Unexpected

"Ow!" A few moments' silence were followed by a grunt, and then, "Aaa! Can't you be more careful?"

Morwen paused, tweezers hovering over a cluster of long silver quills jutting out of Telemain's left forearm. "If you would stop squirming this would go more smoothly."

"I am not squirming. And I didn't call you just to put up with your ill-humour."

Leaning into a high-backed chair in the main room of his tower, Telemain's face was pale and his scowl was very deep indeed. His injured left arm lay outstretched on the table in front of him next to the small pile of quills that Morwen had already removed.

My ill-humour indeed.

"Just hold still. I'm almost finished."

His fist was tightly clenched as she plucked out another quill. She might have been more inclined to be sympathetic were he more inclined to be concerned for his own welfare.

Morwen had been to Telemain's tower many times in the years since he'd moved to the Enchanted Forest, but she still found the place rather barren. There was no ornamentation, just bare stone and a pair of spiralling staircases in the centre of the room. Telemain would summon whatever furniture or equipment he needed here at any given time. Currently, it contained only the table and a pair of chairs. It was well lit by a series of lanterns mounted on brackets that lined the walls at regular intervals. Today there were also three tall arched windows with their shutters thrown open to let in the cool night breeze. Sometimes there were five windows, or one, or none at all, and they never seemed to be the same shape from one visit to the next.

"If it weren't for the residual enchantments I could have removed them myself," he said, sounding peevish about the whole matter. His ill-temper did not help her concentration. It had been late when he'd called her on the magic mirror, and the ashen colour of his face as he'd asked her to come over to help him had set her nerves on edge.

Two more quills came out of his arm before she announced she was finished. Telemain sagged with relief and let his eyes slide closed. She looked him up and down just to be sure he had no other injuries but he appeared to be in one piece.

Morwen reached into her enchanted sleeve and withdrew a small tin box which she placed on the table. "Roll up your sleeve," she said, removing a roll of linen bandages and a vial of ointment from the box.

He drew back the sleeve of his grey shirt, which was well and truly ruined, wincing as he pushed the fabric over the punctures in his arm. As she applied the ointment, he made a hissing noise, but did not utter a word this time. "Are you going to tell me what happened?" she asked as she began wrapping the bandage.

"You recall the elves had reported that they'd been attacked on full moons by a creature they presumed to be a lycanthrope?"

"Yes?"

Telemain sighed. "Earlier this evening, I managed to track the creature down, and while its magic was tied to the lunar cycle, it most certainly was not a wolf."

Morwen stopped, bandage still in hand and scowled at him. "Why didn't you call me? You won't be of any help keeping the forest safe if you come to harm. And I don't want to be left alone guarding the sword."

" I did call you," he protested, sitting up straighter. "But you were out."

"One of the cats saw someone poking about near ths sword's hiding place. I went out to see for myself." Morwen rolled her eyes. "It turned out to be another wayward knight." And then, turning to Telemain again, "You could have waited until I was back."

Telemain shook his head. "It was a time-sensitive matter and I didn't feel I could delay any longer."

"How was it a time-sensitive–Oh. I see." And she did see, because as she looked out one of the arched windows, she glimpsed the bright full disc of a huge silver-white moon.

"I took every precaution. But I was expecting a wolf not a–" And here he gestured at the pile of silver quills, "A lunar-cyclical metamorphosing porcupine."

If it hadn't been for the ample evidence in the form of the eight quills she'd removed from his arm, she would have thought he'd been affected by an illusion or perhaps some hallucinogenic moss. "A were-porcupine?"

"Effectively. Though the cause was not a curse, but a botched defensive spell. There was an error in the definition section of the shield activation module which led to..." He glanced at the pile of quills. "Unexpected side effects."

"And who did this botched spell belong to?"

"A wizard. After disenchanting him I went ahead and melted him."

"Not Antorell?"

Telemain shook his head. "Apparently he is far from the only incompetent wizard in the Society."

He closed his eyes and let out a long breath. Anxious that she'd missed a toxin or enchantment on the quills, she pressed her hand to his forehead, checking for fever. His brow felt normal and his pulse, when she checked his wrist, was steady.

Telemain took her hand and gave it a squeeze. "I'm only tired."

"You should rest. I'll–"

She broke off as she heard something–at first just fragments, but soon the sounds cohered into a jaunty tune, wafting in from the open windows. Telemain opened his eyes. "It appears the elves are celebrating now that they no longer have to worry about their safety on full moons."

"That was well done, Telemain."

A tired smile made its way to his lips. "The forest needs its king. Daystar should be thirteen now. It shouldn't be much longer."

Reclining as he was with his eyes shut once more, he looked peaceful, devoid of the frenetic–not to say obsessive–energy that animated him when he was in the midst of a project. The linen bandage wrapped around his arm was the sole reminder that it was not peace but fatigue that made him so sedate. Otherwise, he was much as he always had been with his grey shirt and trousers, the long black vest with its bulging pockets, and his wide belt with its pouches and sheathes. Even his beard and moustache were neatly trimmed in the same style they had been for a decade and a half. Sometimes she felt as if they were waiting, holding their breath, afraid that the slightest change would upset the delicate balance of the forest and the war.

She had known Telemain all her life. And all his life magical research had been his one passion, the centre of his world; all other interests and relationships had had to gravitate around that central axis. How that had changed when he'd come to live in the Enchanted Forest! Tangled up in the war with the wizards, his life–and his research–had bent to the whims of that conflict.

"Telemain?"

His bright blue eyes opened and looked at her curiously. "Hmm?"

"Do you regret settling in the forest when you did?"

He tilted his head to one side and considered the matter for a minute. "I admit that our position as guardians of the sword have put certain limitations on my activities since I don't dare be away from the forest for more than a day or two at a time."

Morwen's lips thinned. Her chest felt a bit tight and she thought it was due to the idea that he might feel trapped here, bound to a duty he'd not asked for. Yes, that was what bothered her. She had given up very little, but she was not so sure that was the case with him.

"However," Telemain went on, "the Enchanted Forest must be protected from the Society of Wizards. Even if their purposes in using the forest's magic were benign–which we've well established is not the case–destroying an entire magical ecosystem for their personal use is abhorrent. Guarding the forest in Mendanbar's absence is, without a doubt, the correct course of action and not one I regret undertaking. Particularly when discharging that duty has allowed us to work together all these years. If I hadn't moved here when I did, it's likely our paths wouldn't have crossed again and that is something I would regret far more than any limitations on my travels." He paused then and, catching her eye, smiled ruefully. "I believe that's the longest you've let me go on uninterrupted in years."

She chuckled, feeling a little flushed and more than a little foolish, both for doubting his steadfastness... and for being so affected by his admission–that missing out on her company would have been his greatest regret. "I'm relieved, that's all."

His blue eyes were bright and smiling as he looked at her. "I couldn't have asked for a more suitable companion for this extended misadventure."

"That's quite a statement coming from someone who raised an invisible barrier to prevent anyone from finding his home."

He waved a hand dismissively–and then winced because it was his bandaged left arm. "If it weren't for the barrier, there would be even more interruptions. I'd never accomplish any research at all. I always let you through in any case."

She raised an eyebrow. "There was that one time..."

"It was an accident," Telemain protested.

"You left me standing on your doorstep for three quarters of an hour."

"I'm sorry, Morwen, I got distracted. Will you never let me forget that?"

She didn't reply. The music drifting in through the windows had changed to something familiar, tickling a cobwebby corner of her memory like a mental feather duster. A simple melody, it brought with it the remembrance of a sunny afternoon of friendship and feasting, and one of the happiest days of her life.

She started when Telemain spoke. "They played this at Mendanbar and Cimorene's wedding."

Morwen nodded. "Yes. They did. I'm surprised you still remember it."

"Of course I remember," he said, looking amused. "It's not often I dance. In fact it's so rare that each occurrence becomes memorable."

Ah, so he did remember. And that pleased Morwen more than she really cared to admit.

Telemain's blue eyes were bright again as if he'd already forgotten his encounter with the wizard-turned-porcupine. He rose and held out a hand to her.

It was unlike him to offer. It was unlike her to accept. But this seemed to be an evening for unlikely events.

Morwen took his hand and then they were dancing to the lilting song of the elves, taking quick steps around the empty stone room.

It wasn't often that she noticed the difference in their heights, but moving in step with him this way, it was hard not to. He was easily a head taller and had to reach down to lay a hand on her back while she had to reach up to rest a hand on his shoulder. Telemain was by no means the world's finest dancer but he managed to avoid treading on her toes and for that she was thankful. He twirled her around and she couldn't help but smile up at him. "I was just thinking that if Archaniz were here she would remind me that I'm a witch and that witches are certainly not supposed to dance."

"It isn't very traditional, is it?"

"No," Morwen agreed. "Not at all."

"I'm sure Arona Michaelear Grinogion Vamist would have had something to say about it as well."

Morwen rolled her eyes. "Fortunately, nothing anyone would listen to, now that he's less than respectable himself." People were not wont to listen to the opinions of seven-foot floating blue donkeys with overlarge wings. Funnily enough.

The music crescendoed and Telemain spun her about once more, much as he had the last time they'd danced all those years ago. He had been Mendenbar's best man and she, Cimorene's maid of honour. It was strange to think back on it now, of the two of them, standing there across from each other with no notion that in a year's time they would be joined at the hip.

"Morwen?"

"Yes?" She glanced up at him. He was not looking down at her.

"Do you harbour regrets about our situation?"

"There wouldn't be much point in it," she replied matter-of-factly. In fact it would be a colossal waste of time and energy.

The song had ended and another had begun but he did not step away from her, and, almost without thought, they fell into the rhythm of the new tune.

"I suppose not. I only wondered–that is to say, if we weren't so constrained, you might have had other plans than having to put up with me all these years."

"Don't be silly. Who else would I want to put up with?"

He drew in a breath and did not speak and she had that feeling again, that perpetual sense of waiting and watching that had loomed over them since Cimorene had hidden the sword. So much at stake and so little room for error that they did not dare take chances. Not with anything.

"Telemain?" She gave his shoulder a slight tug to properly draw his attention.

He glanced down at her. "Hm?"

"Traditionally, I believe, you're supposed to lead."

He blinked in confusion several times and then looked down at his feet, realizing all at once that he was following her footsteps now instead of the reverse. "Oh. It appears I was somewhat–er–distracted."

"Well I was never one for tradition anyway."

He came to a halt then, his features drawn in consternation or concentration–she wasn't entirely certain. "Telemain?"

With a nod he seemed to make up his mind. Her hand was still clasped in his and he gave her fingers a squeeze. "There's something I'd like to show you." And then, gesturing towards the staircases, "If you'll come upstairs?"

The soberness of his tone made Morwen strangely uneasy and she was still concerned about his being overtired after his injury, minor though it might have been. But rather than protest she simply nodded. After were-porcupines and dancing, the evening had likely used up most of its surprises.

Their footsteps clanked on the iron steps as they headed up the spiralling staircase that led upstairs; the other staircase could only be used to go down, a fact Morwen had always found both ludicrous and impractical. According to Telemain, the opposing forces of the stairs acted as useful foci for certain forms of spell preparation, but Morwen was almost certain he'd just done it because he'd wanted to prove that he could.

They bypassed the second floor which contained guest rooms–another fact which seemed peculiar to Morwen since it meant he was constantly skipping a floor to get to the rooms he used the most–to the third floor where Telemain kept his study, storeroom, library, and other personal quarters. For a moment he hovered before the door to the library, but then he frowned and muttered, "No I was working on..." before moving to his study door instead. He pushed open the door and beckoned her to follow.

Morwen would be the first to admit that though she kept a neat house, her own study was prone to clutter. Telemain's study, however, looked like it had been the site of an intense but self-contained whirlwind. Books, sheafs of paper, and magical objects, varying in size from pebbles to pitchers, covered every available surface, including two tables, a desk, and several book cases. A space had been cleared in the centre of his desk, which was stained with layer upon layer of ink splotches. On one of the book cases, a row of sample jars containing magical lichens glowed in shades of blue, green, and fuchsia, which would have driven Morwen to distraction were she trying to work here. A magic mirror, the twin of the gilt-framed one in her study, hung on one wall, along with several lighted lamps on brackets around the room.

Pausing only once (to glance at a bottle that contained what appeared to be a snowstorm), Telemain made his way to the desk. Several stacks of books and a few scrolls covered most of its surface. He took a moment to roll up the scrolls, and close two open books, checking under each one as he did. He frowned at the desk a moment and then opened a drawer and extracted a sheaf of papers bound by a string. "Ah, there it is." Morwen waited patiently for him to explain.

He held the sheaf very tightly as if were an artifact of great importance to one of his research projects. "This is something I've been working on for quite some time now." And then he held the papers out to her.

Inspecting the first page, Morwen could make out line after line of magical theory with enough jargon to make her go cross-eyed. The string that held the papers together was loose enough that she could flip through them. As she did so, she glimpsed complex diagrams and more technical vocabulary than she'd come across since she'd first studied the magical theory herself ages and ages ago. And yet she quickly discovered a common theme; everything in this collection of papers described elements of the Enchanted Forest.

"It's not comprehensive," he said when she looked up. "But I think it represents the most complete assessment to date of the principles at work in the forest. The existing works that I've consulted are all inaccurate in significant ways and many of them are far too antiquated to be of any use."

"It's quite... extensive," Morwen said, mentally calculating how much it would weigh when properly printed and bound.

He didn't meet her gaze and began twisting one of his magical rings as if he were uneasy. "I was hoping you would hang on to that copy for me."

And that simple statement affected her more than anything else had all night. Perhaps his encounter with the wizard had been worse than he'd implied. After all, there was no reason for him to hand her his life's work except that he was concerned that were something to happen to him, it would never be printed and shared with his peers.

Lips thinned to a line, Morwen scowled down at the sheaf of papers as if it had tried to bite her. It was true that Telemain could wear on her last nerve when he was careless or spouting needless jargon, but he was also exactly the right person to have taken on the task of guarding the sword. She could not imagine relying on anyone else for so long. And the thought that his carelessness could lead to his not being there for her to rely on made her very cross indeed. It always did.

Morwen held the papers back out to him. "No. I won't have it. If you want to see your work properly finished then you'll simply have to be more careful so that you don't get yourself skewered by the next wizard you meet. I am not about to give you peace of mind just so you can go on being careless of your own safety. Do you think I want to be responsible for guarding the sword all on my own and have to protect the entire forest without you?"

Telemain stared. His expression shifted from startled, to indignant, to confused. "I–That is–Morwen, that... isn't what I meant at all."

"Well what did you mean?" she snapped, feeling more irritable than ever. A fine time indeed for him to be speechless.

"I had hoped you would–" He drew himself up and stuffed his hands into the pockets of his vest. "That is to say... I'm well aware that explaining magical theory in layman's terms is not an area in which I excel." Morwen snorted. Telemain looked mildly offended for a moment but went on. "However, I feel that for the text to be truly useful, an overview of the principles at work in the forest is necessary, perhaps as introductory comments before the exploration of the more technical aspects. Given my lack of suitability for such writing I was hoping perhaps you could pen the relevant sections."

It was now Morwen's turn to be speechless. For half a minute all she could do was peer at him with a quizzical expression. "You want me to be your..."

"Co-author," he supplied. "Yes."

"I'm not in the habit of doing academic writing."

"I realize that. But, Morwen, next to myself and Medenbar, I don't believe anyone is more familiar with the workings of the Enchanted Forest than you are."

She was still clutching the sheaf of papers and feeling rather foolish now for her outburst. Adjusting her gold-rimmed glasses, she tried to gather her thoughts. She had known Telemain for a very long time and he wasn't one to acknowledge expertise in others unless they were well and truly worthy of it. In his own backwards way he was paying her a very great compliment. "I'm flattered, Telemain, but I'm not sure what to say."

"Please, at least consider it. And there's no urgency in the matter. I expect it will take me several more years to refine the theories I've proposed in some of the latter chapters. That should give you ample time to work on the project... If you decide you'd be willing to assist me."

She held the sheaf in the crook of one arm and patted the assembled papers with her free hand. "I'll take a look."

"Thank you." And then Telemain did something unexpected. He took a step closer and placed his hand over the one that still rested on his manuscript. "Morwen. Concerning what you said earlier..."

She couldn't quite meet his eyes. "I shouldn't have been so hasty–or so cross."

"As you can see I have plans for the future. I intend to finish my work. And... And I have no intention of leaving you to protect the forest alone." He wrapped his hand around hers and, squeezing her fingers tightly, went on. "I had rather hoped that once we'd discharged our duties and that the Enchanted Forest was no longer in peril, we might see more of each other. In a more relaxed context."

It was a great mystery to Morwen how he could be so vexing and so dear. Telemain's devotion and steadfastness were qualities she'd come to appreciate and admire over the years, and the thought of him coming to harm made her ache. Just as the thought of spending time with him sipping cider in her home and talking of something besides wizards and evil fire witches, and other vile and villainous creatures, made her quite happy.

She looked up into those blue eyes that she had known for most of her life, and a small smile made its way onto her face. This fondness had developed so gradually over such a long while that it still came as a surprise to her sometimes. But there it was. "I would like that," she said. Because anything else would have been less than the truth.

"Excellent. Then we're in agreement." And he looked very happy.

Morwen loosed her hand so that she could rest it against his cheek, the bristle of his neatly-trimmed beard tickling her palm. "Thank you for the dance," she said earnestly. "Now... You should be getting some rest so that arm of yours can heal."

He nodded. "It is getting quite late."

"And I should be on my way."

"Stay in one of the guest rooms. It's far too late to be flying about on that twiggy contraption."

She rolled her eyes, well aware of his distaste for brooms. "There's plenty of light to fly by thanks to the full moon."

"I believe you were the one advising against taking unnecessary risks."

There was a retort on her lips–something along the lines of he knew very well that she could take care of herself–but she stopped herself. For once he was being quite sensible. Morwen sighed. "What will the cats say?"

Telemain's lips quirked. "Given that I cannot understand them, I can only conjecture that it would be something regarding food."

"Undoubtedly."

They filed out of the room together and Morwen headed towards the downward staircase. She turned when he called after her. "Morwen. I believe we'll see this through together."

"Yes. Yes, we will."

She had that sense again of how delicate the balance of everything was at this moment, like trying to carry a tall stack of porcelain teacups. But watching and waiting for Daystar and for their part in helping him to restore the forest and its king, was something she felt very well able to do when she knew there was something–a little unexpected, to be honest–on the other side of it.

The End