My attempt to write something in a 'fairy-tale style' with the specific kind of logic and unreal elements. There are fairies and they are not nice. Enjoy nevertheless!
The palace is made of marble and bone, the towers' roofs shine like pure silver. It stands tall and sharp like a mountain and graceful like a doe. In the palace there is a throne room, the stained-glass in the windows, the tapestry in the colours of the sunset and the throne white as milk and foam, made of horn and suffer.
This day is calm and silent as the Queen has gone for a cruise down the river, the countless ladies and lords of the court have followed her there. They'll get into the boats, festoons of flowers mirroring in the water. They'll sail, they'll laugh, they'll sing and somewhere between the sailing, laughing and singing they'll shoot some birds and maybe some villagers if they shall show on the shore. Afterwards, the whole group: the Queen, the ladies and the lords of the court, will feast on the beach and under the trees till the sun will rise again.
As the Queen is gone – the major of the palace - her majordomo remains. His face is harsh, his eyes cold when the poacher is brought before him to be judged.
The tied up accused walks hesitantly between the guards dressed in rich blue, he's a head shorter than them and he looks like a sparrow among the colourful, exotic birds.
The majordomo is already weary and this is the last questioning today so he looks at the man before him not really seeing him. His back hurts, his sleep was long and the nightmares were holding him in his claws for the whole night. Even if his face is young, his mind is not and there is too much to remember.
And one of the guards speaks:
"He's been caught in the garden."
And the other guard says:
"He must have climbed over the fence."
And the first one adds:
"There were feathers on the ground, the arrows in Her Majesty's peacocks' chests, all in blood. All of them"
And the second one adds as well:
"There was a bow in his hands and a sword by his hip. The sword of iron.''
The majordomo feel a sting of sadness on a thought of the birds of beauty being slain this way by the intruder's unworthy hand. So he looks at this man, this time for real.
It's a human, not a lad or a youngster but a man of middle age. His hair is sun-bright and his eyes fair but his figure lacks in slenderness of the Folk and his face is plain and without the Charm. No glamour upon him, no breathtaking wonder, this is a way he was born and this way he should die one day.
"Is it true?" asks the majordomo, his voice dry and tired, never sweet enough for these fine walls.
So the criminal answers and his eyes are fiery, captivating. All of them are like that, all the humans. Must they think, the majordomo muses, that the judge of their own kin will be favourable for them. They see him, fae-tall and solemn from a distance, they come closer and only than they notice his too sharp features, they hear his tired voice.
"Yes, I was caught in the gardens, my lord. Yes, I have came thought the fence, my lord. Yes, there was a bow in my hand, the sword by my hip. But there was also the knife that has not been mentioned."
The guards share a look the majordomo notices immediately.
"There was a knife, a knife of iron in his sleeve," says one of them, avoiding the piercing gaze of the official.
"It was taken from him and it is there.'' The other one speaks as well. He gives a sign to the servant to bring the knife. It is folded in thick material, all tied up well. The majordomo unfolds it and takes the weapon in his hands, thus he does not need to be concerned about the iron blade. It's sharp and simple, a haunting knife. It must have been caressed and sharpened regularly. It needs to be destroyed to protect the dear Queen and her beloved Folk.
"Were you aware that bringing the weapon here would result in you being judged and will cost you your life?" the majordomo asks slightly rising his voice.
"I was aware, that was what I desired, my lord." The answer is simple and not expected but the official does not let himself slip. It is one of the skills which have brought him, a mere human, so high.
"Were you aware that bringing the iron here would result in you being judged and will cost you your life?"
The criminal says once more, this time almost smiling:
"I was aware, that was what I desired, my lord."
The guards share a look, a madman, they must think. The madman, another one, there are plenty of them. The mortal mind is an instrument and it does not play with the tunes of the Fairy Land. Not, not at all.
"Who's the master of yours? Who's the lady or the lord?" Majordomo has a Lady, the Queen. She's like a stunning and graceful blizzard which freezes to the bone. He loves Her desperately since the day he can remember. "Who shall be informed?"
"There is no master of mine, no lady nor lord. I am a free man of the other land and my name is Timo.''
There are free men but only a few, they've earned their freedom or lost their masters. Their life is harsh, unstable and full of misery. But this man's cheeks are pink and plump, his beck straight and his eyes bright.
The majordomo orders the servants to bring the sword as well to look at it closely, to examine it scrupulously, it's all the matter of form.
"Who was the one to make you free then?"
"There was no lady nor lord to do this.''
The silent falls in the throne room as the majordomo frowns for the first time.
"Explain yourself.''
"I would but only to your ears, my lord."
The majordomo is curious and bemused. His face does not show it, he believes, his eyes also. Not that much happens here when the Queen is away and the halls of the palace are silent. Would it hurt to know some vagabond's insane secrets? To let him share them before he dies? Certainly would not, so the guards and the servants are sent away. They'll wait behind the door of black wood.
The majordomo and the criminal are left alone, the stained glass colours the floor with the patches of light. There are images of hunt embroidered on the tapestry, many bloodied, bulging eyes stare at the room glassily.
"Shall I begin, my lord?'' The madman becomes very vigilant.
"Begin,'' the lord orders.
"You seem visibly startled, my lord, about my origin." The majordomo does not even blink hearing this statement. ''I did not lie when I said that I had not been freed by any masters. I came from the other world, the mortal land and I have not been captured and held against my will. I have came here on my own. I am aware, obviously, that you, my lord, must consider me a madman and it is not surprising. But, aren't there many doors between the realms?"
"There are, none would open for a mere mortal.''
"A mere mortal I am not."
The majordomo held the sword on his knees and the weight of it was reassuring as well as the intangible blessing of the Queen which have made him her servant and high official in the first place.
"My grandmother is one of the Folk.'' He does not takes pride in it, there is a twist of his face, the drip of disgust in his voice. "However, I was being raised in the mortal world for years and there I wished to stay, despite my grandmother's desires and demands. But, well, the dear... friend of mine got captured by the Folk. He was taken on the summer night when the veil between the worlds is thin as a thought. For years I was searching for a way, looking for the door to this land. Fifteen years passed like a blink. Two times I thought I'd finally found the gates but I wasn't right. The third time I crossed the border between realms and tracked my friend down. I wandered the deepest forests, I crossed the raging rivers, I spent countless night under the starry sky. My goal, my deepest desire was to meet my friend once again and give him his sword back."
"Your friend could have been long dead."
"I would have known." How sure this madman was, how full of believe. "Have I not known, I would get insane. Maybe, actually, I went mad knowing that, who on Earth can say?" And he smiles the smile of a man who just looks at the world every morning not sure what to expect from it. "Though, I've found my friend. He's here, in the palace.''
The majordomo of the Queen nodded. There are many rooms in the palace, many places and even more mortal servants. Always busy, always cleaning, maintaining, washing, cooking, preparing the fetes and clearing afterwards. All of this countless, silent army of mortals, the majordomo has risen above.
"You are a madman. Your story makes no sense. What's your supposed friend's name? Has he talked you into this? Have you came to assassinate our beloved Lady? How pitiful you were, thus Her Majesty's not in the palace and you'll be long dead and cold when She'll come.''
The ones who dare to think that the mortal majordomo is less frightening have no idea how terrifying the Queen's high servant could be and how cold and merciless his voice could sound as well. But this mad person, this criminal, just stands calmly, maybe slightly amused and says:
"My lord, there is a sword on your lap. The one which belongs to the friend of mine. If you look closely, you'll see the name of my friend engraved in the iron.''
The sword is heavy and carefully folded in the material for safety. The majordomo unfolds it and looks at the blade, examines the weapon. He gazes into his own reflection for a split second.
There are some letters, he frowns and reads:
"Bernhard."
The gates he didn't know nor expected to exist, have opened. It's as if a lightening up from above has stricken him directly in the cold, dead heart. How thrilling it was, how stunning! The charm washes from his eyes, drips on the floor like melted silver.
The person who asked him to read the inscription, the person who he had almost sentenced to death, that person has vanished replaced with his beloved one who has been looking for him for last fifteen years and even now is smiling at him.
The majordomo of the Fair Lady, the Queen, has died, his existence all unreal: shadows of colours and memory of mist. The one who remains is Bernhard, his whole being stable and true as the granite rock at the mountain's root.
So he cries, tears rolling down his cheeks and chin, and stands up, griping his sword, despair and longing in his gaze. He walks toward the other one. He stares into his eyes and recognizes the familiar violet and this is the moment when he knows for sure that when he looked upon the Queen with a loving devotion, the colour he saw was the same.
"I could have you killed,'' he whispers, barely audibly, his voice breaking. "I could have you killed in a pit of snakes, in the wolves' cage, on the bed of thorns.''
"Could have, couldn't... I could have found you earlier. It has taken me so long. My dearest grandma did not want me there. She hid the gates, hid them deep in the forest, in the silver mist, under the lake, far for me to reach.''
They whisper, mouths to ear, looks closely, gaze to gaze, hold tightly, chest to chest. Eyes wet, voices shaky.
"I did not recall you, recognize you, you were a stranger with her eyes…" Berhnard looks at the face he used to know, now changed by the years of searching, years of longing. He knows his own features remained the same, the time holds no power in the realm of the fae.
"Later will we talk. You'll unfold me and we'll leave. You'll lead us out of the palace, I would lead us into the forest and then once again through the gates. There are places she cannot reach, places she cannot see, places she cannot find. Take the sword of iron and I shall take the knife of mine."
The bonds are cut and both of them stay side by side, the knife and the sword in the hands. There is a kiss, a brief one, a small one, a promising one. Arm by arm they go to the door where the guards await, to the woods, to the gates and far away.