Meanwhile, Ted's danced with two girls and has just taken the hand of the third. They say three's the charm, and though he hasn't really been one for superstition, he's been one for destiny. "Hi, I'm—" he begins, but is cut off.
The girl is young, blonde, and attractive. She's wearing a butterfly mask with gold flowers embossed on it, and a bright yellow dress that hides her shoes. "—Don't. This is a masquerade—enjoy the mystery, the allure. You won't get it anywhere else."
That makes sense, he concedes. "Then how will we find each other again?" he asks. Once the dance is over, she'll just be a pretty girl in a yellow dress, just like the dozens of other yellow-clad dames.
Her eyes sparkle. "We won't—that's the beauty of it. We won't be ruined by looks, by second meetings, by anything. It'll just be this one perfect dance."
Ted isn't sure how he feels about that. But he doesn't even know if he likes this girl yet, though right now, she seems pretty cool; the idea she came up with was really quite intriguing. This could just be another wasted dance.
Or a perfect memory.
"Alright, I'm onboard. Let's do this. But no names?"
"No names," she agrees. "Naturally. You can call me… Buttercup."
Fitting. She's seems to be draped in sunshine, and he's pretty sure the flowers on her mask are the said buttercups. "And I'll be Crow." It's a clear reference to his mask; jet black with streaks of gold resembling down, with a few well-placed feathers reaching out from its corners.
"So what brings you to the ball?" Buttercup asks.
"I'm a friend of the groom. You?"
"That, sir, is a secret. Too much information, you see. You'd figure out who I am."
"Not the bride, I trust," Ted jokes.
Buttercup laughs as she executes a practised twirl. "No, nothing of the sort. I'm hoping to catch the bouquet, though."
"Well, you'll have to wrestle it from me."
She lets out another laugh. Ted doesn't think it sounds like the babbling of a brook, or the tinkle of wind chimes, though his romantic side urges him to do so—but no, it just sounds so sincere, so open, and so… real.
"You're quite the jester, aren't you? I heard this kingdom needs a new fool."
Now it's Ted's turn to laugh, because he's a prince. And then he's worried because the remark is so specific that he's sure Buttercup's figured out he's some kind of royalty.
"But," she continues. "I suppose even all of Newen doesn't possess enough gold to purchase a new hat every time you perform—after all, the wax in your hair would ruin the seams. Although it might actually reinforce the tailoring…" she muses.
"You affront my hair?" Ted replies, enjoying the easy banter. "Ah, Buttercup, you are too young to die, so do not try."
"Oh, but Crow! Your hair is as coated as a good frosting on cake. But I also have to commend you; your hair, after all, defies reality itself with its improbable styling. Congratulations, you might just win a prize for it." She pauses to let him dip her down. "Is that what you wanted to hear?"
"Not what I wanted; what you ought to have said, as any reasonable lady with taste would have said."
This continues for a few minutes, until, finally, their third circle is almost over. Ted really, really likes this girl. "What's your name?" The question slips through his lips.
Buttercup's eyes look almost regretful as she shakes her head. "Sorry, Crow. But it's a perfect dance, remember? The one we'll recall for generations yet."
And then it ends.
But out of all the characters, the prince always comes first.
The end always comes last. That's what an end is, after all.
A bad finish for the witch, the villain.
And the 'happily ever after'? That's a bit more tricky.
Then again, they're all just endings.
Robin. It's Robin. Robin Scherbatsky, the woman he and Ted met in that first ball, the one from Danca.
And she's a dude.
Okay, Barney just has to use that line, but it's not exactly true. She's not a dude. She's a chick pretending to be a dude. And here's her explanation why:
There was once a man who was all fire and passion, and his name was Robin Charles Scherbatsky. He was the king of the land. A stern but fair ruler who wanted nothing better for the not-kingdom.
(It was a little complicated. Danca was a nation, and a king ruled it, but it was not a kingdom. It had a palace, its servants, and its people, but it was not a kingdom. The reason was that when the Doctrine of Fifty was signed, Danca wasn't there. It was preoccupied with the invention of a lame new hunting game called hockey gun, some—namely, Barney—said. It was staving off invasion from the sea pirates, others whispered. There was no end to the number of rumours, but Danca never confirmed nor denied any of them. In any case, they were not there to sign the Doctrine, and are therefore not considered a kingdom.)
Then the queen conceived Robin Charles Scherbatsky Jr.
Eleven years later, Katie Scherbatsky was born.
Robin Charles Scherbatsky Sr. deemed it a disgrace, to have been father to two girls after years of trying. He grew angry and unreasonable, imposing harsher rules than ever and eventually driving the queen and their newborn child away with his ever-changing moods.
And Robin Jr.? She stayed with the king and raised a boy. Anyone outside of the castle knew not of her true gender; she appeared a male to the nation, and would-be heir. Her father taught her to hunt, to skin a rabbit, everything he'd planned to do with a son. Robin complied with his every whim—that is, until she turned a teenager. Rebelliousness suddenly breathed into her soul, independence she so craved but dare not act. But one misty August night, she marshalled up her courage and escaped. Thoughts of turmoil in Danca with her disappearance were carefully thrust aside as she ran stealthily through the forest, eventually ended up at her mother's home, at the edge of the island, where she stayed for seven years and learned to be a girl. She made sure to keep well away from the not-kingdom itself, and all the citizens knew were that there was a renegade prince that had run from Danca.
On the last day of her seven years living with her mother and sister, she had decided to go to the ball at Yorken. That was when she met Ted.
When she returned to Danca, her father came to collect her. She was terrified of the rage that never came, only a cold word and an order that could not be disobeyed. He was getting old, Robin knew; perhaps that was why Robin Charles Sr. had decided that now was the time to collect her. He cut her hair once more, trained her to be a boy, and for her final test, she was sent to the wedding in Newen as a representative from Danca.
Barney gapes at Robin after she finishes her explanation. She glares at his nonplussed expression. "Wha—"
"—Not a word," Robin hisses, cutting across him as the music comes to an end. "I was careful at that ball in Yorken. The only thing I talked to was my scotch. Then you and Ted came along, thanks for that. So this cannot be leaked out. And warn Ted before he sees me as the prince of Danca."
The clock strikes ten, the beat dies, and the dancers step apart to unmask.
Barney sees Ted eagerly whirling round, perhaps to spot one of his dance partners, only to look disappointed. Eventually though, his brown eyes land on Barney together with Robin. He's still too far away to see anything amiss, so the blonde decides to prep Ted beforehand.
"I guess I'll see you later, prince," Barney says, making it clear that he isn't going to let this golden opportunity pass him by. Robin nods curtly.
The clock will strike twelve.
Ted scours the room keenly, just as soon as everyone pockets their masks, in the hopes of finding Buttercup. It's no good; at least half the women here are blonde, and at least a third of them wear similar yellow dresses. Curse Newen and its undiversified fashions! (Not that Ted would know. He doesn't listen as the messenger reads out Fashion Today. Really.) The only other clue is her shoes, cute little brown ones with snowflakes. He had scrutinized any for anything that would set her apart from the other girls, and when she'd lifted the hem of her dress for a tricky step in the dance, he'd seen the shoes. Unfortunately, the dresses of almost every blonde cover their shoes; Ted has no way of peeking at any potential sandals.
As he sighs, searching the room once more, his eyes snag on Barney, who's still at the edge of the room. Only now, he's with some other guy who must've come late and forgotten to bring his mask. Seeing Ted's gaze, Barney bids goodbye to the stranger and heads toward him.
"Heeeey Ted, you won't believe who I just talked to!" Barney says, his blue eyes sparkling with excitement. "Can you guess? Can you guess?"
Barney rarely lets Ted forget how much of a child he can be. "Who?"
"Guess," Barney orders.
Ted rolls his eyes. "Fine. Punchy?"
"No."
"Stuart?"
"No. Hah, you'll never get it."
"Carl?"
"No." Barney lets out a chuckle.
"The Captain?"
"No. Last chance, Mosby."
Ted decides to throw out a completely random, ridiculous guess, just to show Barney he's not taking this guessing game seriously. (Which would mean when Ted guesses wrong, it's because he wasn't trying to win.) "Robin?"
Barney is silent for a moment, grin wiped clean off his face. "You… you cheater!" he finally splutters, indignant at having been beaten.
"Wait, really? It's Robin? That can't be… I mean, you're talking about that brown-haired guy you were with just now, right? Note the word 'guy'."
Barney explains Robin's situation to Ted, and by the end of it, almost all thoughts of Buttercup are extinguished with this startling revelation.
"What?" That's Ted's response for the next five minutes.
Barney enjoys his reaction. "What. Up!" He raises his palm for a high-five.
He receives the requisite slap, but it's Robin who gives it, not Ted, and it's at the sharp sound that Ted finally stops blabbering.
"Shut up, Ted," Robin asserts, fingering the inside of her tailored suit in a way that hints a lethal weapon or two could be easily procured, should Ted incur her wrath. "Not a word."
He just stares at her for a long moment, before muttering, "…Politics…" in that derisive tone that Barney often uses when referring to Danca.
As Ted stands there, dumbfounded, Barney turns and grins at Robin. "Only in Danca, I swear," he says. "Hiding hot chicks as boys. An irreparable offense. Of course, chicks in suits… that's not that a bad idea." He checks her out appreciatively (and unabashedly, since he's Barney), but then frowns. "Well, if you didn't have to do that chest-binding thing."
To his delight, she doesn't blush at his pointed ogle as he tries to discern the slightest hint of boob from under the tight bandage.
Robin hangs around with Ted and Barney for the most part, right up until Marshall sends someone from the dressing room to call Ted. "So, how's the speech going?"
Ted is nonplussed. "Speech?"
"You know, your best man's speech."
"Best man's speech?"
Turns out Marshall had been so wrapped up with running the kingdom, coping with his dad's death, and making sure Lily didn't go crazy with the wedding that he forgot to formally ask Ted to be his best man. And that's how Robin ended up hanging with Barney, while Marshall helped Ted with his speech.
They order a scotch each, both neat, and imagine Ted's gel-ridden hair falling down in clumps at the stress.
"So where's your dad?" Barney asks as he takes a sip of his scotch.
"Oh, he's here. Somewhere," Robin says reluctantly. "It's not as if I want to see him, though."
"Daddy issues," he says, nodding in approval. "Hot." He winks at her.
Some of the guests see his wink and give him a weird look. It does look very much as though Barney's hitting on another dude, after all. But that doesn't perturb him, Robin thinks wryly, as Barney looks her up and down once more. "So why aren't you hitting on the bridesmaids?" she inquires. She hasn't known Barney for very long, but it seems to be the sort of thing he'd do.
"I wish, but Ted's dad made me… take an oath. We were under it and everything," Barney asserts.
Robin stares. "And you're keeping your promise?"
"It's not a promise; I'm under an oath. An oath! So here I am," he sighs, then perks up. "Hey, you know what, you're a dude! Why don't I be your wingman tonight?"
"You're kidding, right?"
"Let's go."
"What? No!" She yanks her arm from his grip. "Barney," she hisses in warning, in the I've-got-a-gun-and-I'm-not-afraid-to-use-it-in-fact-I'd-love-to-use-it tone.
He heaves a sigh, and opens to mouth to complain about standing around and watching busty chicks pass by when a deep voice cuts in.
"RJ, there you are."
Robin turns in dread. "…Father."
The clock will strike twelve. The question is, is it because of the witch or the fairy godmother?
Meanwhile, Ted the best man is the one freaking out, as opposed to Marshall the groom. He's got twenty frickin' minutes to come up with a toast for the king and queen of Newen. No sweat.
Now there's three things trying to edge itself to the forefront of his mind. First, Buttercup. Second, Robin-is-a-guy. Third, best-man-speech-in-twenty-minutes, which is important. It's in twenty minutes.
So he bounces ideas off Marshall. "…Something about a whale?"
This is not going well.
Villain or helper?
Barney watches as Robin Sr. brings Robin Jr. away, sparing him a nod. He wonders if Robin got into trouble for arriving late, or perhaps for consorting with someone from an actual kingdom.
At this point, he's wandering along a deserted corridor in the South Wing. That's when a red-haired woman bursts from one of the many doors that line the hallway, and Barney curses his oath to the king. Not hitting on chicks was a ridiculous proposition. In fact, had the king not bound him with the oath as well as a challenge, Barney would…
"You!" the redhead calls, interrupting his thoughts. "Help me. Right, introductions—I'm Lily Aldrin, and you're Barney Stinson, and you've got to help me get rid of a guy by name of Scooter. The guards are busy with the bandits—this is a royal wedding, after all—and Scooter can't really do much harm, but I don't want anything ruining the ceremony, so off you go!"
Barney deduces she's the bride, since this Lily Aldrin has that frenzied look in her face when confronted with imminent monogamy. Plus, she seems to know the guest list back to front. "Even if I were to help you," he says, feeling a little inclined to comply with her, just to kill some time. "How would I know what Scooter looks like?" Scooter, he thinks, is probably an ex of hers. She's good-looking enough to have a guy who's still hung up about her and any ordinary gatecrashers would be a lot more subtle.
"Well—he's there! Behind you!"
Barney spins round as though expecting some spectre to extend a ghostly arm out, only to see a dark-haired man speed in their direction.
"I'll leave it to you," she hisses and slips back into what Barney presumes is the bride's prep room.
Barney bars the door from Scooter's grasp. "Not so fast, dude," he says, and a shark-like grin spreads across his face.
The clock will strike twelve. The question is, is it for the princess or bride?
Ted pens down the last section of his speech. "That's it, I'm not changing it anymore. I'm done!" He reads it through. "Well, except for this part… and this part… and here…"
After his perfectionism is satisfied, Marshall forces Ted to leave to enjoy the party, on the grounds that his best-man-ship isn't activated till after the ceremony, since he was appointed late, thereby freeing him to abandon the groom.
Marshall wonders how Lily is doing.
This is how Lily is doing. She's freaking out, and she's mad because Scooter's here. She's also mad because Barney Stinson let Scooter into her dressing room.
"Not so fast," he says, blocking Scooter. But then, her ex looks up with the trademark puppy dog gaze and Barney relents. Who knew such a guy would have a heart for Scooter? But he does, and Scooter's been let loose in her dressing room.
"Lily," he pleads, trying to look her in the eyes. But Lily has a soft spot for that puppy dog look too, so she keeps dodging his gaze. "Don't do this. Come with me!"
"Get out, Scooter. We've been broken up for years now." Lily then turns to Barney. "Get him out!"
"I penned a sonnet, dear love!"
"Out! Out!"
Scooter opens his mouth eagerly to recite.
Lily realizes what kind of a character Barney is. "Get him out, Barney Stinson, and I'll introduce you to one of my bridesmaids."
It's a loophole in his oath to the king. If Lily, the bride and queen of Newen, introduces him to what is hopefully and probably a nine, Barney's off the hook. He wouldn't be the one to engage conversation first. He'd merely be… responding.
"Got it."
He disposes of Scooter in ways that may not be entirely legal and returns to Lily's dressing room quickly.
She notes his haste. "Eager as a beaver, I see."
"Not entirely. Maybe eager for a beaver, if you know what I mean. Up top!" He holds his palm up for a high-five.
She reluctantly gives him one, but Barney gives her credit. Marshall's a pretty lucky guy. Well, he hastily corrects himself, not lucky, since he's getting married, but… at least it's to someone who can take a joke. Not like certain women, who have ruined suits with their martinis and, occasionally, scotches.
"I'm beginning to feel a little guilty handing her off to you," Lily says. "And considering who she is, it says a lot about you."
It's clear she has had a falling out with her bridesmaids, so Barney asks why.
Lily gives him a dark look. "She insulted my wedding gown." Right. Bride things. Barney should've known. Lily pokes her head round the door and calls for the said bridesmaid, telling Barney he should be flattered Lily's even acknowledging her hated existence. "I gave her my you-are-dead-to-me look! And now here I am, drudging her back from the ashes."
Barney wonders ponders the age-old question: Hot or not? Weighing the pros and cons of a prospective new you-are-dead-to-me generation of chicks, his attention is snapped back the moment the bridesmaid, Rebecca, appears at the door.
"Right, you." Lily doesn't even want to say the name. "Show Barney Stinson around. He's a friend of mine from Yorken."
A convenient lie, Barney muses—at least until the questions about how they met come flooding in. He waits, but they never do come. Rebecca just flings her sparkling hair around the place with a perfect smile, and he admires her figure and air headedness. Not quite ditzy enough to be a bimbo, but close enough. But then she starts talking about her ex. And Barney thinks: Oh. That kind of girl. That kind of baggage. One of the worst kinds, certainly. He tries to steer the conversation to other areas, and semi-succeeds. While he's not getting some from her this evening, she's palming him off to her friend. Her hopefully hot friend. And since hotness begets more hotness, it's more 'probably hot' than 'hopefully hot'.
But before the ending, and before the clock, comes the twist. An unexpected revelation (or plural), perhaps for more than one party, which just precedes the climax.
Robin can't stop her pulse from racing as her father leads her round the ballroom, greeting the important guests. She's late, late for the wedding, her big test. He's angry, he has to be, no matter what sort of explanation she comes up with.
His first question is, to her relief, a simple though puzzling one. Who was that man? Robin quickly tells him it was Barney Stinson from Yorken. Then the older Scherbatsky briefly muses on Barney's familiarity, which Robin swiftly latches onto as a topic of conversation. It's more to stave off more dangerous questions, but she's intrigued too. Barney has never been to Danca, and she tells him so. But before he can respond, they're swarmed by more people here to meet the royalty of Danca.
"So, RJ," Robin Sr. says as they finally break through the last cloud of guests. "I have a few other, more important, questions. Care to answer them?" He doesn't clarify. He simply waits and gives Robin that cold stare.
"Father, I… I didn't know there would be a masquerade. It wasn't in the invitation, I wasn't informed," she stutters, despite knowing a confident tone would only help her situation, despite hating herself for her meekness.
Pitiful, his eyes say. "Go on."
"And I was late… I was late because…" She hesitates, deliberating between a lie and the truth. A lie is safer, incurs less wrath, but the consequences of having her father uncover the truth are severe, to say the least.
His stare never relents, chilling her bones with its severity. Impatience reigns in his eyes, and absurdly, Robin feels a little better being absolved from his uncaring attitude.
She decides on the truth. "…I made a wish."
Stories are also like dominos. One decision affects the next, flipping through each scenario with brutal haste. A seemingly innocuous choice spurns on a series of severe consequences. But perhaps the most overlooked tendency of stories is the rule that wishes always go wrong. They find a way to make your dreams come true in the cruellest possible method. They turn your decisions against you. The only thing you can be sure of is that your wish is always granted. The conclusion is always reached.
Endings are only ever endings, after all.
Within the chambers, a consequence of Robin's choice plays out.
Lily is nervous. How could she not be? But this restlessness isn't just a fresh wave of bridal nerves. It's an inborn urge to see the world and paint the sights, something she would have to give up once she's queen and bride to Marshall.
In the hall, a consequence of Robin's choice plays out.
Ted has to see the girl. Now that the speech is done, now that Robin's identity has sunken in a little bit more, Buttercup is at the forefront of his mind.
Across the room, a consequence of Robin's choice plays out.
Barney wishes, more than anything else in the world, that he were not in this room, not in this castle, not in this kingdom. But he's not the one who got the wish.
The clock will strike twelve.