ll figure out where to take the story from there. For now, however, the suggestion seems satisfactory.

“I think that’s a good idea,” Rosalind nods sagely. “Go carefully, but bring her home safe.”

“Then it’s decided. I’ll go as soon as we’ve finished up, your Majesty. Now you really should try your tea; it’s magnificent.” He takes another sip in demonstration, then, and casts her a goofy grin when he returns the cup to its saucer. “Just like you.”

She giggles again, and it sets his world alight. “Thank you, daddy.” The play momentarily suspended, his heart melts. What could he ever have done to deserve something as precious as this moment? This life?

He may never know. But the one thing he does know is that he will protect it with every last fiber of his being.