CCXVI

"I haven't hosted a mortal woman in ages." The fae's smile rivalled that of Lucius Malfoy as he began to circle around her, examining her from every angle like one might study a work of art or a rare beast. She shivered in fear, her body recalling a similar scene she'd worked very hard to forget.

"Your awed silence, of course, is expected. Feeble minded mortals have trouble grasping the wonders of my world. Did you pass my Queen riding on a horse in your travels? She is disgustingly sentimental." He snorted, "A mortal poet named her Mab. Atrocious isn't it?"

Hermione's eyes gravitated toward the fae's silver arm, her mind flipping through pages of old tales to settle on a specific passage. Nuada, King of the Tuatha Dé Dannan, whose legendary temper was as unpredictable and dangerous as the sea.

"I never cared for Shakespeare. He bored me." The fae, perhaps having noticed her attention on his arm waved it about affected irritation. "So many words, so little substance."

He came to a stop before her and cocked his head. "Be careful that you do not disappoint me."

The sprite whispered, rustling Hermione's hair, "Speak only truth, my Lady."

CCXVII

Hermione closed her eyes, taking stock. Her head had stopped spinning from that disastrous landing, and she was reasonably confident that her stomach was not going empty itself on King High-and-Mighty's pointed shoes.

Carefully she drew her legs underneath her and pushed herself up to a standing position. She was still damp from her time in the sea, she'd lost her crown somewhere along the way, and she didn't even want to know what her hair was doing. It always had a mind of its own.

"I am lost, good sir. Would you please point me in the right direction?"

CCXVIII

"The right direction?" There was a flash of darkness in the fae King's eyes, which disappeared before Hermione could interpret it. "What is right but the opposite of wrong? In my Kingdom nothing is wrong unless I will it." While his tone was pleasant, she could hear the bite in his meaning.

Hermione's fingers touched her wand, which was tucked in her sash. Reassured, she said, "I do not belong here."

A warning hiss in Hermione's ear sharpened her mind, the sprite's breath ice cold.

The King was stepping closer, and his eyes swept over her form with the hunger of a storm-maddened sea.

Fear blossomed like a cascade of icicles down her spine, and she shivered.

"Oh, beautiful child, you have only just arrived." He smirked and twirled out of her line of sight, only to whisper in her opposite ear, "I have marvels to show you. Surely you can stay awhile? It is terribly rude to leave so hastily."

Controlling the impulse to recoil, Hermione answered, "I cannot afford it, sir. You are rich, living outside of time, and need not mind how it is spent."

The King pushed her forward, his laugh low and menacing. "Poor child."

CCXIX

"I could encase you in the finest amber, thus preserving your lovely form for eternity. Would that please you?" The fae King kept a light hand at Hermione's back, but his touch lacked warmth.

Vehemently, Hermione shook her head. "No, good sir. I would hate to be entombed such. I enjoy the freedom of movement too much to accept such a gift."

"You enjoy travel? For a mortal, you are the very likeness of my love, Boann, of the wave."

The chamber melted away, changing with each step from palace to rocky shore to misty field as the King guided Hermione along. She could hardly take in the detail of the passing landscape, and she wondered if Giants felt this way when they take their morning constitutionals.

"Movement without agency over direction is no better than a tomb wrought of precious stone, good sir."

The hand disappeared from her back. "Do mortals have true choices, when made in blind ignorance of the wonders around you?"

They'd stopped in a field dominated by the largest tree Hermione had ever seen and she gasped in awe.

Skipping ahead like a schoolboy, the King shouted over his shoulder, "Come look if you dare!"

CCXX

Hermione's mind boggled as she followed the fae King through a field that stretched beyond the horizon. Ahead of her, the King came to a stop in the shade of the Tree. A glow radiated from him, softening his sharp edges.

The closer she came to the tree, the lighter her burdens became. She forgot how cold she was, and how much danger she faced.

The King knelt by one of the great roots of the tree. As Nuada beckoned her over with a teasing grin, he reminded her of her best friends. "Hurry up, I want you to see this, little bird."

Weakly, the sprite whispered, "Don't drink the water."

Even as her feet obeyed the King's admonishment, Hermione's mind began to fight against the intoxicating waves of magic pulsing from the trunk before her and on impulse, she asked, "Is this the Tree of Life?"

His smile dropped away as he looked up at her. Part of her mourned the loss of that boyish smile. "You have studied the old lore. Excellent."

With a sweeping gesture, he turned her attention to the pool of water tucked into the base of the tree. "Tell me, what do you see?"

AN:

Written for grangersnape100 spring fever challenge.

Thanks to Qdrew for her beta expertise. She's Amazing!