#scribe!writes

You and Gilbert continue north. The forest floor is covered in crunchy, orange leaves, and the trees themselves grow closely together. Gilbert leads you through an overgrown path, steering far clear of the village you came through days before. The knife that Gilbert gave you sits in its belt on your hip, hidden under your coat. All of a sudden, you knock into Gilbert’s back.

“Shhh,” he whispers.

“What’s going on.”

“Just look.” He points up ahead and you see a flash of blue.

Up to the side of the path, from the ground float a steady stream of blue bubbles. They glow faintly in the dim lighting under the trees.

“What is that,” you whisper.

“It’s a wild magic surge.”

You watch in awe as a small frog hops through the stream of bubbles. One of them pops up under him and pulls him inside. The frog rises from the ground, letting out a croak in surprise as the bubble carries him higher and higher. Gilbert laughs as the frog hops frantically in its bubble prison.

“Gilbert!” You cry as you push past him. You jump up and snatch the frog from the air, holding it safely in your palm.

“What? It was funny,” he says, still wheezing. You glare, still clutching the frog.

“You were going to let it float away!”

Gilbert continues laughing, bent over with his hands on his knees. You place the frog on the other side of the path and watch it hop away.

“Does that always happen?”

“For the most part. That was only a mild one. Magic surges happen randomly.”

You stare at Gilbert. “That can just happen? Anywhere?”

He nods. “Hence why it’s called Wild Magic. The forest collects the raw magic and as it gathers into more concentrated areas, it eventually releases. The longer the time between surges or the more magic being channelled in an area, the stronger they’ll be”

“So you couldn’t cast spells here?”

“Not long or powerful ones. That’s why there are stone circles. The little stone landmarks are littered through the Wandering Woods and they’re used to disperse magic without triggering a surge.”

“That’s fascinating,” you say. “Having to come up with a solution like that would be difficult.

Gilbert shrugs. “We’ve always had them. The Wandering Woods is the goddess Kassandra’s domain. She’s the goddess of magic. She showed the Ancients - our ancestors - how to harness wild magic and where she performed her magic, those stones appeared. They were everywhere, even at our castle”

“If they’re considered a gift from your god, they must be very special to this area.”

“Very,” Gilbert says.

The two of you keep on walking and you take great care in keeping your eye out for more surges. You can see some, only small ones. A deer that is standing a couple of yards away, blips in and out of existence as it grazes. Another surge made a thick fog seep up the soft ground out of nowhere. It moves in swirling waves, and Gilbert grabs your arm and leads you away before it swallows you up.

“Thank you,” you chirp.

You even pass one tree that appears to be growing upside down, with its roots sticking into the canopy and twisting around its neighbours. It seems that all sorts of odd things occur in the woods.

You keep walking until mid-afternoon when the pain in your feet grows too much and you need a break. You reach an area where the trees aren’t as thick and the grass is soft and decide to rest. You reach down and unlace your boots, take them off and rub them through your thick socks. Despite the autumn air that chills your face, you’re still quite warm. You lean back on your hands, flexing and curling your toes. You open your coat a little bit.

“You know, here, this place doesn’t seem so different from my world, despite the magic and stuff.” You say as you look around. “Kinda reminds me of the woods by my hometown. I used to go for walks there with my parents,” you muse. “One time, my dad convinced me that the trees talked, like Treebeard from Lord of the Rings, but only when you couldn’t hear them. I guess you don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Gilbert, who sits beside you with his boots still on, looks at you. “Lord of the Rings is a book, I think.”

You’re shocked. “How do you know that?”

“Fae are often very interested in human things. Some will pay a lot of coin to get their hands on certain human-authored book.”

“You’re kidding!” You say. “There are Unseen Folk that sell human books?”

“There are Unseen Folks that sell lots of things. I knew a family in the South that curates all sorts of human items. Our worlds are more intertwined than you’d think.”

You take a swig of water from the canister Ludwig gave you. “You know, my dad owns a bookshop. Maybe he should expand his business,” you muse.

“Is that what you do in the human world too?”

“No, I’m a student. I’m getting my degree in philosophy,” you say.

Gilbert looks at you, flashing his white teeth in an impish grin and says, “A scholar. I should have known! You’re poor physic and skittish nature give you away.”

“Hey!”

Gilbert laughs, his head tilted back towards the treetops.

“If you’re going to school instead of working with your parents, you must have money,” Gilbert says.

“Umm…I guess, but I’m not from a noble family or anything like that. I just worked to pay for it, and of course, the scholarships helped.”

Gilbert seems intrigued by this. “Here, low-born rarely ever go to college, they’d need to be sponsored by a high-born to attend.”

“Did you go to a university?” You ask. You know that Gilbert could write, from the fact that you’ve seen his diaries, or illusions of them, in his prison.

“Never,” he says. “The closest school that taught any higher knowledge was on the coast of the West Plains. My mother taught me to read and write, and later my grandfather taught me other things.”

“Did he teach you magic?” You ask. You’ve seen the small spells that he could wield, the fire that he cast in his abandoned castle.

“Some small things, yes, but he wasn’t as skilled in magic. I picked up the other stuff from people I met when I was older.”

Will you greet the daylight looming,

Learn to love without consuming?

In the Wandering Wood, on the very edge of its dense trees in a Standing Stone Circle. Its rocks are embedded in the dirt, partially covered by fallen leaves. A slight breeze swirls in the circle, mist leaks up through the ground. It picks up the orange leaves and carries them with it. Soon the breeze becomes stronger, blowing around and around and the Standing Stone Circle is activated. The smell of ozone fills the air, then lighting flashes. It doesn’t come from the sky but is conducted through the stones, arching from their perimeter to form together in a violent crash.  Thunder booms and two tall figures appear in the circle. Both are dressed in dark cloaks with hoods thrown over their heads.

“Ancients,” the taller one groans, stumbling to lean against a tree as the world spins around him. The other pushes his hood back, revealing ear-length blond hair. He rolls his eyes.

“It’s not that bad,” Matthew says as he readjusts the spell-book that hangs from his side.

“I feel like I’m gonna be sick,” he says, trying to spit out the funny, metallic taste that the teleportation spell left in his mouth.

“Stop whining.”

Alfred stands back up, following after his brother. As he walks, his cloak shifts to reveal his shiny, armour. Matthew reaches into his cloak and pulls out a rolled-up map that shouldn’t even fit in there. He unfurls is, studying the marks in the parchment. The woods laid out to them are unfamiliar to him, but with the description Arthur gave him, he can make some things out.

“This is the Standing Stone that Arthur told us about. He shouldn’t be far from here,” he says and pauses as he looks around. Here, the forest is thick, with twisted, wicked-looking tree branches and barely any light to see through the thick underbrush. “The best bet would be to stop by the village and ask if anyone’s seen him.”

“In this backwater place? They won’t help outsiders. Can’t you use one of your spells?” Alfred says, slinging his shiny new knights’ shield onto his back.

Matt rolls his eyes. “I can’t keep a spell like that running for that long in the Woods, the magic could trigger a surge.”

Alfred’s shoulders drop. “Dude, this is going to take forever.”

Alfred and Matthew were young faes. When Arthur was making moves against the Beilschmidt House, the brothers were only small children. They had only heard stories about the family, and up until now, had never stepped foot in the Wandering Wood. They had only ever heard stories of the woods and the dangers of the wild magic in it.

The two brothers pull back on their hoods and trek out into the woods, heading towards the closest village. As they walk, they review what they know about the fae they’re tracking.

Gilbert was known well throughout the Unseen world. A low-born fae turned renegade with a disdain for invaders. He had some magical ability but nothing complex or terribly powerful. Gilbert was an experienced fighter and an excellent swordsman, however, these things did not earn him his titles. The real danger lied in the fae’s wrath. It’s what made people remember him.

Matthew and Alfred still remember the whispers in court from all those years ago. Stories were told of a man with a gaze so fiery that it could paralyze a warrior mid-step. They remembered the merchants that had their guards killed in one attack, claiming a monster came for them, making them swear to never step foot in his wood again.

The two brothers know that this mission cannot fail. They need to destroy the token he’s trying to get, kill the human he’s travelling with, and pray to their gods they can escape before he hunts them down in retribution.

You must be lucky enough

To avoid the wolf every time,

But the wolf only needs enough luck

To find you once.

After the talk the two of you shared last night, Gilbert feels hesitant about the weak alliance  he’s convinced you to join. He thought that you would have told him to fuck off and leave to find your own way back home. He’s glad that you didn’t. He doesn’t know what he’d do if you left. As much as he hates to admit it, he wants you to not hate him. He knows that if you leave, he’ll want to chase after you, and that won’t help endear him to you.

When you take a break, it’s later in the afternoon than he would’ve liked. He wasn’t tired. If Gilbert was on his own, he could have been able to make it to their destination without stopping but he can hear the limp in your step. Gilbert knows he’s a bad guy. He’s arrogant and selfish and has absolutely no manners, but he was raised by Gerald Beilschmidt, and if his grandfather, wherever he is, found out he wasn’t being at least a little courteous to the human helping him, especially after the disaster that was the incident in the village, he’d come back from wherever that old fucker ran off to and kill Gilbert himself.

The two of you sit down on the grass, and you eat some of the food that you brought. You tear off a piece of bread and offer it to him and he shakes his head. You shrug and take a bite out of it. You reach down and unlace your boots, pulling your feet out of them and trying to rub the soreness out of them.  

Gilbert watches you lean back and open your coat just a little, showing a glimpse of your collar and the stretch of your neck as you tilt your head back and relax. You look up and all around you, eyes scanning the tree line. They are wide pools reflecting a curiosity that reminds Gilbert of when he was younger. They flicker and move from place to place. Gilbert can almost see the gears turning in your head as you take note of all you see. With eyes as clear as those, it’s no wonder you were a scholar in the human world,

(Gilbert supposes that you’re still a scholar, just one that’s very far away from home. Despite the separation and very clear anxieties about getting stuck here, you still regard his world with interest. It’s impressive. If he’s being honest with himself, you’re taking everything in quite well. Gilbert doesn’t think that any other human could have caught on so quickly to this world and its magic. You haven’t even fainted.)

From then on, the hike is quiet. Gilbert doesn’t talk much. He just leads you through the woods as he watches the area become more and more familiar to him. The memory makes his stomach feel heavy.  The two of you reach a clearing in the forest filled with thick grass. It’s lined by the remains of an old fence. The wood is covered in moss and lichen, well on its way through decomposition.  Gilbert slows his pace until he reaches reach the back part of the plot where stone ruins sit. What’s left of the foundation shows a small stone cottage, one-story tall with a dirt cellar for food storage. It was small. The outside walls, made of stacked stone, have caved in along with a hearth at the centre back wall.

“This was your home," you say. Gilbert isn’t surprised that you figured it out but he doesn't answer for you. He stares straight ahead. He remembers when he lived here. He can imagine what it looks like, he remembers where the kitchen table was, and where his childhood bed stood.

"What did Ludwig tell you while I was gone." He asks you. Gilbert feels a bitter taste collect in his mouth.

You pause for a moment. “Not much, only that Ludwig was little when your parents died.”

“It’s rare for fae to have many children,” Gilbert starts. “We live so long, if we reproduced as often as other beings, we’d run out of room.“ He tries to laugh, but it’s weak. “My parents had me and Ludwig years apart. I was an adolescent when he was born.”

(Gilbert remembers the first time he saw Ludwig. He was so tiny, with big blue eyes and a thin tuft of gold hair. He swallows harshly at the memory.)

“One day, I’d taken Ludwig to play by the stream in town, and there was a raid.”

(The screams sounded through the small village, along with the yelling. Gilbert and Ludwig were up to their knees in the creek at the time. Gilbert didn’t have time to think, he just picked up his little brother and hid under the bridge. He waded in up to his hips, Luddy resting on his hip and the two of them tried to keep quiet, the smell of smoke and the sounds of the raiders close by.)

“By the time everything was over, most of the village was raided, and our parents were dead.” Gilbert tried to take a breath in but his chest is heavy. “One Captain Gramercy and raiders from Albion and the North Isles had been sent to do it. They took everything from our village, then left to do it to another.”

“We went to live with our grandfather. After that, I spent years learning sword fighting so that I could find that raiding party.”

“Did you?”

(Of course, he did. Gilbert remembers the day. Ancients, he’ll never forget it. He can still smell the smoke. He can still taste the blood, sweet and satisfying on his tongue. Captain Gramercy looked like he had seen a monster, like the Woods themselves had sent something sick and horrifying after the fae for retribution. In a way, it had. In one clean stroke of Ausdauernd, Gilbert cleaved Captain Gramercy’s head clean off his shoulders. His blood splattered onto the side of Gilbert’s face.)

“I’m sorry,” you say to him. You say those words like they’re nothing. They just tumble out without a second thought.

“Don’t be, it’s how it is here.” That’s true. The unseen world doesn’t run on order. The fae that lived here, himself included, did what they please when they pleased.

“It shouldn’t be,” you tell him. “You were a kid, a teenager. You should have been causing trouble in a market and picking flowers for the neighbour girls, not worrying if someone would come to burn your homes to the ground. That isn’t right!”

Gilbert looks at you and he’s sure that the realist in him peaks out. “You don’t really believe the world is that simple? Just right and wrong and nothing in between?” He says. But unlike himself, you are a proud optimist. You look at him with firm conviction.

“It should be,” you say and Gilbert can’t stop the small voice in his head that says the soft determination that swims in your eyes looks beautiful on you.

I was just a kid

who grew up strong enough

To pick this armour up

And suddenly it fit

The two of you explore the ruins of Gilbert’s childhood home and daylight starts to fades. The two of you sift through the rubble to see if you can find where Ludwig his Gilbert’s gloves. You’ve sorted through half of the layout, and so far nothing. 

The crunch of leaves sounds a few yards away and Gilbert freezes. He stands up and calls to you and as soon as he does, a man appears, standing a bit back from his toppled home. From the trees to his left steps out another one. 

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” He says. Both of them are younger fae. They share similar features and straw-blond hair. They’re probably brothers. One is taller than the other one by a couple of inches, with broad shoulders, and wearing a shiny set of armour. The carving on the pommel of his sword is well-known to Gilbert. It’s a popular design in Albion’s court. This is one of Arthur’s men, most likely a newly dubbed knight, Gilbert decides. 

“Where is it,” the taller one demands. 

“We don’t know,” you blurt from behind him. Gilbert sighs. So much for bluffing. 

The knight grins at you. “So this is the little thing you chose to tote around. I’m Alfred,” He says, tracing his eyes up and down you. “Ancients, you’re pretty cute, it’s a shame we’ve been sent to kill you.”

Gilbert bristles. “If you touch her, I’ll rip your arms off and feed them to you.” He can hear his blood roar in his head and he knows his eyes glow red with the magic that hums under his skin. 

“Enough of this,” the other one says stepping forward. His hair is cropped a little longer, and he wares circular spectacles and simple, dark blue robes. While his brother holds himself with pompous air, it was clear that this brother didn’t have that ego. His eyes were a cunning violet and the tome that sits at this hip marks this man as a spell-caster. Gilbert feels the wild magic that swirls around his home. For every spell that fae casts, the likely hood of it triggering a surge goes up, and the two of you would be in far greater trouble. You’ve seemed to realize this too, because as you inch closer to Gilbert for some protection, you whisper, “Gil, I hope you have something more up your sleeve than your little brother’s sword.” 

He does. But you’re not going to like it. 

“Go, Matthew!” Alfred yells. He takes his shield from his back and charges first, sending his sword straight for Gilbert’s head, which he avoids with ease. Gilbert thinks that this is Alfred’s first actual sword fight since his knight training.

“Well kid, I think it’s time you learn one more lesson.” Gilbert drives his boot into the centre of Alfred’s chest plate, sending the fae sprawling back into the dirt. He reached to his side and draws Ludwig’s sword. It feels foreign. Not like the familiarity of his own, but for dealing with these children, it will do.

Matthew advances next, right towards you. He stretches out a hand, and it crackles with arcane light. Gilbert moves to intercept it for you, but you’ve decided that you’ve got it. You hurl a slab of stone the size of a dinner plate and it hits the wizard right in the face, knocking off his glasses and sending him falling back onto his ass.

Gilbert is shocked, and a little bit impressed. Apparently you’ve got more spine than he anticipated. You skirt off somewhere, and Gilbert turns his attention to Alfred, who’s picked himself up off the ground.  He steps towards him, and swings his sword in and swift arc. Alfred catches the strike before it hits his shoulder. Gilbert steps back and blocks his opponent’s poorly attempted stab to his stomach. 

Now that he’s trading blows with him, it’s clear that Gilbert was right. Alfred is a new knight. His swings are too wide and easily blockable. His parry is poorly executed. While he’s certainly trained, he lacks the finesse of years of practice. All of his moves reveal him to be brash and impatient, too worried about proving his strength to worry about strategy. 

In a dirty move that Alfred probably didn’t expect, Gilbert pulls back for a split second before cracking the hilt of his sword across the side of Alfred’s temple. The young knight stumbles back dazed, and it gives Gilbert a moment to look for you. 

Matthew advances towards you. His face is scrunched in either anger or annoyance. You stumble back, losing your footing and Matthew raises his dagger.

 I don’t think so. 

Gilbert levels a hand at Matthew and casts one of the only higher-level spells he bothered to learn, Banishment. A streak of black smoke with orange sparks is let loose from his hand. Gilbert watches as his spell latches onto him, and in a shout, your attacker disappears, banished from this material plane. 

“Matt!” His brother calls. 

Gilbert’s left hand is now covered in the inked black residue left by his magic, and a significant pool of his magic used up from that spell, but you are fine. You sit there huffing and trying to regain yourself. 

“That banishment won’t hold him for long. I need those gloves!” 

Your head snaps to him and you nod. “Got it!” You yell, rushing to your feet and looking around. “Where did you and Ludwig sleep?” For a moment, Gilbert has no clue why you would ask him that but puts together what you’re asking quickly.

“The back corner!” He gestures to the right of the old house. I really hope that Ludwig has some sentiment living in that uptight persona of his, he thinks to himself as he watches you run off to that part of the ruins. He turns back to the younger fae he’s fighting. Alfred has managed to pick himself back up off the ground. Gilbert had to hand it to him, the kid had spunk. 

“Where did you send my brother,” he growls, the blue of his eyes glow. Gilbert doesn’t respond just braces himself for the next set of blows they’re bound to trade.

“I think you should be more worried about what will happen to you.”

Alfred is strong. It makes up for the lack of experience and finesse. With every clash of their swords or knock of Alfred’s shield, Gilbert feels his teeth rattle and the concentration on his spell loosens. 

“Gilbert!” You yell in excitement. “I got ‘em!” In your dirt-covered hands, you hold up a pair of black, leather gloves.

“Put them on!” Gilbert yells from where he’s locked with Alfred. He pulls back his head and slams it into his opponent’s. Gilbert’s forehead connects to the young knight’s nose with a wet crunch. Alfred stumbles back a couple of steps. 

Gilbert feels the banishment spell finally dissipate. Matthew returns to the Woods in a crackle of lightning, and without a second to spare Gilbert watches you frantically pull a glove over your left hand. Matthew turns and lunges for you and you instinctively push your hands out. Suddenly, the leather glove, way too big for your hand, pulses with energy. A booming force extends from your palm and Matthew is blasted away from you and into a half-toppled wall. You look to the thick leather glove with magic runes that glow gold and red on the fingers and palm. Your eyes bulge out of your head when you stare back at Gilbert.

“Holy shit!” You yell. “Where the fuck did you get these?”

“Later!” He yells. 

Gilbert feels the magic pulse in the air around them. Matthew gets up again, opens his spellbook and summons more magic. You scramble to avoid it and dodge the ray of frost that he hurls at you by the hair on your head. You aren’t graceful or skilled at it. In fact, it looks like you’re performing a comedic bit at a theatre, skirting around your opponent and forcing him to turn in circles to try and hit you. 

 It’s then that he realizes what you’re trying to do.  He could laugh at your genius, or swear at you for being so reckless. She’s trying to get Matthew to cause a wild magic surge. You’re baiting him. The pulse in the air builds even more until finally, so much residual magic has built up around the two of you, that it can’t be contained any longer. You scramble to your feet and make a break for it. 

It’s a good thing you did because no sooner do you start to sprint when a surge is unleashed. Your feet are lifted off the ground, and you are floating. The surge has put a pause on gravity itself. Now you and Matthew float uncontrollably, unable to move in the air. Then gravity is turned back on. You let out a yelp and are slammed back onto the ground. Gilbert glances to where you struggle to push yourself back up. 

Gilbert blocks one of Alfred’s strikes, and returns the favour, landing a blow to the back of his knee. In another strike, he stabs into his right shoulder, and Alfred cries out. He cracks him across the face once more for good measure. 

“You absolute idiot,” he snarls, his pale lips pulling back in a wicked smile. Alfred’s blue eyes go wide. “Coming here was the biggest mistake of your life.” Gilbert feels his blood boil. The air hums around him, and he tightens his grip on his sword. Alfred tries to rise from his knees. Gilbert kicks him over again.  Familiar rage settles in him. The fury is warming, comforting even. It’s who he is. He’s not ashamed of that. It doesn’t matter that these brothers are only young fae. They were sent to stop him. They’re trying to kill you. Gilbert plans on making them pay. 

“Gilbert!” You yell. Gilbert’s head whips in your direction. You yell and jump as Matthew slices your arm. You kick out, tripping him and giving yourself time to get away.  “We have what we need! Let’s get out of here!” 

Gilbert doesn’t want to. He never backs down from a fight, and he never spares anyone. 

You’re up on your feet running towards him. He can see the cut on your arm and the scrapes and bruises that litter the rest of your face and body. They did this to you! Why should I let them go? He’s so furious. 

“Don’t be stupid, you can settle this later!” You say. The red in his vision fades, and Gilbert nods. This isn’t over. 

With Alfred and Matthew regaining their bearings, Gilbert runs after you. The two of you leap over the rubble of his home and into the clearing. You smack the gloves into his chest and he fumbles for them, pulling them on. He throws a fireball behind him, not really looking to see if he hit them.  

The earth shakes. Gilbert feels the wild magic of his Woods thrum under his feet. He grabs your hand, pulling you off into the woods, Matthew and Alfred hot on your trail, and he cackles.

And if the world don't break

I'll be shakin' it

'Cause I'm a young man after all

Author’s Notes

Gilbert really said, “fuck them kids”.

I always laugh every time I write any of the Hetalia character’s names in this. They live in a fantasy world of magic and fae, and someone’s name is Matt. It fucking kills me.

A part of why I love this AU is that I really get to have fun building this universe and deciding how all the character’s fit in. It’s hard not to just info-dump about what everyone is doing in here.

Quotes (in order)

1. Thus Away to Tyrants

2. Thus Away to Tyrants

3. Through the Woods, a collection of illustrated scary stories by Emily Carroll

4. Atlas: Eight by Sleeping At Last

You open your eyes and you know where you are. The dirt under you is cool and damp. A familiar, pale figure stands a few paces away.

“Don’t leave, (name),” Gilbert coos. You see the slain Fae men from the village, lying on the ground in pools of their blood. Gilbert steps over them, making his way towards you. His eyes are such a shade of red that they glow like hot iron in the black that surrounds them. You’re stomach churns but you can’t look away from them. You feel like you're going to throw up all over again. 

“Won’t you set me free, Schatz?” he asks. His head tilts to the side and he stalks towards you like a wolf. You want to crawl away, hide somewhere, but you can’t move. 

He’s standing above your shaking form. His white hair catches the moonlight and casts a shadow over you. Your heart feels like it's about to burst. He crouches down to where you are and your breath hitches. His hand comes up to caress your cheek with tenderness you highly doubt he’s capable of. 

“Please,” you cry. “Just let me go back. Send me back.”

His thumb gently wipes away the tear under your eyes. “Oh, little thing. There’s no need to cry.” 

And then he smiles. His lips peel back to show pearly-white teeth, covered in blood.

 “I would never hurt you.”

You jolt awake. It's still dark up in the loft of the cabin. No light streams in from the window at the end of the room. You take deep breaths and wipe the sweat from your face. It’s okay. It was just a dream. Go back to sleep. 

  You settle back into your spot, Blackie softly snoring at your feet. You try to shut your eyes but the shadows cast on the walls around you are long and distorted, and the wind blows outside. You pull your blanket up under your chin, and sleep never comes. 

Something isn't right, babe

I keep catching little words 

but the meaning's thin

You lay awake, tangled in your blankets and watch the light start to bleed into the upstairs window. Blackie, Berlitz, and Aster still lay around you vigilantly, and you hear footsteps stomp around downstairs. You sit up in your bed on the floor and peek down the stair to catch a glimpse of straw blond hair moving around.  Below, Ludwig is already up and starting his day. 

You listen to him walk out of the cabin, closing the door behind him. For a moment it’s quiet and you think you might be able to finally drift off. Then a repetitive whacking sound coming from outside starts up. 

You groan and throw your blankets off, officially giving up on trying to sleep. At least you got a few hours. You stand up and carefully step over the dog pile below you. You straighten your underdress and slip your thick grey petticoat over your head, adjusting it on your hips, then pull on your long socks. You reach for the chair a few steps away, where the muted blue dress hangs. You think back to the farm where Gilbert stole it from and hope that its last owner doesn’t know it’s gone. You slip it on and do up the lace front. 

As you walk down the stairs, boots in hand and the dogs follow after you, the whacking sound continues.  The cabin is empty, with no signs of Gilbert. You peak out a window in the kitchen and see movement off at the edge of the clearing. 

Outside is Ludwig, tossing split wood into a pile to the side of him. You lace on your boots and step outside to say good morning. You aren’t particularly stealthy, so Ludwig waves to you as you walk toward him, all three of his dogs bounding after you. 

Ludwig’s home sits in a large clearing at the top of a hill. Beside the cabin is a small, barren garden plot, and the whole area is surrounded by orange and yellow-leaved trees. From the hill, you have an excellent view. You can see the forest stretches for miles like an unending sea of autumn colour. Never in your life have you looked at so many trees.

“They seem to like you,” he says, motioning to your canine entourage

“Thanks, they’re very sweet. They remind me of my dog back home.” You say as you look around. 

“You have a dog?” Ludwig asks. 

You nod. “Her name’s Hypatia. She actually looks a lot like Aster, but with yellow and white.” 

“You must miss her.”

You do. You really do. “She’ll be okay. A friend of mine will take care of her until I get back.” You are sure that Charlie is taking good care of her, and hopefully, she’s not making herself sick with worry about you. You feel awkward now, standing in front of Ludwig with a heavy lump settling in your stomach.

“Uh, can I help you with anything?”

“Oh, no. It’s okay, I’m just finishing up.”

“Please? I feel bad if I’m not doing anything,” you say.

He thinks for a moment before giving in. “If you really want, you can help me stack this wood.” 

It doesn’t take long. The two of you work in silence, piling wood in a shed behind the cabin. In less than an hour, you're headed inside, carrying the firewood that will be used for the day.  The dogs, while fascinated with you, still heed to Ludwig’s calls, going where he tells them and coming when called. The logs are placed in a bin by the fireplace and you settle at the kitchen table. 

“Where’s Gilbert?” you ask, watching Ludwig dig in his cupboards. 

“He’s off taking care of something,” he says. “He should be back later this afternoon.” 

For the years have been long

And you have taught me well to sit and wait

Gilbert walks into a darker part of the woods, far away from his brother’s cabin. The trees are more gnarled and the branches crowd together tighter. Here, the wild magic that lives in the Woods is more concentrated. It shimmers and hisses at the edge of his vision. While much has changed since he’s been gone, the wild magic of his woods is familiar to him. It feels right to be surrounded by its hum once again. 

His steps crunch the leaves under his leather boots. Cold winds rustle above him. As the breeze brushes past him, he whispers something in his old tongue and a spark of magic sails past his pale lips. 

Come get me. Face me.

He watches the message zip along with the air current, carried off into the forest and out of sight. He reaches an area, hidden by foliage, where a large circle of stones lays smooth on the forest floor, creating a mosaic pad of greys, whites, browns, and other muted colours.  He steps inside and leans against one of the trees. 

Around Gilbert, the sounds of the woods change. The rustling and chirping slow and fade like he’s been submerged underwater. The light that filters through changes and dims as the circle is pulled away from the real world.

“I have to say, I’m surprised to see you back so soon.” 

To his right, from thin air steps Arthur Kirkland. The man is the same as Gilbert remembers him. His hair is still blond, his eyes are still that sickening granny-smith green, and he wears a dark green cloak, embroidered up the sleeves and front. 

Gilbert glares at him. “I’m surprised you’re still wearing that fucking ugly coat.”

“Oh fuck off!” he snarls. It reminds Gilbert of the first time they met, nearly a century before. 

***

Months after Gilbert had officially founded his house, he met Lord Arthur Kirkland. The villages of the Wandering Woods had officially been united under one banner after years of amassing allies and chasing out invaders and looters. Gilbert just finished construction of the castle,  Toni and Francis returned to their courts, and Gilbert now had a new thing to master. 

State-craft.

The people of the wandering wood were often regarded as uncivilized and wild. The forest was steeped with untamed magic. Spirits and monsters ran wild, unbothered by fae settlements. Outsiders found it hard to adjust to the chaos and avoided the dangers of the Woods. Only particularly wealthy fae needed to enter when they raided small towns for the rare ingredients the Woods grew.

Divided, the people of the Wandering Woods never had the strength of numbers to protect themselves, but this soon changed. After its sudden foundation, Beilschmidt House quickly became the largest of the Unseen courts and the first to ever unite the entirety of the Woods. With a road was being carved through the forest and checkpoints along the great rivers erected, they had control over sixty percent of the mainland, and full dominion over transcontinental trade routes. This was of great advantage to the people of the Woods. To the other courts, not so much. 

Rumours about the head of Beilschmidt House spread through the land. Stories said he was a peasant-born, violent scoundrel. At first, it was said that he was merely a woodland hick who made a name for himself rolling in mud, jumping caravans and sleighing monsters. However, Gilbert of the Wandering Woods soon proved himself to be a far more serious problem

Shipments of supplies headed out of the woods were being seized by the new court of the Wandering Woods. The High-Fae’s privateers and mercenaries were being hunted down and killed, their heads shipped back to their masters. The days of raiding or blackmailing villages for their food were over. With an army guarding the villages and rivers of the Woods, foreign courts had to sign treaties with the barbarians if they wanted supplies to get through. 

Houses were reluctant to submit to the ruffian, but conceded, too afraid of incurring his wrath. Most courts sent low-rank advisors over to negotiate treaties. Emil of the North Isles attended, as well as one of the lesser-known Vargas brothers from the south. 

Albion, the group of rocky islands off the west coast, deviated from this pattern. Arthur Kirkland, the head of their court himself, travelled to the Woods to attend. After a very formal welcoming party, Lord Kirkland requested an audience with Gilbert. 

The two of them enter Gilbert’s personal study, a large room with red carpet, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves along the walls and a large table with a map at the center of the room. 

“You’ve asked to meet with me, Lord Kirkland?” 

While Gilbert is new to statecraft, he is not new to battle, and it is clear that the lord of Albion isn’t here to make nice.

“Yes, and you can call me Arthur, please,” the blond man says as he looks around. “I have to say, I’m very impressed you’ve manages to do this.”

“What do you mean?” Gilbert asks. 

“This, of course. Your court, your kingdom,” Arthur says, walking towards a seat to the side of the table. He sits down, adjusting the tails of his gaudy, green coat. 

“Thank you?” Gilbert raised an eyebrow. “I’ve worked hard to build it.” 

“Oh I’ve heard,” he says. “but I think you’ll find that keeping it… that will be far more difficult.” Gilbert narrows his eyes, leaning against the table behind him, and Arthur continues. 

“See, the thing you low-borns never understand is that it takes so much work to keep an empire like this.  It’s not just about parties and lavish receptions. It’s stressful, everyone fighting and negotiating.”

Gilbert’s blood boils. He knew about what it took. He remembered what he had to do to get here. The war he waged, the towns that burned.

 “Let me offer you this deal,” he says. “If you disband your little group of misfits, I’ll let you keep this lovely house of yours, and cut you a piece of the land to have. All you have to do is dissolve your court.”

“You want me to divide the Wandering Woods again?” Gilbert tightens his grip on the table ledge. 

“You aren’t a high-born fae, Mr. Beilschmidt. You’re a peasant, and if you make this court of yours, what does that do for the rest of the world. Every peasant in the Unseen World would try to make their own house.” 

Gilbert understood what this was. The highborn fae didn’t want a low-born to rise up, because that would mean anyone could. It would be death to thousands of years of tradition. 

“Think of it more as escaping the hassle,” Arthur offers. “You’ll still have land, status. Your family will be safe and you will be free to do whatever you want.”

“No,” Gilbert says. 

“No?” Arthur probably hadn’t been told that before. 

“I didn’t spend years protecting my home from you to just hand it over,” Gilbert snarls. 

The careful ease that Arthur had been wearing drops like a heavy velvet curtain, revealing a man with a vicious snarl.

“You think you have what it takes to do this, to lead them? You’re nothing. A nobody. A fool and a beggar pretending to be king.” 

Gilbert rises from his casual lounging to meet him. “You will leave my castle and the Wandering Woods with your entourage by morning or I will drag you out myself. Vash!” 

The solid wood doors swing open and in walks Sir Zwighli, with sprouts of vine growing out of his blond hair. “Please escort Lord Kirkland back to the banquet.” 

The knight nods, and motions for Arthur to exit, but is ignored. Arthur glares at Gilbert. His green eyes flash with something else. 

“You will regret this,” Arthur promises. 

Gilbert smirks, wild and wicked like the rumours say he is. “I don’t think I will.”

Oh, how wrong he was. 

***

Gilbert feels Arthur sneakily try to thread a binding spell into the stones of the circle, trying to recreate the spell that sent him to his old prison. Gilbert snorts and, with a flick of a hand, dispels it. 

“Please, you’re not going to be that lucky this time,” he says. Gilbert makes the mental note to remember that if Arthur’s only trying to send him back, then the Prison as an extra-dimensional space wasn’t destroyed when he escaped. 

Arthur groans. “Listen, Gilbert. If you’re mad about what happened with the grunts I sent after you two, you should be thankful that they only tried to spirit her away. I told them to kill her.” 

“Thank the ancients they didn’t,” Gilbert grinds out. He has to stomp down the memory of what happened last night. 

“Indeed, but it certainly didn’t make me happy. I was planning on killing those fools for that mistake.” He looks at Gilbert with a coy smile. “I’m so grateful you did it for me.”

Something bitter bubbles up inside Gilbert. He has to muscle it down. “I don’t suppose that we can go our separate ways?” He offers, red eyes hardened over. Arthur laughs, shaking his head. 

“I’m afraid not. I mean, really? I’m supposed to just walk away? After all the effort I put into locking you away in the first place?” He saunters around the circle, pristine boots tapping on the stones. “And now that you’ve bested me...Well, I can’t let you get away with that! My reputation would be ruined!” He turns to him, his intricate coat swishing with his movements. “Oh no, Gilbert. Rest assured, all three of us will be putting a stop to you.”

Gilbert raises from his leaning position against a tree. “And you will regret it,” he snarls, echoing what Arthur said to him all those years ago. 

Arthur raises an eyebrow and smirks before turning and vanishing into the shadows beyond the standing stones. The sun streams through the canopy again. The sound of leaves swaying and animals chirruping rise into the space again. Gilbert growls and walks off. 

That certainly didn’t go well, but really, what did Gilbert expect? The High-born bastard was always prideful. It would be impossible for him to get Arthur to give up on something like his wounded ego. 

Gilbert treads back through the forest, back towards his brother’s home, and during that time he can think. He knew that he’d been gone a long while, but 75 years, while not an eternity by fae standards, was jarring. His woods had returned to its meagre origins, the villages separated, without any allies and subjected to North Isle’s and the West’s raiders again. 

(He thought back to that town, and the ruins that he left you at before he went in. It was an old home, not his, but someone’s, and it was destroyed. When he went into the village’s centre, it was clear that they were in the midst of repairing the aftermath of the summer’s attacks.) 

Even his castle, the final piece to cement his legacy, was run down and forgotten, destroyed by looters. After everything Gilbert had built to raise the Wandering Wood, now he was a young, peasant again, and Arthur had won. 

In his head, he can hear his grandfather. 

“Nothing is permanent, boy!” He would say. Gilbert can remember the feel of the training sword in his hands during his grandfather’s lessons. 

“Nothing is guaranteed. If you want something you take it! And then you fight whoever you have to to keep it!”

Stars, hide your fires;

Let not light see my black and deep desires 

The kettle started whistling on the wood stove. You rise from your spot to get it, but Ludwig beats you to it. 

“Please sit, I’ll take care of it,” he says as he pulls a heavy-looking teapot from his cupboard.  

The dogs lay under the table, pressed against the legs of your chairs. As Ludwig makes the tea to go with your breakfast, you look around. 

Ludwig is a very tidy person. Everything had a place where it belonged, and the space was kept spotlessly clean. It reminded you a lot of your roommate, Charlie. You, on the other hand, never mastered the art of organization. You were too scatter-brained. 

There isn’t much inside the cabin. Only the black, metal, wood stove, a tub used as a sink and long wood countertops and cupboards make up a simple kitchen.  In the simple common area is a wooden chair and a bench sit by the fireplace. At the back of the room, there's a wood storage trunk and a large work table. Books are stacked neatly on its surface. Pens sit neatly in a glass jar. Some parchment is rolled up and stored upright in a basket beside the desk.  On the wall behind it is a map. 

It’s of a forest, showing the rivers that flow through and the villages scattered along them. At the very bottom of the map, cut in half by the margin of the paper, is a familiar-looking lake, with a castle located on its north shore. You realize that this is Beilschmidt castle. 

The wooded area which takes up the entire map is called The Wandering Woods, and the map seems to be only a small section of the Wood, from what you can tell by the scale. You can see the village that you travelled through, and an odd sense of relief fills you now that you can name where you are in the Unseen World. 

A cup and plate are set down in front of you, and you turn back. Ludwig sits across from you and lifts his teacup towards you. You clink yours together and take a sip. 

On the plate in front of you sits a thick slice of toast that glistens with honey. You’ve never thought to have toast with butter and honey before this, but after taking a bite, you might be a convert. It’s quite good. 

“Thank you for breakfast,” you say. 

“You’re welcome,” he says, trying to push one of the dogs away from his plate.

“How did you sleep last night? It couldn’t have been too comfortable.”

“I slept fine,” you say. Bits of last night’s nightmare appear in your head. You push them away and try to focus on something else. 

You study Ludwig, who sits across from you, calmly sipping his tea. He sits rigid in his chair, spine pulled straight up reflexively, probably from a strict upbringing. He reminds you of any strong/silent archetype; serious and disciplined. Very different from Gilbert. 

“So…” you start, thinking of the most polite way to ask this. “Are you actually Gilbert’s younger brother?” 

“You aren’t convinced?” 

“Well, I’m an only child so I don’t really know much about sibling dynamics but…” you take a sip of your tea and collect your thoughts. “ ...the two of you are very different.” You hope that it’s not too rude to say that, but from the small smile that Ludwig shows, you don’t think you’ve offended your host. 

“I know. Sometimes I have a hard time believing that he raised me.”

You choke on your tea. “He what?”

Ludwig nods. “Our parents died when I was young.” 

You try to imagine Gilbert as a parent, doing laundry, making lunches, sending Ludwig off to kindergarten (did Fae children even go to kindergarten?). It doesn’t come easy to you. 

You say the only thing you can think of. “I’m sorry.”

“That my parents died or that Gilbert raised me?”

You snort. “I don’t know,” you say with a smile and a shake of your head. 

“He honestly wasn’t that bad, and we had my Grandfather as well,” Ludwig says. “Growing up in the woods is tough. There are raiders from the other lands that come through, monsters and spirits that attack people sometimes. Gilbert did his best to protect me from that.”

“There are monsters?” You ask. You shouldn’t be surprised. 

“Magical Creature is the technical term. Magic is everywhere in the Unseen World, but the Wandering Woods has a high concentration of wild magic.” Ludwig explains. “The wild magic makes the woods the perfect environment for magical creatures and spirits to live safely.”

‘Wild magic?” You ask. You think you understand what it means, but it’s unclear. 

Ludwig nods and says, “Wild magic is, as the name implies, untamed magic.” He sets down his cup to explain. “It’s magic in its natural state, like the aura that surrounds life and souls. It’s things like fate, chance, luck, and will. It’s a web of power that all living things are connected by and it can be harnessed and refined into different schools of magic.”

“And the wandering Woods has lots of it,” 

“Exactly. It’s why this place can be so unpredictable.”

You don’t have anything to add to that. All you can do is drink from your teacup, your eyes wandering to the map at the back of the room. You finish your toast and try to collect your dishes. Ludwig, again refusing to let you help, takes them from you to be put in the metal tub on the counter to be washed.  

After breakfast, there really wasn’t much to do. The cabin didn’t really need to be cleaned, the firewood had been taken care of, so the two of you were left to relax. Ludwig had given you a book from his meagre collection to read. You open the black, hardcover book to the first page. 

“The Flora and Fauna of the Unseen World”

by Luna Cleary

The pages have started to discolour at their edges and the spine is starting to crack. You turn through the pages of the fauna section and see that they are filled with illustrations and descriptions of different creatures. On one page, a basilisk is illustrated, with a diagram pointing to sharp fangs and a long, scaly tail. On another, a griffin poses proudly, on its hind legs with its wings spread to show off the whites and creams and browns of its feathers. On other pages, there are creatures you are less familiar with.  

One specimen that caught your eye, was what you would describe as a large treasure chest with teeth. 

“Mimics are shapeshifting predators able to take on the form of inanimate objects to lure creatures to their doom. These cunning creatures can alter their outward texture to resemble basic materials and assume the appearance of inanimate objects. Mimics most often take the form of doors and chests, having learned that such forms attract a steady stream of prey.” 

Holy shit, you think. You shudder at the image of opening a book and it biting your hand off. You close your book and shake your head. Your fingers smooth across the spine of the book before opening it back up. 

You flip over the pages and keep skimming through. You study the coloured drawings, and handwritten notes in the margins, which seem to be from the author herself. Some pages are dog-eared, others have tan stains on them, all signs of a well-loved book. 

Well-loved books are something you know well. You grew up around them. From the textbooks that your mother would bring home from her university to the used books that your dad received in shipments from his bookshop, your childhood was riddled with them. 

(You miss your parents. You miss hearing your mom talk about the shitty paper one of her students wrote. You miss your dad recommending you a book that he received. You miss the quiet days when you worked at the bookshop before you moved away for university. God, why did you have to move away to go to university.)

You wonder what your parents are doing right now. Do they even know that you’re missing yet? Would Charlie have to call and tell them? It’s been two days since you got stuck here. You think of them answering the phone, getting told that you haven’t been seen in a couple of days. You think of ‘missing person’ posters with your picture and search parties for a person that can’t be found. 

You flip a page, and when you look down to study the passage, you freeze. Spirit Berries, round and blood-red, appear in detail on the page below you. There’s nothing you can do but be pulled back into the memories. You think of how close you were the getting trapped here, how the juice from one dropped just an inch away from your mouth, you feel nauseous. What would you do if it had worked? 

Thoughts of the berries lead to thoughts of Gilbert. You had always been wary of him but now you’re scared. Seeing someone kill four people will do that, so you don’t think you’re being dramatic. 

(A part of you reminds yourself that if he hadn’t killed those Fae, that you would be stuck here. It’s no understatement to say he saved your life, and that is a hard fact to reconcile.

When you grow up with books, you come to know the common themes. In the fairytales you love, there are good guys and bad guys. The bad guys conquer the land, and act selfishly, and kill people, and it’s the good guys who save people and protect their families. What you now have to recognize is that Gilbert does both. He may be a monster, a demon to everyone he’s gone up against. He’s violent and selfish and dangerous, but from the way Ludwig turned out, he must not have been that bad.)

The thing is, you’re just scared. You’re trapped in a world, far from your own, and your grasping at any straws of similarity so that you can feel in control. You’re searching for a glimpse of a reflection of the fairytales that your grandmother read to you so you can know what to expect, and you can’t do that. 

This isn’t a story, it isn’t a dream, and you can’t sort the people here into neat little boxes on either side of morality to make it all easier to understand. You can only study what you know, what you see. You pretty much know what type of person Gilbert is. He is arrogant and selfish, and the thing about arrogant and selfish people is that you can always count on them to do things for themselves. That makes them predictable. So if Gilbert needs you for whatever he’s planning next, it’s in his best interest to keep you alive (which judging from last night, he’s perfectly capable of doing). 

Again you have that gut feeling, the same as the day before, that despite how predictable Gilbert may seem, you know he isn’t trustworthy. Even if you don’t know, you can feel that there are parts of his plan that he isn’t telling you. 

Don’t let it in with 

no intention to keep it

Jesus Christ, don’t be kind to it

Author’s Notes

Ludwig has a total of three dogs, whose names are; Blackie, Berlitz, and Aster. These are the most common names for his dogs in the fandom, which is why I chose them. I tried not to name the breeds of actual breeds of dogs, because, in my head, the Unseen World wouldn’t have breeds of dogs from the human world, but it’s hard to describe what dogs look like without it!

For anyone who's especially curious about my world-building, the standing circles, the area of flat stones that Gilbert and Arthur have their little stand-off, are a type of magical location/ritual site. They appear all over the Wandering Woods and other areas of the Unseen World (and some remain in the human world). They are a space where anyone might practice magic for a time-consuming ritual if they are far from their home, use it as an extra-dimensional meeting spot free from prying eyes, or even as a teleportation pad to another circle standing stones. It’s a very handy, and culturally important part of their world. 

Wild Magic (and all its different incarnations) will also be mentioned in the story more. 

This chapter was going to be so long so I had to cut it short, because I think 8000 words would have been too ridiculous. Because of all that rearranging, chapters 6 and 7 might be a bit shorter (only 4000 each).

Hope everyone has a good day! If you have any questions, feel free to comment! I love replying to them. 

Also, please reblog my stuff!!!!

Quotes (in order)

Mind Over Matter by Young the Giant

Sedated by Hozier

Dear Wormwood by The Oh Hellos

Macbeth (Act 1, Scene 4) by Shakespeare

It’s later into the afternoon, and you’ve finished reading most of your book. Ludwig has gone outside again to do something.

Soon, the dogs start barking and you hear footsteps come up the porch. The door opens and Gilbert walks in. He’s wearing the same clothes he wore yesterday. His leather boots make the floorboards creak under him. He looks to you, then around the cabin.

“Hello,” he says curtly.

“Where were you today?” You ask, softly placing your book on a table in front of you. He cards his fingers (which you notice are stained black from magic again) through his hair.

“Oh, you know, just having a chat with Arthur.” You look at Gilbert and wonder if you heard right. He’s standing in front of the window, leaning against the counter, like he isn’t talking about his casual meet-up with his sworn enemy.

“You talked with the man who locked you away?”

“Well, I tried to tell him to fuck off, but I don’t think I was convincing enough,” Gilbert shrugs.

With long strides, he walks over to an empty chair a bit away from you. He sits down and throws his feet up on the table, right on top of your book. You roll your eyes, lift a foot and kick them off. Gilbert laughs as you reach forward and grab it, resting your book safely in your lap.

“Has this been what you’ve done all day?”

You stop dusting the dirt from his boots off the cover to glare at him. “What else is there to do?It's not like I have a nemesis to taunt in the Unseen World.”

“Are you implying that you have a nemesis in the human world?”

“That’s none of your business,” you say, opening your book to try and ignore him.

It’s silent for a bit, and you can almost lose yourself in the pages below you, but Gilbert doesn’t seem content with that.

“How’s your head?” He asks softly, bringing up the one thing you don’t want to talk about, but you’re a human, so you lie and hope that’s the end of it.

“It’s fine. I can hardly feel it.” To try and sell it, you don’t look up from your book. Gilbert shifts in his chair and you can feel his heat as he leans over you. His fingers nudge the back of your head, and you wince.  When you look at Gilbert, he’s glaring at you.

“You are a shit liar, Maus.”

“I’m fine, don’t worry about it.”

“We have to talk about it.”

“No, we don’t.” You say. Gilbert opens his mouth to say something and you stop him. “I don’t want to do this right now.”

You feel silly, you’re fine, but emotionally you’re so overwhelmed. Everything that’s happened in the two days you’ve been here is tucked neatly away in a box at the back of your mind. You don’t think you have enough energy to pry it open and you really don’t want Gilbert to see you burst into tears if he pushes. Thankfully, Gilbert doesn’t say anything else. He just stares, then rises from his seat.

“I’m going to get Ludwig. We have to talk about what’s next.”

You listen to the sound of his boots against the wood floors and the door that slams as he leaves.

I promise you I'll be better

I promise you I'll try

But like rubbing wine stains into rugs, it's my curse

To try and make it right, but by trying to make it worse.

The three of you gather around the table. The sun starts to sink in the sky. And the shadows of trees stretch over the ground outside. The dogs were sent outside, probably harassing the small creatures in the woods and leaving you three to talk in peace. A pot of something is warming over the wood stove.

Gilbert catches you and Ludwig up on his encounter with Arthur.

“Well, this certainly isn’t good.” Ludwig says, rubbing at his chin in thought.

“No shit,” you think. You’re still reeling from the fact that this ‘Arthur’ person sent those men to kill you, just for busting Gilbert out.

“Stop chewing your nails,” Gilbert whispers, nudging you out of your nervous thoughts. You look down at your hands. You hadn’t even noticed you were doing it, but your fingernails were short and torn at the edges from your teeth. If you chewed them any shorter, they might’ve bled. You rub your hands along the tops of your thighs.

“Thanks,” you whisper back to him.

Ludwig carries on, not noticing the exchange, or just not mentioning it. “But this does confirm that the imprisonment spell is still intact and that you’re still tied to it in some way if Arthur thought he could just send you back with a quick spell,” he says.

“Which means they’ll probably try to throw you back in,” you say to Gilbert. Beside you, he nods.

You think back to that place. The dark, blue-tinged light. The looming, crowded bookcases  made it hard to breathe. No windows, no exits, nothing. Thinking of it makes you shiver. How clever and cruel.

“By how easy it was to dispel, I think it's going to take all three of them to get me back in,”

Ludwig nods. “Like before.”

You look at them. “So all three of your sworn enemies are coming here, to slam you back in prison? No offence, Gilbert, but why do they need to go through the trouble?”

“What can I say?” He chuckles. “I’m very popular.”

Both you and Ludwig roll your eyes.

“I’m being serious, asshole.” You say.

“Ok, fine.” Gilbert straightens up. “You remember what I told you about my court when we first met, right?”

“Ya, that you founded it and expanded your territory.”

“Well, Beilschmidt house spread to rule over all of the Wandering Wood,” he says as he gestures to the map on the wall at the back of the cabin. “That’s where we are now.”

Gilbert continues. “The Wandering Wood never used to be ruled by a house. Villages were too spread out, the forest was too hard to traverse on foot, and the wild magic made the forest and its creatures dangerous. It’s not worth it when neighbouring courts can just come by boat up through the rivers and take things, and not have to worry about bargaining with the low-born fae.”

“And your house would have stopped that.”

“Exactly, if we had succeeded, The Wandering Wood would be the largest fae court on the continent.”

“Well, shit…” you say. No wonder it was so important.

“If they’re trying to throw you back into that prison, is there a way to destroy it?”  Ludwig asks.

“The prison itself didn’t take physical form, I was just transported into the extra-dimensional space the spell made, so I couldn’t destroy it in any way that mattered” Gilbert mutters, growing frustrated.

You think back to the Library, and remember those glowing red, green and blue runes that burned on the wall. An idea comes to mind.

“Okay, I don’t know much about magic, but…” you speak up. “If you can’t destroy it physically, could you destroy the spellwork, like make it come undone?”

Gilbert raises his head and looks to Ludwig, then you.

“Oh mouse,” he says as he smirks. “I always said you were clever.” He ruffles the top of your head and you bat his hand away. He turns to his brother and asks, “A long time ago, I told you to do something for me if anything like this ever happened,” he asks him.

Ludwig looks confused for a moment. “Yes, I remember.” You watch the exchange.

“Remember what?”

“Way back, before I’d officially founded our house, I told Ludwig that if anything happened to me, he had to take some items of mine and hide them away,” Gilbert explains. “They have magical properties and were attuned to my magic. I can’t destroy the library, but with those items, I could destroy the spell as Arthur, Lukas, and Vladimir try to cast it, like snipping yarn at someone tries to knit a sweater”

This makes sense to you. If the spell has a connection to the prison, it has a link to the magic that makes up the prison.

“Hold on,” you interrupt.  “What are the others?” You ask.

“There are three things in total. The first is a pair of gloves with protective charms on them, the second is my sword, Ausdauernd, and the third is my bird.”

“There’s a bird?” This is way too much to handle.

“I had a hunting hawk.”

“Okay,” you say. “That’s it? A pair of gloves, a sword and a bird? That’s not so bad.”

Returning home might not take too long, you think. You look at Ludwig and see he doesn’t look so convinced.

“There is a problem,” Ludwig says quietly. “I was able to hide the gloves, but you might not be able to get the others.”

“I don’t know where your hawk is, but I do know who has your sword. Vladimir grabbed it as a souvenir.”

“What?” You say. Gilbert has leaned back in his chair, pinching his brow.

“There isn’t any other way to do this,” Gilbert says. “We can leave tomorrow morning for the others and cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“We? I have to stay for this?”

“That was the deal.”

“That was not the deal! You said that we would find your brother so you could figure out how to send me back.”

“I said that if you helped free me, I would send you back, and I’m not entirely free yet. If you help me get all my stuff, and I can defeat my enemies, I’ll send you back.”

“So this is a revenge quest?” You say cooly.

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve hunted down a monster who's wronged me.”

“You don’t kill a monster without becoming one.”

“Do you think of me as a monster?” Gilbert bites. You don’t answer. You only rise from the table, shaking the image of spirit berries and scattered bodies from your mind, and walk out the door.

Oh lead me to the truth and I,

Will follow you with my whole life.

As the door slams behind you, Gilbert is quiet. His brother sits across from him, his head turned to watch you leave.

“This isn’t good,” he says. “She shouldn’t have to do this.”

“I don’t like this any more than you do, but it’s not like we have a choice.”

“It will be dangerous for the both of you.”

“And I don’t have anything of mine to help,” Gilbert reminds him. Ludwig pauses for a minute, then gets up. He walks over to the back of the cabin and opens a chest.

“I was able to salvage one thing of yours in the chaos,” Ludwig says from across the room. He walks back over and hands Gilbert a dagger. It’s a sophisticated steel blade with a black and red grip. Its sheath is made of black leather, with swirling impressions and a red oval at the centre. It’s not just any only knife, it was Gilbert’s. The dagger was given to him by their grandfather.

Gilbert looks at his brother. “You still have this old thing?”

“I’d figure you’d come back to get it soon enough.”

“It won’t be much use in a battle.”

“That’s why I’m also giving you this,” Ludwig says. He hands Gilbert a sword, wrapped in cloth with only its hilt showing. Gilbert immediately recognizes it as Ludwig’s own sword. It’s a simple steel blade with a bronze cross-guard and pommel. It was passed on from their grandfather to Ludwig.  Despite being many years old, it looks like it did when it was first made. The black grip of the handle is shiny and smooth, and the blade is so well polished that it could be used as a mirror. While the sword has no magical properties aside from a basic sharpening charm, Gilbert knows that this is his brother’s most prized possession, the last thing he has of their grandfather.

“You’re giving me this?”

“I’m letting you borrow it,” he says firmly. “I want it back after all this is over.”

Gilbert sits in the chair. Tracing the edges of its handle, before sliding it back into its leather sheath.

“And take care of her,” Ludwig says. “Try not to be such a selfish asshole.”

“I will.”

For the years have been long

And you have taught me well

to sit and wait

In every story, there’s the point of no return, where the hero stands at the edge of the rest of the plot. Behind them is their normal life, and past the threshold is something different.

This is not that.

You are well past the point of no return. There is no path behind you that can return you to your life. In fact, the choice to even step into this was taken away from you. This is it. You can only go forward from this point.

If you stay here and don’t help Gilbert you’re just stuck. Arthur will most likely come after you again. You could go off on your own, try and figure out a way to survive this world and leave Gilbert behind, but you know it would be a mistake. The only way you can go back to normal is to follow Gilbert.

You think about what is coming next, and all the risks that come with the decision, while you sit on the deck of Ludwig’s cabin.

(You do this a lot. Thinking, that is. You’re studying Philosophy, so it's all you do, but you’ve had days to stop and think. Your time is up. Now, you have to walk forward, this time, by your own choice.)

Outside, the sun is peeking out over the trees, leaving the porch only half-lit. You take a deep breath. The air is fresh and crisp. You are sitting on the ledge of the deck, your legs swinging softly as you look out into the woods at the edge of the clearing.

Behind you, the door opens and you’re half expecting Gilbert to walk out, but it’s not him. Ludwig walks over, Aster trotting behind him, and takes a seat beside you. He hands you a mug. It's warm in your palms and the steam tickles under your chin.

“Thank you, Ludwig. This smells great.” And it does. It’s some type of cider. Apple, maybe? Do they even have apples here? You don’t know, but it looks delicious.

You look back up at him. He’s sitting beside you, looking attentively. You can’t help but wonder how Gilbert could have raised such a decent guy.

“Your world is very different from ours, correct?” Ludwig says, his voice low and soft.

You nod. “Very, but there are some things that are similar. The grass is green, the sky is an identical shade of blue-” You try to find the right worlds. “But it feels different.It’s like there’s something in the back of my mind that knows something’s off. Sometimes it’s barely noticeable, and I feel more like I’m exploring this world than trapped. Other times, the ‘otherness’ is all I can feel.”

“I’m sorry it feels like that,” he says. It's sincere. He’s not smirking, or teasing you. He really means what he says.

You ask him, “Why are you so nice?” He chuckles.

“I don’t know, most people think I’m scary, actually.” You can kind of understand that. He doesn’t seem like someone who opens up easily to others. Ludwig goes on to say, “I don’t know. I just feel that after all this is over, we’ll see each other again.”

“Well, that’s unlikely. After this, I’m going home.” You say, but instantly regret it with the way Ludwig stares off into the distance. “But if I can see your dogs again, you might be able to lure me back.” You say, reaching down you scratch behind Aster’s ears. Ludwig turns to you and gives a small smile, which you mirror.

Planning without acting

Steadily becoming what I hate

Before long, Ludwig finishes his drink before you and goes inside. You sit on the porch, the empty mug growing cold in your hands, and even though the chill is seeping into your cheeks, you’re not ready to go in yet.

“I thought you humans could get sick if you’re left out in the cold.”

You look behind you again, and Gilbert is leaning against the cabin. “I’m sure I’ll be fine,” you say. “How long have you been behind me? Aren’t you cold?”

He scoffs. “Please, this is nothing.” He pushes himself off the wall and saunters over, flopping down on the other side of you.

You look at him suspiciously. “What do you want?”

“I want a lot of things, Schatz, but right now I want you to stop avoiding me.”

You take your eyes off him and stare straight ahead into the forest. You’ve been dreading this conversation.

“I know you’re thinking of what I did back at the village. About those men I killed for you” Gilbert says, his eyes focused elsewhere. Your stomach tightens and you swallow the lump that’s formed in your throat. Those men I killed for you.

“I don’t feel sympathy for them,” you say through the thickness that coats your throat. “They were going to trap me here. If you hadn’t killed them, I’d be stuck here but…”

“But you aren’t used to violence,”  he says. Gilbert shifts in his spot, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees. “I am used to it.” He admits. You watch as the last rays of daylight catch on the hair that brushes his forehead.

“I grew up with it.” He says. “This forest is unpredictable. I learned to fight so that I could survive here. When I was young, I hunted monsters, and when I got older I hunted down the enemies of my home. I was infamous.” He says, looking into the darkening forest ahead.

“There wasn’t a part of my life when someone wasn’t trying to kill me. I’m used to it. You haven’t lived the life that I have. I expected you to be distraught,” he turns to look at you. “But I won’t apologize.” His face is hard-set and he’s looking at you like he’s staring into your soul. “I wasn’t going to let them take you. I need you.”

You pause in your thoughts, thinking about what he said.

“What do you mean?”

“You gave me the power to get out of the prison and right now, you’re the only reason Arthur can’t snap me back in.” He says. “You’re my curse breaker.”

“That’s why Arthur wanted me killed.”

“Oh little one, he still wants to kill you,” he smirks. You feel yourself blanching and he laughs.

“I’m teasing! I’m not gonna let that happen.”

“That’s really not much of a comfort.” You huff. You slump forward and Aster, who’s stayed out with you this whole time, licks at your hands.

“You really like dogs, don’t you?”

“Well, ya. you'reI have one.” Gilbert looks confused.

“You never told me that.”

“You never asked,” you shoot back.

“Huh,” he says. “What’s their name?”

“Hypatia.”

“Fancy name for a dog.” Gilbert remarks.

“She’s named after Hypatia of Alexandria, a human philosopher and astronomer,” you say. “What about you? You have a hawk that we have to find. What’s its name?”

“His name was Gilbird.” He says, completely straight faced. You look at him, eyebrows raised and expecting him to laugh and tell you he’s kidding. He doesn’t.

“You had a pet hawk, and you named it something as stupid as ‘Gil-bird’?” you ask.

“Hey!” Gilbert says. “I thought it was a good idea at the time! And what would you have called him?”

“I wouldn’t have named him after myself!”

“Oh, for Ancients’ sake! Never mind what I called my bird!” Gilbert groans. You roll your eyes. The humour in you fades away soon after and you're back to mindlessly staring at the dark woods in front of you.

“I’m being serious, you know.”

You look at him with your eyebrows raised. “About what?”

“About not letting anything happen to you.”

“I’m having a hard time believing you. Last time you said that I was nearly killed,” you admit. The bruise at the back of your head flares up. “What I mean is… well, you can’t promise me that.”

“Yes, I can. I’m not gonna let anything happen to you,” Gilbert says as he leans off to the side. He pulls out something and hands it to you.

It’s a dagger. The steel blade is only eight inches and you guess that it’s meant more for high class combat than utilitarian use from the craftsmanship. You look at Gilbert for an explanation.

“This is for you,” he says stiffly. Now you are more confused. “You’re scared that something might happen that I can’t stop, and you’re right. So know that if anything happens and I can’t get to you in time, you’ll have something to help yourself.”

You look at Gilbert as he offers the dagger to you. It shines in the dim light that’s settled over the two of you, floating in the space between.

“It’s impossible for me to lie,” he says. “So you have to understand that when a fae makes a promise, we keep it. I promise you that nothing is going to happen to you on my watch, but in return, you need to promise me that you’ll try to trust me,”

Unlike fae, humans can lie. They do it all the time. You are no exception, but when you say, “I trust you,” you think that you might start to mean it.

Babe, there’s something broken about this,

I might be hoping about this

Author’s Notes

Here we go! Finally the plot is actually starting and our main characters’ goals have aligned! This was a really cool chapter to write. I hope everyones having fun this summer! Where I am, its so ridiculously hot.

Stay cool, drink water, and have a great day,

Scribe

Quotes (in order)

Quote from https://promptuarium.wordpress.com/2018/04/29/little-wolf/

Farewell Wanderlust by The Amazing Devil

White Blank Page by Mumford and Sons

Dear Wormwood by The Oh Hellos

Dear Wormwood by The Oh Hellos

If you had those diaries, you could cut your losses and leave Gilbert behind. Now, that didn’t seem to be possible, and despite your gut feeling, you might be safer with someone from the Unseen World than trying to fend for yourself.

You turn to walk out of the room to go find Gilbert. The castle must have been beautiful in its prime. The halls are grand and the now destroyed furniture looks to have been expensive. There are discoloured squares in the walls, most likely left behind by portraits. The doors that you pass by are riddled with scorch marks, some even appearing to have been smashed in.

One of the rooms you come across is what was left of a library. It’s large and filled with the old skeletons of empty bookshelves. You step inside. The quiet is eerie in a way that a library shouldn’t be. Oppressive air weighs down on you. There are no books anywhere in the room, just sunlight from a floor-to-ceiling window catching every dust particle in the room. Further, into the room, you see a pile of black soot.

You toe further in, looking at the ash marring the pristine floors. Bits of paper are still left in the pile, but nothing complete or readable. You lean down, and touch the ashes, rubbing them between. You don’t know why you feel so sad about the books, but it feels so unfair, to destroy simple words, ideas. What a waste, you think. I wish someone could have read you.

You notice one bit of paper has survived its assault. A corner of its page is untouched, and on it is a fancy design of some kind. You rise onto your feet again, bringing the scrap with you to inspect. It’s a crest. One of a black eagle, both wings spread with pride, and a cursive “B” in gold ink layered over the center of the great bird.

Beilshmidt. You remember the name from last night in Gilbert’s prison.

“There you are!”

“Jesus Christ!” You jump 10 feet off the ground, whipping around to face Gilbert, with that stupid smirk on his face.

“I have no clue who this ‘Jesus’ person is, but they are not here.”

You roll your eyes. “Where were you this morning?” you ask, letting the scrap of paper fall to the floor behind you.

“Same as you,” he says simply. “Looking around.”

You want to ask him about this place. This must be his old home. It’s why he looked so strange when he saw it last night. You wonder what it would have been like when Gilbert and his court had lived here, but it feels awkward to bring it up. It isn’t your place to go digging into Gilbert’s old life.

“This place is big,” you say. It feels awkward, standing there with Gilbert staring at you. “It’s a shame it’s so run down.”

“Maybe it will be restored to its greatness once more.”

“Maybe.” You study the man as he turns and walks out of the room, before glancing back at the Beilschmidt crest that lays, half-burned at your feet. You reach down and pick it back up, slipping it into the left breast pocket of your coat. Then you step out the door after the fae man.

The two of you walk into what must have once been the main foyer. You realize that this is the hole you came in the night before. The large chasm looks to have been smashed down like some of the others. Charred stone lines the edges of it. Rubble litters the room. Pieces of broken fixtures and furniture lay broken along the walls.

“We need to get moving,” Gilbert says, and you follow him out of the opening. You stumble over the rubble, cursing as you catch yourself.

“What? Where are we going?”

It’s mid-day now. The sun is high in the sky, and the wind is blowing orange and brown leaves down from their trees.

“We’re going to find my brother! Keep up!”

“Your brother?” you ask. “Where’s he?” You have to skip every couple of steps to keep up with his long strides.

“I haven’t the slightest clue,” Gilbert says, grinning at you. The incredulous look that crosses your face should have been captured and preserved in a museum. Is this guy fucking serious right now?

“Wha-? Are you-? Okay, slow down!” You grab Gilbert’s arm, pulling the tall man to a stop and spinning him to face you.

“If you don’t know where your brother is, why are you marching into the forest without any directions?”

“Well, I’m sure I’d find him eventually,” Gilbert explains.

You squint your eyes shut and bite back a groan at that response. Taking a deep breath, you ask him, “Are there any towns nearby?”

Gilbert looks at you quizzically. “...Yes. Why?”

“Well, this was your old castle, right?”

“How’d you-”

“Lucky guess,” you offer and then continue. “That means that your brother-”

“Ludwig.” Gilbert offers, still looking shocked.

“Yes, Ludwig, he might have stayed in the area.”

Gilbert thought about it for a second. “Well he wouldn’t live in a town, he always hated people.”

“But…” You raise your eyebrows, hoping he catches on. Gilbert does and smiles at you.

“But he would visit a town for supplies every once and a while. Aren’t you a clever little human,” Gilbert says as he tries to ruffle the top of your head. You bat his hand away.

With that, you and Gilbert head off away from the lake.

There are still cobwebs in the corners

And the backyard's full of bones

Won't you stay with me, my darling

When this house don't feel like home?

The walk is beautiful, albeit a bit cold, but the forest is something different. Its rusted leaves shade the ground below and it’s quiet. It allows you to think.

Images of the castle keep appearing in your mind. The burned walls. The crumbling stone and the great cracks in the stone floors. It was clearly the site of a large fight. You wonder if the castle was raided after Gilbert was locked away.

It’s odd to think about the castle, to see a piece of this world’s history, without knowing the characters or even the whole story. What Gilbert said to you inside the library, rose to the front of your mind.

“I was the leader, the patriarch of the Beilshmidt house. I led an army of other allied houses and expanded our territory. By the time I was done, I ruled the most powerful house in the Unseen world. I was unstoppable,” Gilbert had said.

“But it didn’t last. Your enemies locked you away.”

“What can I say?” Gilbert kicked his feet up onto the armrest of the couch, stretching across it with his arms behind his head. “I made a lot of enemies. How was I supposed to know that those three assholes would band together and build me this hellhole?”

(You have no idea who “those three assholes” Gilbert referred to were. Maybe some scorned lovers? You snicker at the thought. Gilbert does seem like the type.)

The conflicts of this world are something foreign to you, no doubt, but everything here feels odd. It’s like you’re driving through a small town during a road trip and it feels simultaneously familiar and strange as it passes by your window.

The trees are a familiar kind. The grass is just as green as it is in your favourite park, the air just as crisp, but something still feels...off. It’s a feeling in your bones. A thrumming that’s not all ominous, but not all that comforting either.

Even Gilbert, who looks human despite his odd colourings and pointed ears, has an unnatural air around him. You watch him from the corner of your eye. He’s just a couple of paces ahead of you. His dark blue, linen shirt moves with him as he walks. His legs clad in dark, slim-fit pants. His hair glows almost white against the dark backdrop of the forest. His pale skin, smooth over the ridged lines of his face, makes you think of any misunderstood bad-boy from a YA novel.

As you watch him, you can’t help but think about that moment in the library, as Gilbert cracked it open with his magic. The way he was then was terrifying, with his eyes glowing like red-hot iron and his laugh. It was loud and hoarse. He looked ferocious at that moment, like a predator who’d discovered their cage was left unlocked.

No matter how much he reminds you of any college frat guy or ruffian, You know that Gilbert is far more ruthless than he’s willing to show you, and that worries you.

By the time you emerge from your anxious thoughts, a couple of hours had passed. Gilbert has slowed down his pace (something your legs are very grateful for), and a little ways ahead, you notice a clearing with a farm. A stone cottage stands, with a chicken coup and what’s left of a garden at the back. There’s a small barn and in a pasture, some cows and ponies graze.

“Wait, what are we doing here?” you ask as you come up to the lichen-covered wooden fence at the back of the property.

“Getting you-” Gilbert hoists himself over it, ”-a new outfit.” You climb over after him with far less grace.

“What’s wrong with the outfit I have on now?” you say, brushing the grim from your pants.

“Nothing. I’m sure it's perfectly fine for your human world. But-”

“Hey!”

“But you’ll stick out like a sore thumb here! And I’d like to draw the least amount of attention to you as possible.”

You look at the house. There’s a line of laundry trying to dry in the autumn sun, and from the chimney, a stream of grey smoke rises. Maybe he knows the people that live here?

“And the people who live here are going to lend me some clothes?”

“Not exactly.”  A tight smile stretches on his lips.

Your head whips around to him and you glare. “No.”

“It’s not a big deal!”

“It’s theft!”

“They won’t even notice it’s gone!”

“Gilbert!” you look at him pointedly. “You’re not going to steal me a dress.”

***

A heap of clothes is thrown onto your lap, as you sit in the grass with a scowl on your face.

“This is wrong.”

“It’s either you put on the dress or I have to fight off every Fae that tries to spirit you away.” You look at Gilbert in horror, but he’s already turned to give you privacy.

The clothes are thick. There’s a linen under-dress that reaches your calves, which feels stiff as you pull it over yourself. Over that is a thick skirt the colour of stones. The final layer is the dress itself, with a long skirt and sleeves, woven from a muted blue wool with a lace-up front. You stand up and brush the dirt from your layers of fabric. When Gilbert turns back around, you notice he’s carrying something else.

“See, that’s much better! And I got us breakfast!” Gilbert says as he reaches into the bag with a grin.

He pulls out a donut, sparkling with sugar. “Come on, we can eat them on the way!” You rush after him, shocked.

“You stole food too?”

“Ancients! Of all the humans to get stuck with, I had to get one with morals!” Gilbert groans out. You close your eyes and sigh.

***

“Darling?” A blond man calls from the back door of a small cottage.

“Yes, dear?” His mate answers from upstairs.

“Did you take in some of the laundry from outside?”  Felix asks as he looks out to the empty laundry line. “Because one of my dresses is gone!”

“Of course not,” Toris replies, jumping down the stairs. The man stops and looks at an open window in the kitchen. “Did you eat those donuts already?”

‘What of course not, they’re-” Felix looks to the empty window sill. “No! I just made those!”

An awful noise filled the air

I heard a scream in the woods somewhere

The village that you’ve stumbled upon is small. The houses are made of wood. The roads are just simple dirt paths. You don’t walk through them but skirt around the border. Even with your new dress, Gilbert seems unwilling to risk you encountering another fae in the village. Instead, the two of you stop at an old, half-toppled stone wall, probably from an old cabin. It provides a good hiding spot.

“Come on! Have a bite! You know you want to!” Gilbert says, waving the donut in front of your nose.

“You didn’t have to steal these, you know? We could have found something out here,” you say as you look around. “Like these!”

You see a bush of berries a few feet away. The vines are brown and dry from the autumn chill but the branches hold beautiful, dark red berries. You reach and roll one of them between your fingers. It looked like a cross between a blueberry and pomegranate seed, round with a firm, transparent red flesh and a seed in the center.

Gilbert hears you pluck it from its vine and turns to look.

“No!” he yells. The albino lunges for you, grabbing your wrist harshly and forcing you to drop it.

“You can’t eat that!” he says, yanking you away from the bush.

“Why not?”

“Those are spirit berries. If you eat them, you will be stuck here!”

Ice rushes through your veins as you look back towards the innocent-looking fruits. You remember stories about heroes being stuck in the underworld after eating its food. How stupid of you to forget that it would apply here as well.

“Maus, If anyone ever offers you those, you need to run,” Gilbert says. He looks into your eyes, still holding your arm and deathly serious.

“...Okay. I understand.” Gilbert finally lets go of you, his hands ball together in fists before relaxing.

“I’m going into town. I’ll figure out where we are, and see if anyone knows where Ludwig is. Just…” Gilbert looks at you, “Try not to get into too much trouble.”

You level him with an expression that says “are you serious”.

“I mean it. I'll be back in less than an hour.” Those are his parting words and he turns and walks off. You tear your eyes away from the spirit berries. That was way too close. The idea of being stuck here, never seeing your family again, made your stomach churn.

He left behind the sack with the donuts in it, and you stare at it for a moment before your stomach growls and tells you to open it. You pull out the treat and feel the sugar stick to your fingers. It’s still slightly warm. Gilbert probably nabbed them from a window sill where they were cooling. You hold the dessert in your hands, studying it. You feel kind of guilty, but squash it down. When you bite into it, a sweet custard fills the inside of your mouth.

It’s so good, you think as you lean against the cool, stone wall. As you eat, you let your mind wander again.

***

A couple of months ago, at the beginning of your fifth semester, you and Charlie had decided to make some cupcakes as a mini house party. The two of you had just moved into your new apartment, the first one since moving out of the campus dorms, and Charlie had wanted to celebrate.

Everything was going fine, the cupcakes were in the oven, your dog Hypatia sat at your feet begging for a taste of the leftover batter when Charlie brought out a bottle of wine.

Soon enough, the two of you were three glasses into the bottle and sprawled on the couch, eating messily iced, slightly burnt, red velvet cupcakes, and complaining about how cheesy The Fast and Furious franchise was.

“What genre do you think our life would be,” Charlie asked you, mumbling through her tipsy haze.

“Hmm...what?” you ask, struggling to push yourself up from the couch and balance your wine glass in your hand.

“If someone was watching our lives, what genre do you think it would be?”

You think hard (well, as hard as you’re able), downing the last sip of wine.

“I don’t know... “ you slur out. “Maybe a comedy.”

“I hope mine will be an adventure,” Charlie says from the other end of the couch.

“An adventure?”

“Ya, with a lost treasure to find and a jungle to explore,” she says dreamily.

You giggle. “You wouldn’t last a minute in a jungle! You hate spiders.”

“Oh, shut up!” Charlie groans out, throwing a pillow at you and missing by a mile. The credits of your movie start rolling and your roommate snatches the remote. “Let’s watch Friday the Thirteenth now!”

“No!” you whine.

***

You finish the sweet, wiping the sugar off on the hem of your dress. You rub at the base of your nose, which has become itchy and swallow the cotton that’s caught in your throat. You wonder if you’ll be able to make it back home in time for the Halloween movie night Charlie had planned.  It hurts to think about. You’re homesick and as much as you hate to admit it, you’re scared. You are alone, with the woods around you, and you just came close to eating berries that would stop you from ever seeing your family again, and Gilbert has gone off to who knows where.

You hate that you feel so uneasy with his absence. You don’t trust him in the slightest, but you’re out of your element, and when the creature you’re forced to rely on in this strange world isn’t somewhere you can watch him, the careful control you’ve been holding onto to cope begins to slip away.

How many years

I know I'll bear

I found something in the woods somewhere

It’s been a while. The sun has started to set, and the ground where you’re sitting is growing damp. You hear footsteps sound off to your right. They’re a bit away through the trees and are coming closer. You sigh in relief. It’s about time. Let’s get the fuck out of here, these woods give me the heebey-geebeys.

You stand up and peak out from behind your hiding place to watch Gilbert arrive, but it’s not the white-haired man that’s coming through the trees. You watch this new stranger. While Gilbert could pass for human with little difficulty, this newcomer has very distinct features. He’s unnaturally tall and lanky with floppy brown hair and tree bark horns that curl around his ears.

(You found it interesting. Clearly, unseen folk didn’t all share the same traits as each other. In your world, ‘fae’ was often used to refer to many different supernatural creatures. You wonder if even here, ‘fae’ was more of a blanket term to refer to multiple subclasses of the Unseen people.)

You don’t think he’s noticed you yet. You press your back against your stone wall, taking in shallow breaths. Slowly, you push yourself from the way, and step to try and avoid this new player.

“Didn’t see you there.”

“Oh shit,” you gasp and turn to the brunette. He steps out in front of you.

“I’m Oakley,” he says.

“Nice to meet you, Oakley,” you say with an awkward smile.

‘Oakley’ looks at you with a slight smile and a raised eyebrow and asks, “Can I have yours?”

“No.” Your eyes narrow. It probably wasn’t the best idea to be so curt right now, but you’re on edge as it is.

“Well, all right,” the Unseen man mutters under his breath. Rustling through the trees, you can hear some more people coming, and this time you know it’s not Gilbert.

“Oak!” the voice of another man calls. “What ya got there?”

“Just a new friend. Found her right where he said she would be,” he replies.

You back up, taking a look at the newcomers. You notice that they also have distinctive features. One has tusks jutting out from his bottom lip. Another has red-coloured skin and horns poking out of his hair. One even has brown and green scales covering his forearms and perimeter of his face. Three others, all appear to be men, most taller than you. You weigh your odds.

“Well maybe we should introduce ourselves,” another one grins, and you begin to suspect that if your life was a movie, it just might be a horror film.

(There’s a reason you hate the horror genre. You can’t handle the stress. Watching the scene where the camp counsellor walks into the old shed where everyone knows the knife-wielding maniac is waiting is unbearable.

You know something bad is gonna happen, so you do what anyone does when they’re about to witness a disaster in the making. You bring your knees to your chest, screw your eyes shut, and smother your ears so you don’t hear the screams. No, no, no, You think. Don’t open that door! Turn around, back away…)

Run.

You sprint off, not caring where you’re headed. You hear what Gilbert had said to you on the way here. Twigs and branches whip you as you hop over roots and dodge trees.  You hear them chasing after, yelling “Cut her off! Cut her off!” and your chest tightens. Up ahead, coming fast is a pale figure.

Gilbert.

About time. You skid to a stop, grabbing onto his arm.

“I told you not to get into trouble!” he says.

“I didn’t mean to!”

His eyes reach your party of pursuers and he pieces it together. His gaze, now fiery red, hardens and he steps forward to meet them.

“Oh no! Absolutely not! Come on!” You yank him backwards and start pulling him behind you as you run.

“Why are we running? I can take them!” Gilbert yells, looking back at their pursuers.

“It’s one versus four, asshole. We’re taking the passive route!”

“One versus four?” Gilbert shouts, leaping over a tree root. “You’re here too!”

The two of you veer out of the brush and onto a dirt road. You’ve reached the edge of the village, with small cabins clumped along the path.

“Here! Go left!” Gilbert says.

You turn and run through an alley between two shops, then turn sharply at another corner. You pull Gilbert with you behind two large crates and duck into the shadows. You're behind a stable with horses. You can hear the animals whiney and huff through the thin, plank walls of the barn. The dim, back alley you’re in reeks. Gilbert is about to complain about the stench, but you clamp your hand over his mouth. He looks at you indignantly and you ignore it.

You listen to your breathing, the two of you crowded together and you hear the shouts of the fae men coming closer. Suspense’s cold hand curls around your throat. Footsteps pound into the dirt, and the men chasing after you run past you and Gilbert’s hiding spot. You listen to them disappear around a corner and you breathe a sigh of relief.

“Why the fuck were they chasing us?” you whisper.

“Maybe they figured out that you were human?” Gilbert guesses, but you're still confused.

“Did you tell them I was there?”

“No.”

“Well, one of them said that someone told them where I was so…”

This time, Gilbert lifts his hand and clamps it over your mouth. You can hear it suddenly, the slow footsteps. Someone has circled back to search the back alley again. The dirt crunches under the tread of someone’s foot, just on the other side of your hiding spot. You hold your breath.

Suddenly, a hand grabs you and yanks you out of Gilbert's grasp and over the crates. You shriek as you're thrown to the ground, one of the fae pinning you down into the dirt. Gilbert’s scrambled out as well, standing to face the three others that have surrounded him

“Let the human go,” Gilbert says coldly.

The leader grinned.“I don’t think we will.”

You thrash against the hold of the hand pushing you down and let out a harsh kick. Your boot connects with your assailant's chest, launching him off of you, and you waste no time crawling back.

“You little bitch!” they growl out.

As you move to try and get away, you see the face in front of you reach into a bag at his belt and pull out a handful of something. Red juice leaks through his fingers. In his palm sits a mound of spirit berries.

Across the alley, Gilbert is preoccupied. The men in front of him, reach to their sides and draw out knives. The one that you first met, Oakley, lashes out first, seeking to slash across Gilbert’s face. Gilbert steps back and catches his arm. With a sharp twist and shove, Gilbert bends his arm backwards with a crack. Then he plucks the knife from his grip and drives it into his chest.

(You’ve never heard a man scream in real pain before, but after this, you doubt you’ll ever forget it.)

The unseen man freezes against him, then falls to the ground. Gilbert moves onto the next one. He blocks a strike to his throat, then connects his fist to his new opponent’s jaw, sending them stumbling backwards.

Gilbert looks demonic. In the back alley, the sun has left, leaving nothing but the dim light of dusk. His hair and skin glow pale, the whites of his eyes have turned black with glowing red dots in the center. The creature he was in the Library has shown himself.

As you’re distracted, your assailant launches forward, trying to grab you again with the berries clutched in his hand. You shriek and scramble up, kicking him in the leg, causing him to fall over. When you’re about to turn and run, the fae springs back up again. He grabs you by the waist and slams your body into the dirt. It knocks the wind out of you and you gasp before you can catch yourself.

His hand grabs your jaw, squeezing to keep it open as those red berries come into view. You thrash and scream. The juice drips onto your face, an inch from your lips. You manage to screw them shut against him. No, no, no, you think and you try to turn your face away. You thrash harder. You try to kick out, but this time nothing works. Please don’t. I have to get back! I need to get back, you cry.

The man picks you up by your hair and slams the back up your head into the dirt. You scream. He does it again and your vision flickers black for a second. The back of your head throbs and you scramble to stop him, nails scratching his arms.

Suddenly your attacker is pulled off you, and you crawl backward until your back hits the rough side of a wood crate.

You watch with horror as he and Gilbert trade blows. Behind Gilbert, the three other men that were chasing you lay still on the ground. Blood pools under them. They’re dead.

This is your fault, a voice whispers to you. You let him out. Look at what you’ve done.

You gasp for air and pull your knees to your chest. This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening! This is a nightmare. A horror movie that you’re stuck in. So you do what anyone does when they’re about to witness the monster appear on screen again. You don’t look. You screw your eyes shut, and smother your ears so you don’t hear the grunts and yells. You don’t look, because you chose this, and you chose wrong.

The sound of struggle stops and you look up and Gilbert is standing, his shadow cast down to reach your toes. The man who tried to shove berries in your mouth is hunched over, holding his stomach. Blood splashes down to the dirt from a stab wound. Your eyes travel up the fae’s form. Gilbert snarls down at him, eyes still black with red irises, and still holding onto the knife in his midsection.

The man slides off it, slamming against the wall of the building they’re behind, and slumping onto the ground. For a moment, his eyes flicker to you. Blood bubbles past his lips and drips down his chin. A croak escapes him, his chest shudders, and then complete stillness.

In your own throat, something bubbles up, and you have just enough time to turn over before you throw up, sputtering and gagging with tears in your eyes. You cough and wipe your mouth, spitting out the aftertaste.

Gilbert is crouched down in front of you now and offers you his hand. It’s stained inky-black from his magic.

You smack it away. “Don’t touch me!”

“Okay,” he says, quietly. “Okay, I won’t. I’m-”

“You didn’t tell me that other fae would try to trap me here.”

“I didn’t,” he says.

“I thought fae couldn’t lie,” you say, with apathy.

“I can’t lie, I omitted details. I-” Gilbert pauses when you look at him, squeezing his hands into fists before releasing them. “I didn’t want to scare you.”

You let your head fall back against the wood crate, looking up as the sky slowly turns to dark blue. “Well, you obviously didn’t do a good job.”

The body of the fae lies a few feet away. You can’t look at it or you might throw up again, but you can still see the image of his dead eyes, wide open, with blood dripping from his mouth and pooling under him.

Ain't it warming you, the world going up in flames?

Ain't it the life of you, you're lighting up the blaze?

Ain't it a waste to watch the throwing of the shade?

Author’s Notes

This chapter took a lot to get through because it’s so long. The word count for this chapter is just over 5200 words (or 15 pages on the writing program I use)!

Beilschmidt Castle was a really interesting setting that appears in this chapter. I hope to be able to explore it more as this fic goes on! I’m even planning on doing some concept designs of it and its interior. It was some history related to when it was built and who built it, that I’ve woven into it.

The reader really gets to study Gilbert in this chapter and slowly learns about the world around her. I also wanted to avoid the “all fae have pointy ears and that's it” trope. I think it would be fun to play with what all the Hetalia characters might look like in this AU.

Quotes (in order)

Curses by The Crane Wives

In the Woods Somewhere by Hozier

In The Woods Somewhere by Hozier (Yes again, I know)

     A lit fire, a library, a couch. Somebody has to be here.

     “H-hello?” you call out into the dark aisles of bookshelves. You muster up the courage and call out louder. “Hello? Is there anyone there?”

     The only answer is the echo that bounces back to you. Your heart picks up and your legs shake as you rise to your feet. Your eyes glance along with the shadows. Paranoia seeps through you. You can’t help but imagine creatures lurking just beyond the edge of the firelight. Your person tingles with the feeling of eyes on you.

     You step forward, creeping along the dark oak shelves. The books are old. They have dark blue, leather covers and silver detailing. They fill the shelves, as far as your eyes can see down the halls in the dark. The only light now is the blue that filters from a large skylight that spreads across the roof. Your hand trails along the spines of passing books until you pull one out of its place. Inside are familiar, cursive pen marks.

     Strange. You reach into your messenger bag, pulling out the library book you grabbed earlier and open it with your free hand. Studying them side by side, you realized that they were both filled with the same hand-writing. You drop one of the books onto the floor and yank out a different one. You look at the page in shock, then flip through the rest of the pages frantically.  Throughout the entire book, the same cursive fills the book. Hairs stand up on your neck.

Don't let it in with no intention to keep it,

Jesus Christ, don’t be kind to it, honey, don’t feed it

it will come back

       You’ve walked away from the fireplace, and are now wandering along the outside walls. The aisles are dark and cold. Your footsteps echo around you. There has to be a door, or a window, or anything here. But you can’t find it. All you see are rows upon rows of shelving and the occasional antique table. It’s hopeless. Your chest grows tight. You’re never gonna get out of here, you’re lost. Salty tears sting your eyes. You can’t do this, not now.

       You round the corner, hoping to see the front door, but are met with the orange glow of the fireplace, where you started.

       “No,” you cry out and you look back. The books are written by the same hand. This place has no doors or windows and you are the only soul here. You rack your brain to figure out what’s going on.

       This is a dream. A nightmare, and any second you’re going to wake up to Hypatia licking your face and Charlie singing to herself in the kitchen. You are going to wake up, and you’re going to finish that essay and have a movie night with your friends. All you can do is hope that you wake up soon.

       You look around to decide where you’ll go next, maybe back to the fireplace, but as you turn your head, you see a dark figure move out of sight.

       “Hello?” you call out. There’s no answer.

       You carefully step back, eyes not leaving the inky shadows of the bookshelf. You know you saw something, and if you’re right, it means they might know the way out.

       Pushing back the ice that settled in your veins, you step towards the shadows of the bookshelves. Walking down the aisle, you catch the figure slipping around a bookshelf again. You rush after the sound of their footsteps.

       “Wait! Stop!” you cry as you fail to catch up.

       You weave through the library after the shadow.  You hear their footsteps in the aisle beside you, but as you round the corner, they’re gone. You run faster. You try to cut them off or corner them in a dead-end but every attempt fails. As you skid around into another aisle, the footsteps stop. You turn your head, trying to hear where they’ve gone. Silence fills the air. Now all you can hear is your panting and your blood thumping in your head. You creep along the bookshelf, still listening carefully. The blue light from above washes over you and a chill settles on your skin. Your heart races in your chest as you peek over into another aisle, peering into nothing but the dark. You freeze in your spot before you feel a presence.

       The tap, tap, tap of boots, come from behind. Your eyes widen as you whirl around. A shriek springs from your lips.

       Before you is a pale figure that towers above you. You press your back against the hard ridges of a bookshelf. The man’s eyes are intense. Sharp and trained solely on you. They aren’t a colour that you can recognize in the dim, blue light of this place.

       “You should be more careful, Frau.” The man takes a step forward, the left of his lip lifting to reveal gleaming teeth. “You wouldn’t want to get turned around in here. You might never get out.”

       You swallow, trying to soothe your dry throat. “Who are you? Where did you come from?”

       “My name’s Gilbert,” he says easily. You look at him suspiciously, and a pause stretches between you two. “Can I have yours?”

       You hesitate to give him it. And this is why.

       (When you were a little girl, you were quite close to your grandmother. You still kind of are. You visit whenever you can, but between getting your degree and working to pay for it, you haven’t seen her much.

       When you think of this now, your heart aches. You miss her. You should have visited her more. Who knows if you’ll ever see her again, a cruel voice whispers in the back of your head.

       Your grandmother loves to read. She’s a brilliant woman. She’d read anything, but when she read to you, they would always be fairy tales. Classics like Sleeping Beauty, Hansell & Gretel, and Little Red Riding Hood. But she also read to you many others, and when you were little, stories about the Fae were what you wanted to hear. You loved to hear of the supernatural creatures who tricked humans and caused trouble and the clever protagonists that must outwit them.  

       Because of those stories, you learned one important life lesson, that names have power. You should never give that power away to anyone, especially a mysterious stranger in an odd library. )

       You give him your nickname, studying Gilbert as you tell him. He rolls it off his tongue and the way his mouth forms around it sends a shiver up your spine.

       “Well then,” he says, his smirk widening as he grabs your right hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” He bends down and raises your knuckles towards him, and presses his cool lips to them.  His pale skin is stark against yours and when you look into his eyes, dazed, you see that they are red.

       Snapping out of your stupor, you rip your hand from him. Gilbert cackles, raspy and hoarse like he hadn’t made that of sound in a while. Your eyes sting as you look at him, unable to stop thinking of those ruby eyes.  At that moment, your stranger takes on an uncanny likeness to a college frat-guy, toying with a nerd in a study-hall.

You know better, babe,

you know better, babe

Than to look at it,

look at it like that

       You walk back to the fireplace you fell out of. Your footsteps are rushed, quietly tapping down your path. Gilbert is following after you, but you are too unnerved to look back at him.

       “Do you know the way out of this place?” you ask him. You flinch at the shadows that you pass by, fearing something else will jump out at you.

       “There is no way out,” Gilbert answers, “This is a prison.” You whirl around. You are not in the mood for this asshole’s jokes, but when you see him, Gilbert looks very serious. You furrow your eyebrows.

       “No, this is a fucking library. There has to be a way out.”

       “There isn’t,” he grinds out.

       “Then how did I get here?” your lip pulls into a snarl.

       “Listen fraulein, I don’t know what brought you here, but I know that you're not just going to walk out of here.”

       “Well, I have to try. Shit! I have to think of somethi-”

       Gilbert cuts you off by gripping your forearm and yanking you away from your spot.  He drags you through the bookshelves and towards a grey, stone wall. He releases you, and you stumble to catch your balance.

       “What’s your problem?”

       The albino storms to the left and grabs the torch off the wall, and before you have the chance to jump back, Gilbert smashes it against the stone wall. Before your eyes, intricate symbols surrounded by circles overlapping each other glow. The designs blaze an angry, bright, green on the cold stone.

       “That’s magic.” Gilbert turns to you harshly. “This library is made of ancient sorcery, held together by that seal. Escape isn't going to be easy.”

Don’t look back,

my darling,

You’re not

Going that way.

       (In your first year of university, you took a class called Ethics and Morality 101.A couple of weeks in, the professor talked about morality and sacrifice.Let’s see if you can apply what you learned.)

       When you first met your roommate, Charlie, you were reminded of sunshine. You two were paired up randomly as roommates in your first years of college.

       Your parents had just left, after dropping you off. The goodbye was tearful and bittersweet. Soon after, she stumbled into your dorm room, large suitcases clambering in behind her and you knew in a small way that you would be best friends.

       As you're sitting in the library, staring at the fireplace, you think of Charlie. You don’t think solely of her, of course. You think of your mom, your dad, and your grandmother. You think of the last things you said to them before this. You don’t even know if you told your parents you loved them when you ended your call with them last night.

       “Are you ready to rejoin me? Or do you need more time for your mental breakdown?” Gilbert rips you from your thoughts and you send him a scathing glare as thanks.

       “Oh, I apologize. I wasn't aware we were on a deadline.” Gilbert cackles. It's loud and raspy at its tail end. Obnoxious, you think bitterly.

       “You humans. You’re so funny,” the man says, and you bristle at the way he says “humans”. Gilbert continues his study of you, and your brain is running a mile a minute.

       Something isn’t right. Your stomach churns with dread. Pieces of your conversations fit together. Him asking to “have” your name. The chase through the library. The books lining the shelves, all written by the same hand. And his eyes. Vivid, unnatural red. This man is no ordinary stranger.

       “What are you,” you breathe. Gilbert smiles. His teeth are pearly white and his jaw is tilted back in another raspy chuckle.

       “Well, you are a clever one. Observant.”

       “What are you,” you grit out once more. Gilbert stops his ramblings and looks at you. His red eyes spin and you need to bite your tongue to stop yourself from losing yourself in them. You realize, now horrified, that Gilbert's eyes aren't just red. They’re glowing. Actually shining.

       “Well, I’m certainly not human,” Gilbert says, the left side of his lip curling back into a cunning smirk.

       “Are you a demon? Am I dead?” Sure, you weren’t Mother Tereasa, but you don’t think you’ve done anything that deserved you being sent to hell!

       “I’m sure I’m a demon to some. But technically, no.”

       “Then what are you, a Fae?”

       “Something like that. That’s the closest you humans have to what I am. We’re known as Unseen Folk. My kind lives in the Unseen World,  that exists on the other side of the Great Veil.”

       Gilbert watched you take in that info, and you look around in hopes of avoiding those eyes of his. “Do you have magic?”

       “I have power. For some of my kind, their power translates into magic.”

       Your eyes skim the bookshelves around you and wander to the cold, grey, stone wall. You think of what Gilbert has said to you in the last few minutes. “And this prison... Someone made it for you, didn’t they?”

       Gilbert doesn’t say anything, but a smirk tugs at his lip when he turns his head away from you. “I’m sure you want to know what terrific thing I did to deserve it.”

       “Nobody gets locked away in a magical prison for a missed parking ticket,” you offer weakly. Gilbert nods before explaining.

       “We have houses in my world,” he starts. “They’re like courts, and they rule over their territory.”

       “And in… the Unseen world, you were part of a court?”

       “I was the leader, the patriarch of the Beilshmidt house. I led an army of other allied houses and expanded our territory.” He pauses, seeming to take a moment to think back to that time. “By the time I was done, I ruled the most powerful house in the Unseen world. I was unstoppable,” he remarks. A smirk spreads on his lips.

       When you look at him, you see pride glint in his eyes. How someone could look so proud of their conquest, of violence and war, you’ll never know.

       “But it didn’t last.” You remark cooly (as much as you can). “Your enemies locked you away.”

       “What can I say?” Gilbert kicks his feet up onto the armrest of the couch, stretching across it with his arms behind his head. “I made a lot of enemies. How was I supposed to know that those three assholes would band together and build me this hellhole?”

       You don’t say anything in response to that, but you can’t help but wonder who he’s talking about. Who would have been so threatened by Gilbert that they wouldn’t even risk a failed attempt to kill him? Could you even kill one of his kind? You think about this, and what he’s told you, before asking something else.

       “Do you know how I got here?”

       Gilbert pauses. “You probably fell in,” he starts. “I tried to send out a message to someone through a crack in the spellwork of this place. It's possible you stumbled upon a thin point in the Veil and got sucked in.”

       Your head swims with the new terminology. The Veil...is the border between his world and yours, you guess. But you think about his explanation.

       “That opening in the prison … could you use your powers to get us out of here that way?”

       “If it were that easy, I wouldn’t be here.” He rolls his eyes and you feel stupid for asking. “My powers are limited here, a part of the conditions of the spellwork, but-” Gilbert pauses. He seems to have realized something. His head turns to you and he grins. “- this place doesn't take into account you falling in here.” With all of Gilbert’s attention focused solely on you, you realize that maybe the center of Gilbert's attention isn’t somewhere anyone should be.

       (In Ethics and Morality 101, you talked a lot about sacrifice. You remember your professor talking about the trolly problem. In a hypothetical scenario, your class had to choose whether to send the trolley down the track with 10 people tied to it, or the one with only 1 tied to it. It was agreed that the moral answer would be to send the trolley down the track with fewer people because the many dying was worse than the few dying.

       Of course, the choice would get harder if you knew and cared for the person who the trolley was headed for. But it's surprisingly easy to choose which way to send the train when you are the person tied to the tracks. During class, your professor asked the class if they would sacrifice themselves to the trolley to save 10 lives on the other track, and unsurprisingly, most said yes.)

       You’re thinking of this now because you feel that the choice you have to make is your own trolley problem.

       Gilbert was a supernatural being and not a good one by his own volition. He was powerful and locked in here for a reason. Maybe it’s better for everyone that he’s trapped away, unable to hurt anyone. But keeping him here, means you're trapped with him, alone without any assurance of safety.

       “What do you want from me?”  

       “Nevermind what I want.” He looks at you, his red eyes are bright and they burn into you. “What do you want? If you help me get out of here, I’ll give you anything you want. I have money, power-”

       A dreadful feeling appears in your stomach. This isn't right, you think. You have no clue what this man will do when he gets out. Something doesn't feel right. But those thoughts are pushed away. You don't want to think about that, you just want-

       “Home,” you blurt out. Images of your small apartment with your bed and bookshelf. Memories of lazy days on the couch with your friends or running around the dog park with Hypatia fill your mind’s eye. You remember your parents, your mom and her laugh and home-made brownies.

       “I want you to send me back.” You’re finally able to meet his gaze.  You know what you want. Damn the consequences.

Help me to decide

Help me make the most of fear

And of pleasure

Nothing ever lasts forever

Author’s Notes

Here’s the second chapter. I’m fighting to get my chapters to an acceptable word count. I hate when a chapter is too short, it never feels as satisfying. A huge thanks to my friends Taylor and Fir for helping me edit this chapter! They are awesome

The plot is slowly being revealed. What do you think of Gilbert? Is it a good idea to free him? What would you do?

Chapter 3 will be released in mid-March! I have a lot of work to do for my Illustration portfolio and don’t want any distractions.

Quotes (in order):

Someone New by Hozier

It Will Come Back by Hozier

That Untamed Animal by The Amazing Devil

Everybody Wants to Rule The World by Lorde

(Being alone for so long does something to a person. It makes them paranoid. It makes them unstable. Some days Gilbert feels such a crushing weight on himself that he can’t bear to get up. Other times he’s like a rabid dog; pacing, panting, frothing at the mouth, clawing against its crate to try and escape.  When the only company you have is your thoughts, one would think that a sudden visitor would be welcome. However...)

Gilbert doesn’t know what stops him from going to you. He isn’t sure what the feeling is. Instead, he remains hidden behind a shelf. When you push yourself up from the smooth, marble floors, Gilbert watches. You look around, your eyes skip over the shadow where he is hiding.

“H-hello?” you call. “Hello? Is anyone there?” Gilbert lets the echos respond for him.

He’s been alone for so long. It feels overwhelming to see another person after so long. His head buzzes with white noise. Gilbert feels like he could jump for joy, and hide away in a hole simultaneously.  Maybe it's the whiplash. Years of silence, suddenly changing to noise. It’s unsettling.

You are adorned in clothes that Gilbert isn't familiar with. A heavy, wool coat, stiff fabric pants, clunky boots, a large wool scarf, and a leather bag at your side. It was nothing like the clothes he'd seen most ladies wear; no dress, layers of petticoat or floor-length skirts

How curious, he can’t help but think.

Gilbert trails behind as you walk around. You’re small and light on your feet as you toe carefully along the wall, but your presence in the library is heavy. Like a black hole in the fabric of space, your presence pulls him toward you. As you round a corner, Gilbert follows, slipping into another shadowed area.

(He supposes it was cruel to watch you like that. Any decent person would have saved you the distress and showed themselves by now. But he couldn’t help himself. Gilbert was a piece of shit. Most of his kind were.)

There was something about watching you flinch away from every shadow that gave him a satisfying form of entertainment, and when you spot his shadow flash across the aisle and let out a squeak, Gilbert can’t bother to think of the morality of it all.

“Hello?” you call out. Gilbert doesn’t call back. He doesn’t want the show to end.

Instead, he turns and escapes down an aisle. The Fae struggles to hold back his snickering at the sound of your boots stomping behind him. He didn’t expect you to have the spine to chase after him. You chase him in circles, and only when you’ve been completely turned around in your pursuit does Gilbert decide he’s done observing.

He steps out into the cool blue glow of the skylight, and when you whirl around in fright, he gets his first true look at you. He feels a smirk tug on his lips.

“You should be more careful, frau.”

Would things be easier,

If there was a right way?

Honey, there is no right way.

(What you need to know about Gilbert is that he can’t lie. No Unseen Folk can. This makes it incredibly amazing and infuriating to be around humans, because they can lie, and they do. All the time.

However, the people of the Unseen World are clever and find ways to skirt around this shortcoming. Gilbert knows some of his kind have spent centuries learning the art of deceit and double meaning. With this, they enjoy devoting time to teasing, tricking, and medling on the lives of those annoying humans.)

“Are you afraid of me?” he asks you. You shrink in a bit from his gaze, fiddling with the buckle of the leather bag that sits in your lap.

“I’ve had worse nightmares about failing French class,” you try to say with confidence. Liar, he thinks. You look away and try to change the subject. “You said that the library wasn’t built for me to be in it. Does that mean you can get us out now?”

(While Gilbert is unable to tell an outright lie, he is hundreds of years old. You should believe that he has had years of practice side-stepping the truth.)

“We’d have to kiss.” Gilbert looks at you straight-faced, but inside he has to fight the grin that wants to creep onto his face.

“What?” you ask, meekly. Your face grows hot and Gilbert decides that teasing you might be his new favourite form of entertainment. He motions for you to stand up, and you do, setting aside your book bag and scarf.

He’s taller than you by a good bit, Gilbert notices. He smirks, “I said, I need you to kiss me.” You look at him, confused and indignant.

“Why?” you stammer out.

Oh, you are too cute. Like a little mouse, Gilbert thinks to himself. “You don’t remember the fairytales? True love’s kiss breaking the spell?”

“We aren’t-” You’re choking on the words.

He chuckles light-heartedly. “The concept still applies.” You look at him nervously. “Am I really that terrifying, little one?”

It’s clear to him that you're nervous. You can’t hide it. The way you shift from foot to foot, and your fingers have made their way into your mouth, where you nibble at your fingernails. You stare off to the side for a second, your face still hot, and Gilbert starts to worry that he’s broken you.

Before he can snap his fingers in front of your face to check, you mumble, “Okay, sure. Just… do what you need to do.”

(His kind isn’t known for their benevolence. Unseen folk are tricksters. By nature, they aren’t kind to anyone outside their flesh and blood. They don’t know of peace. The people of the unseen world only know of violence and power-struggles. You claw your way to the top and you fight tooth-and-nail to stay there. Kindness doesn’t do anyone much good.

When you agreed to free him, Gilbert thought that maybe you were doing it out of the goodness of your heart. That idea isn't correct. You wanted to go home. You were doing what you had to do to see your loved ones again. Gilbert understood this, he’s trying to get back to his brother, but despite the motives that pushed you to help him, it was still a kindness Gilbert is pretty sure he doesn’t deserve.)

He watches as your eyes flick shut. He almost feels bad for what he's about to do. Slowly, he steps forward. As he leans in, he feels the puff of your breath against his face. His hands come up, thumb and pointer finger pulling your chin up to him as he takes a long glance at your pretty features.

Gilbert takes the plunge. His lips gently press against yours, in a kiss that doesn't stay chaste for long. Soon his tongue glides sensually across your bottom lip. You give out a little squeak that makes him smirk against you. You open your mouth to deepen the kiss and when you do, you've fallen into his trap.

The hand that is gently tilting your chin is now gripping your jaw tightly, forcing your mouth to stay open. Your eyes flash open and you try to pull away but Gilbert's other hand is on the back of your head, locking you in place. You whimper helplessly.

Gilbert's eyes burn fiery red from behind his eyelids. He walks you backwards to press you up against the bookshelf. With his mouth still working against yours, he breaths in, and your lungs begin to burn. He's drawing the air from them. As he does, he feels you try to push him off but Gilbert can already feel new power coursing through his being.

That should do it, he thinks.

Just as you're about to pass out, he lets up. He parts from the kiss with a wet pop and Gilbert feels you stumble against him.

“Sorry,” he says with a smile that probably contradicts the meaning of the word. “If I told you what I really needed, you wouldn’t have agreed.” He didn’t take the time to listen to your response. Under your feet, the floor tremored and Gilbert cackled. He feels his fingertips tingle with new magic and savours the burn that surges through his veins.

Be good to me I beg of him,

Be good, be good, be good,

And he replies

When the floor shakes under you, you stumble away from Gilbert and fall onto the marble below you. Your eyes sting. Your lungs feel tight and painful when you try to suck in air. Above you, your new acquaintance is cackling in unhinged delight. He turns to you, his eyes burn a scarlet red, and his hands, once pale as fresh paper now appear to be dipped in inky black. A side effect of his powers, maybe?

“What the fuck was that!” you cough out. Gilbert doesn’t respond.

Above you, a deafening crack echos through the library, interrupting your anger. A cold, dreadful feeling settles in your bones. “What was that?”

A drip, drip, drip starts to the left of you and splatters on your hand. Cold water is falling, leaking from the ceiling. You look up to the blue light of the glass roof.

Gilbert isn’t as worried as you. In fact, he seems far more elated. “I should have known those losers would put this place under my lake!”

More water pours from above and some part of you hopes the ceiling will hold. There are hundreds of litres of water above your head. Good thing you know how to swim, another part offers as comfort.

But there’s no time for you to war against your anxieties in your head, or even flip Gilbert off. The walls and ceiling of the library let out a violent groan and the water from the lake above you crashes down.

When the bitter creeps in

To bite you whole

A spectre unreflected, oh

It keeps you cold

Far away is a manor house sitting on a rocky hill. In the large study on the very top floor sits a man. Around him, trinkets and charms fill the rooms. Stained glass ornaments hang in the A-frame windows. They spin and sparkle in the candlelight. The shelves and tables of the room are overflowing with old, worn books and trinkets.

Beside the armchair he’s sitting on, is a table. On it is a tiny, glass house. The blond sits in his chair thumbing through the yellowed pages of an old book when slowly, the glass trinket starts to shake. It clatters on the table before the thing cracks open, splitting in two.

His green eyes snap to the table and Arthur smirks.

Remember the lake in the moonlight,

I remember you shivered and shone,

I'll never forget what you looked like,

On that night,

Through the water, you see the library. The lake water has filled the room completely. Books and furniture float around you. A burn spreads through your lungs. You're drowning or you will be if you don’t get moving. You swim up to the glass skylight but can’t find an escape. There’s no opening. Where was Gilbert? He got out, a cruel voice whispers to you. You shouldn’t have helped him, he left you to die. You feel around the glass, banging on it with your fists in hopes that you might break it, but nothing gives. The burning in your lungs intensifies. There’s blood roaring in your ears and the pressure that bears down on you is almost unbearable.

Suddenly, a large hand clasps your upper arm and pulls you to the side. You look and see familiar platinum hair. Before you can think about Gilbert coming to help, he’s pushing you (quite rudely, you should know) through an opening in part of a wall. Your eyes greet the vast space of the lake and you don’t waste a second more of your time. You turn and reach for Gilbert, grab ahold of him and launch yourself from the bottom of the lake.

As you kick your way to the surface, you look up and see what you guess is moonlight, filtering through the water. You think of home. You’re so close to going home, keep going. You kick harder. You reach up, clawing through the water to get to the surface. Your chest feels like it's going to burst, and just before you black out, you break the top of the lake.

You throw your head out of the water and gasp for air. You sputter and cough and not a moment later, Gilbert pops up beside you. Your breaths come out in clouds, as you look to him and nod. Thanks.

Gilbert nods back, a savage smile stuck on his face. Treading in the water, he looks up to the night sky, taking in his first deep breath of free air.

Together, the two of you swim to the shore. The heavy fabric of your winter coat, sweater, and clothes make it feel like you’re moving through quicksand but soon enough your feet hit the shallows. You trudge onto the rocky lakefront. Water trickles off your clothes and onto the leaf-covered ground. Your teeth chatter from the bitter chill. Even in the spirit world, it seems autumn has settled in.  

Silence reigns over the two of you. Your hair is beginning to freeze, you notice as you try and brush it back with your hands. Across the lake, a far ways off, is a forest, with thick mist swirling at the branches of its trees, You take in it from your spot at the edge of the lake. Some unknown feeling, not fear, but something else, creeps up on you. You lose yourself in the dark of the faraway woods, like a spell. How odd. You stare and feel yourself lean forward, but catch yourself.

When your gaze returns to Gilbert. He’s staring at you, his breath coming in deep, slow puffs. In the bright moonlight shining down on the two of you, he looks like a spectre.

“Come on, I know where to go,” Gilbert breathes out, before starting to lead you along the lakefront and toward a large hill. You don’t say anything and follow after him, cringing at the water squishing in your boots.

Gilbert leads you through another forest, this one without any thick fog, up towards a rigid stone structure. You couldn’t quite see what it was, you were too far to see it in the dark, but as you walked closer, it became clear. It was an abandoned building. Knowledge from a history course you took back in your second year at university reminded you of the 16th-century castles from your world.

Gilbert, who had gotten a good distance ahead of you, stops to look at the old castle. He doesn’t move, nor does he say anything. His red eyes are a deep shade of Redcurrant, and they scan the debilitated building.

“What’s wrong?” you whisper.

The albino looks at you, and when he does, he doesn’t look familiar. There’s no terrifying smirk or play-boy smile. He just looks lost.

“Nothing. Come, get inside before you freeze to death.”

You climb up some stone rubble, and Gilbert leads you inside the remains of the  building. You step into what looks to be an old sitting room of some kind. The ceilings are high, and the walls were worn and crumpling in some spots. The floors are made from some type of smooth stone. This place could use some TLC.

Gilbert leads you to a room further inside. There is a fireplace, where Gilbert set to work throwing old wood into it. A shiver rips through you, even if you're safe from the bitter outside air.

(You’re trying to process what just happened. You almost drowned. You didn’t. Now you’re here, in an abandoned castle, soaking wet. You don't even know where you are. This isn’t where you fell in from. And your stuff. My bag, you remember. You left it behind! With the books and your phone and your wallet and keys. That’s gonna be a bitch to replace when you get back.)

Oh yeah, getting back.

“Can you hand me that chair behind you?”

You don’t respond. You’re too busy thinking.

“Don’t tell me you have already died from the cold,” he says with force, whirling around to see if you were still upright.

Your fingers tap against your lips nervously as you mumble. “I want you to send me back now.” Gilbert pauses to look at you. You can’t tell what look flashes in his red eyes. Maybe guilt, but he doesn’t say anything. “I want you to send me back, please,” you say louder, in case he didn’t hear. You tremble again, this time not from the cold.

“I can’t.”

You snap your head up to him. Your face contorts. First, it’s confused, then angry. “What do you mean?” you step towards him. Your voice is high-pitched. Your throat feels like it’s cracking. “You said if I let you out, you’d send me back!”

“I know I did! And I will but-”

“Did you lie to me?”

“No!” Gilbert yells. You shift back, away from him. “I wouldn’t lie to you, Mouse. I can’t.”

The way Gilbert tries to comfort you makes your stomach feel heavy. Uneasy.

“Then what’s the problem?” You feel like all of your nerves have been stripped raw. You’re exhausted. It’s all you can do to keep yourself from bursting into tears.

“I just can’t,” he says. His hands rake at his ghost-white hair. “I have the magic! I can do the little things.” Gibert waves his hand in the direction of the fireplace and the dusty wood piled in there ignites in an instant. “But I can’t send you back.”

Gilbert turns to pace towards the large window in the room, fists clenched at his sides, staring out to the forest. You take in a deep breath. Just think. Use your head.

“So what do we do?” you ask. You just want to go home. Why does this have to be so hard?

“I don’t know. We’ll have to find my brother. He’ll know what to do.”

“So I’m trapped here with you? In the Unseen world?”

Gilbert turns back to you and leans forward to look you in the eyes. “I’m not going to hurt you, nor will I let anyone else try.” He walks out of the room, off to do who knows what.

You shiver in the light of the make-shift fireplace. You feel so tired that you could be sick to your stomach and it’s so cold you can barely think straight. What the fuck did I get myself into. It’s the most honest he’s ever seemed to you, but you really haven’t known him that long.

There’s something about him that gives you pause. You shouldn’t trust him, a voice whispers. Fae can’t lie. But they can hide the truth, your mind reminds you. And your gut tells you that something feels off.

Gilbert comes back, dragging things in behind him. Pads of some kind. Mattresses. He drops them off a good few feet from the fire.

“Here,” he says, and tosses you a pile of blankets. “It’s all I could find. Take off your clothes, and set them by the fire to dry.”

“What?” Your eyes nearly pop out of your head.

“You will freeze to death if you stay in your clothes,” he says as if it’s obvious. It is, but you don’t want to admit it.

“I’m not getting naked in front of you!” you squeak. Gilbert’s smirk returns to his lips.

“If it comforts you, I promise I won’t look, Princess.”

“Screw you,” you mumble, but Gilbert’s back is already turned, and he’s already peeling off his soaking shirt. You pause, looking at one of the blankets he’s given you instead of the smooth skin of his back.

“I’m waiting!”

“Fine.” You give in, and remove your coat, tossing it over a broken table closer to the fire. After you’ve removed your things, placing them beside your coat, you take one of the blankets, a heavy cotton sheet, and wrap yourself in it.

Gilbert lays a few feet away from you, silent. He’s probably already asleep. As you lay on your dusty mattress, you have a perfect view of that misty forest on the far side of the lake. You can’t take your eyes off it. That unsettling feeling from the lakeside sets in once more, and you have a hard time drifting off.

When I awoke

The moon still hung

The night so black

that the darkness hummed

Author’s Notes

A MASSIVE thanks to Fir! Without them, this chapter would be unreadable! They are a superstar!

This was a really cool chapter to write! I had lots of fun playing with Gilbert’s POV in the first half. What did you guys think, do you think it was a good idea for the reader to help Gil?

Quotes

It Will Come Back by Hozier

Someone New by Hozier

That Untamed Animal by The Amazing Devil

Cold by The Oh Hellos

Power Over Me by Dermont Kelly