Stranger


Yew and Rosethorns


Yawning widely, Sarah led Merlin into the stables, vaguely noticing that he appeared to have grown. She chalked it up to their time in the Fey glen as she stumbled up towards the keep and into the hall.

This late at night—or, more accurately, this early in the morning—only a few straggling guards remained in the hall, nursing flasks and mugs of unknown but decidedly alcoholic beverages. The handful of them lounging near the dying fire blinked amiably at her and one weakly raised a glass; Sarah just as weakly raised a hand in greeting before stumbling over to the steps, intending to sneak past her father's room into her own.

A soldier, standing pertly to attention, grabbed her arm as she started to enter the family chambers. "Where do you think you're going, woman?" he hissed, trying to pull her out into the hallway even as she struggled back into the room.

"To bed; let me go! If you make a ruckus, my father—"

The soldier must have looked at her more closely—though how he could see anything by the dull torchlight was beyond Sarah—for he paled suddenly and released her. "You've been gone," he said flatly but loudly, and Sarah winced, waiting for noise from inside.

"Since this morning, I know, I missed curfew, but we don't need to let y father know that, do we?" She sidled around him, back into the room, padding silently around the main partitions to the smaller area at the far corner, walled off by free-standing tapestry screens. The guard followed her haplessly, muttering under his breath but choking over his words. By the time she reached to pull aside one of the hinged panels, he'd worked up the nerve to confront her again.

"My lady," he began, but never finished the statement. Sarah subdued a shriek as she looked at her bed—her occupied bed—and the armor lying beside it.

She backed hurriedly away, in the process tripping over one of the hounds lying next to her father's screens. It let out a loud, indignant groan in complaint and the figure on her bed stirred at the noise.

"My lady," the guard tried again, but Sarah was busy watching as the man on her bed finally woke with a start and stared at her. He rose from the tangle of linen and furs, his gangly form belied by his fluid gait while he approached Sarah.

"Who are you?" she whispered fiercely. "And what are you doing in my—"

"Sarah?" The man's—youth's, she realized, maybe a boy in his mid-teens—voice cracked, though with emotion, sleep, or age, Sarah couldn't tell. "Sarah, Sarah, it's been years, where have you been, you haven't changed, oh, god, Sarah, you haven't changed!" Hands, calloused and overly large for their slender wrists, ran over her arms, her shoulders, her face and hair, before sliding behind her back to pull her to the youth into a bone-crushing hug. "I missed you so much—father's been frantic—where were you?—you can't go again, I swear you can't, you must swear you won't…" The frantic, disjointed statements fell raggedly into Sarah's ear; the teen rocked softly, back and forth, cradling her and clutching at her, unnerving Sarah until he pulled back enough for her to peer into eyes as green and familiar as her own.

"Toby?"

She barely croaked the word, but as soon as she recognized his eyes, she could see traces of his small-child's face in this transitional one: his cheekbones were the same, and the smattering of freckles across them hadn't changed, and his hair was as wildly tousled as always, though that might have been from sleep. She pulled him to her, now, shaken to the bone by what she saw.

"It's you, but it can't be, you were only eight this morning, and—"

The guard coughed uncomfortably, drawing the siblings' attention. "My lady, you've been gone for nine years."

The world fell around her ears as Toby murmured an affirmation of the guard's declaration.


She'd fallen into a brief, entirely reasonable fit of hysteria. Losing nine years in as many hours would do that to a person, no matter what the cause—or, in Sarah's case, who.

Her shrieked "He promised! He promised!" woke her father and most of the keep; though the fit lasted only a few scarce moments, the ensuing confusion didn't die down until after dawn. Toby, seeing how close Sarah was to breaking down again, ordered the servants and soldiers out, though Margaret, Sarah's ladies' maid, wouldn't be chased out. Margaret, much like Toby, refused to let Sarah out of her sight and actually kept a hold on Sarah's sleeve, as if the wayward girl would disappear again without notice.

Her father, on the other hand, rejected her entirely.

With only the four of them in the hall, he stared at her with an even, unfaltering gaze.

"I don't know who you are, but you are not my daughter. You will leave this keep by mid-morning and you will not return afterwards. Margaret, pack a bag of food for her and fetch a gown she can change into. Toby, you will escort her to town and then return here. Am I understood?" Without waiting for an answer, her father swept out of the room, pulling the door shut behind him.

"Stuff and bother, Sarah, you aren't leaving," Margaret announced in the silence left in the lord's wake. Sarah and Toby shook their heads, though for different reasons.

"He's the lord," Toby started, even as Sarah spoke over him, "I already promised—". They both stopped and glanced at each other before grinning wryly.

"How many times have I told you, ladies first?" Toby made a face at her. Margaret tossed her hands up in exasperation.

"Who did you promise what?" Toby asked, and Sarah rolled her eyes.

"Let's sit down, it's a long story. Margaret, will you call for food and drinks, please? We can break our fast as I tell you what happened."

They sat down at the high table, though Margaret protested, and Sarah nibbled at bread and fruit as she related her travails with Merlin in the wood. She tried a few of Jareth's riddles on Toby, who loved puzzles as much as she did, and hummed a bit of his song to Margaret, who was already swooning over Sarah's 'romantic' encounter. A blushing Sarah refuted all romantic possibilities, so Margaret quieted, though she and Toby shared a knowing look. Sarah glossed over the rest after that, relating vaguely her promise to Jareth and the ride back astride Tuired, who interested Toby so much that he made Sarah describe him in detail.

When she'd finished, they sat in silence for a moment as Margaret and Toby tried to absorb all she'd said.

"You did give your word," Margaret mused reluctantly.

"Can't go back on a promise," Toby nodded.

"I wasn't going to," Sarah remarked pointedly. "And it isn't feasible to keep me in sight for the rest of my life, Margaret. Something was bound to happen eventually."

Margaret looked ready to argue, but Toby broke in, "When I take you to the town, I'll stay with you and help you with this Fey business of yours." He hadn't even finished speaking before Sarah and Margaret started shaking their heads.

"This is something I have to do alone, Toby. That's… well, that's just the way it's done." With her grim proclamation and Margaret's silent support, they finished their meal in glum silence before scattering to prepare for Sarah's departure. Margaret fled upstairs to get a fresh gown for Sarah before rushing below to the kitchens to pack a light dinner for her. Toby marched grimly back to his chambers to retrieve a knife for Sarah, which he fervently hoped she wouldn't need but was determined to foist upon her anyway.

Sarah slipped out the keep and past the smattering of houses to the stables, saddling Merlin while she waited for her brother and her friend. He, unlike Sarah, had aged when he returned to mortal land, and stood proudly at his full height, though still comically short compared to the huge, otherworldly horse he might have to chase down in the approaching night.

Buckling the girth strap and ignoring Merlin's irritated head bobbing, Sarah listened for Margaret and Toby and prayed she wouldn't have to run down Jareth and Tuired. She didn't think she and Merlin could handle that.


Oro: This is short, but I'm already working on the last chapter. I just wanted to keep the lengths fairly consistent.

Quill:Goodness knows you can't keep the tone consistent.

Oro: ... Ignoring you~ (whistles) Anyway, I'm sure some of you recognize the storyline by now... I added things! Nyeh! Anyhow, I don't own the shtuff I don't own. Back to writing...