Author's note:
Hello everyone! Thank you so much for reading, and super-special thanks to fledge, my only and faithful reviewer. I meant to dedicate the last two or three chapters to you, but I kept getting excited and forgetting to write this note. Sorry! Anyway, this one's primarily for you, and secondarily to anyone actually taking the time to read this.
Robin Goodfellow
The girl who does not love the boy awoke. I saw her, her aura, and knew the flower had taken. But she was lost, poor girl, walking in spirals in the moonlit wood, and I knew nothing would come of the potion lest she encounter her love. After some consideration I recalled a spell my master once taught me, on a midsummer's eve long ago, to lead a heart to the heart it longs to beat in sync with, the heart of her love.
In truth, it was that spell that brought me to Oberon.
He had been lonely, he said, and he wondered what would happen were the spell to be placed on one of the fey. We are not like humans, we do not attune to another through physical contact, for physically we are insubstantial. Physically we are as the wind, as eternal as time itself and as fleeting as any dream. For this reason, our hearts do not beat in sync, but our spirits do.
When Oberon cast this spell, in the time before the universe formed, all the fey were drawn to him. His heart, it seemed, longed to be in sync with that of all our world. It was then, through that action, that he was determined king.
It was then, through that action, that I came into being. His spirit was not strong enough to connect with the sheer quantity of fey. It would have torn him apart. So the spell, for a powerful spell invariably takes up a life of its own, created me. My spirit is the connection between the king and every fey ever in existence. I am that connection, that love. My soul is made of power, heavy power, yet I am light. Light and jesting and witty, for every life must balance to remain intact. The lightness of my being balances the deepness of my soul. Only my master can see my soul, even I cannot. This has made him dark, the dark king with his dark fairies, opposite the queen and her light fairies, keeping the world in balance. But even the dark king needs a laugh, now and again, so I have purpose to serve as court jester. This purpose dooms me, for no matter the truth in what I say, I shall not be believed. Such is the curse of the fool.
But I fear I have journeyed far from this tale, and wish to return to it with haste. The girl. Helena, her name was. That is what the boy had called her.
With, literally, ( I promise you, I did not make this spell up) a snap of my fingers I froze her timeline. That being done I walked up to her and placed my hand atop her head, closing my eyes. I whispered in her ear the spell:
There is truth in the old tales
and Power in naming
Name what you seek in order to find
Follow your heartbeat, your true self
Hear the call of the drum.
Feel all the earth pass through your soul
and succeed in the wish of your heart.
There is truth in the old tales
and Power in naming.
As the spell ended I heard her heart complete the naming.
"Helena" it breathed.
At that I must confess I laughed aloud, if only from surprise. Helena? What complications have I just caused, in freeing Hermia's heart? Ah, well. Complications are more fun than that which the humans call Christmas.
This was going to be most, most intriguing indeed.
I unfroze the girl, and fled to alert my master.
Seconds later, my master asked me to verify certain points of information:
"Yes, master, thanks to yours truly there is about to be a confrontation between societal expectation and the nature of the heart right here in your very wood! Yes, master, these humans are tempered and self-important. Yes, the males have swords. Isn't it great."
My master said nothing to that, but in response simply bashed his head against a tree. Repeatedly. I laughed.