There was no denying it.

Blaine was lost.

This journey to the Lower Kingdom should not be taking this long.

He supposed it was partially his fault, though.

Perhaps he should not have lingered so long at the tavern listening to his good friend and fellow bard, Samuel, tell story after story the previous eve. (Though all the strange and silly voices Samuel used always made Blaine smile).

Perhaps he should not have had more than one tankard of that ale as well. He was never one to partake too much in such things. His brother Cooper never let him live down the time he kissed that barmaid, Rachel, after imbibing one too many drinks. Blaine shuddered at the memory. As lovely as Rachel was, she was definitely not his type.

So that morning, Blaine set out on the road much later and far less steady on his feet than anticipated. All of which led to him taking the wrong fork in the path toward the Lower Kingdom.

Which then led him to the brilliant idea of cutting through the Dark Forest to try to make up the time he wasted traversing the wrong path.

Which then led him here.

Lost.

Blaine groaned inwardly. This would be yet another story Cooper would no doubt repeat again and again at every chance he would find.

The wind picked up sharply, forcing Blaine to pull his hood over his head and wrap his cloak tighter around his shoulders. He shuddered as he picked his way slowly through the wood. The overhead canopy was so thick that barely a glimmer of light came through to his eyes. At this point, Blaine could not tell how long he had been lost in the forest. Was it even nightfall?

Blaine cursed as he tripped over yet another gnarled tree root. He righted himself before he fell amongst the dried autumnal leaves which covered the forest floor. Frustrated, the young bard shouldered his lute again and kept going. He was sure now even the foliage was determined to keep him from his destination.

But just as Blaine's patience had reached its tipping point, a voice floated on the wind to his ears.

It was soft and melancholy and . . . well, beautiful.

It sang:

With sighing and sobbing and sad lamentation,

And saying my blackbird most loyal has flown.

Blaine's heart ached as he listened.

My thoughts they deceive me, reflection it grieves me,

And I am overburdened with sad misery,

Where was this the owner of this voice?

Yet if death it should blind me as true love inclines me,

My Blackbird I'd seek out wherever he be.

Now less focused on finding his way to the Lower Kingdom, Blaine became more determined to find the source of this music. He pushed his way through waist-high weeds and stinging nettle bushes which scratched his hands and face. He tore through the wood like a madman, cursing as low-hanging branches snagged his cloak as if holding him back.

The voice hummed the tune once more, only to repeat the last few lines in a mournful tone.

Yet if death it should blind me as true love inclines me,

My Blackbird I'd seek out wherever he be.

Blaine finally stumbled onto a clearing, where he found a small cottage surrounded by a low stone wall. A lush garden grew around the perimeter of the wall. And there, kneeling in the garden, tending the plants in the moonlight, was the melancholy singer.

And he took Blaine's breath away.

The young man was as beautiful as his voice. He was fair of skin - so fair that it seemed to glow in the light of the full moon above. His chestnut locks were thick, and softly brushed his forehead. His was attired simply, but his manner of dress showed that his shoulders were broad and his arms strong. His face was handsome, with a slight upturned nose, and his eyes: were a myriad of blues and greens that sparkled, even in the starlight.

Blaine yearned to look directly into those ethereal eyes and take the sadness away that he saw in them.

So instead, he sang to let his presence be known:

Oh friendly shades of night convey me

Unto my love, yes, my sweet Joy

The young man stood in his garden, startled, and began searching for the whereabouts of the singing voice.

Ye Gods and Goddesses pray ye guide me

To find that dear and that Darling boy

Blaine walked out of the shadows of the tree line and into the moonlight. The bard held his hands open to show he bore no weapons nor was of any threat as he sang once more as he slowly approached the cottage.

The wild birds are singing their loving notes o'er;

But all the day long through my lone heart is ringing,

The voice of my blackbird, I'll never so more.

The young man began to slowly walk backwards to the cottage's front door, his eyes carefully tracking Blaine's movements. In his right hand, he tightly gripped a large pair of silver shears, which no doubt had been used in cutting some of the plants he had been tending.

"Come no closer," the young man warned Blaine, brandishing the shears as if to protect himself.

"I bear you no ill will," Blaine confessed. "Please believe me. I wear no weapons. I am alone."

The young man still looked unsure. "There have been very few who have ventured this far into the Dark Forest. What, pray tell, is your business here this eve?"

Blaine walked up to the iron gate that stood as an entrance to the property. He leaned against it and smiled as kindly as he could. "I am just a weary and a very, very lost traveler," Blaine informed the young man. He sighed and pulled back his hood to run his fingers through his unruly head of black curls. "Would it be too much to ask for shelter from the wind and to rest my feet by your fire? I sadly do not have much in offer of payment, but perhaps a song or two in exchange? A traveling bard must somehow make one's own way in this world." He showed the young man the lute he had slung over his shoulder.

The young man paused a moment to look at Blaine's hands resting on the gate. He then handed his silver shears over the gate to Blaine, who took them without question. He looked at them and then at the stranger curiously.

"You can help me tend my garden and harvest a few herbs," the handsome stranger told Blaine. "That plus a few songs, and you may stay and rest a bit."

The young man turned the latch at the gate and pulled it open to allow Blaine inside.

"My name is Kurt," the stranger informed him. "And yours?" he asked with an arched eyebrow.

"Blaine."


Blaine paused a moment to leave his lute by the cottage door before following Kurt into his garden. He knelt beside Kurt and followed his directions, mimicking his actions as they cut and bundled various plants beneath the moonlight. Somehow Kurt procured another pair of silver shears, perhaps from the baskets scattered around him that they began to fill with their cuttings. Once appeased with the results, Kurt motioned to Blaine to take a few baskets and follow him inside the cottage.

"Thank you," Kurt murmured as Blaine handed him the shears he had used. "You may put the baskets there." He motioned to a high wooden worktable that lay beneath a large window. "Come, now rest yourself by the fire." He gestured toward the warm, cheery hearth at the end of the room.

Blaine groaned as he lowered himself down into a chair. He gratefully accepted the warm bowl of stew that Kurt held out to him, his stomach growling as the scent of the savory meal hit his nostrils.

As Blaine began eating, his eyes lingered, taking note of his surroundings. The main room of the cottage had a high vaulted ceiling. Many bunches of dried herbs and flowers hung from its rafters, their various perfumes mixing in the air. Besides the worktable under the window, which held this evening's work, another wooden table was prominent in the room. It stood close to the hearth. On the tabletop were scattered what looked like the ingredients of a meal about to be prepared. Kurt stood before the table, his hands deftly working with the items assembled there. A large iron stove stood guarding a corner, its heat emanating through the room, a pot bubbling away atop it. A brindle cat wove its way through Blaine's ankles, looking curiously at him. It meowed plainly before rubbing its head against his calf and then settling into another basket in a corner by the door, watching the two men with interest.

"No, thank you for your kindness." Blaine said through mouthfuls." Though I am sure, your neighbors would no doubt lend me their aid as well."

Kurt snorted at that remark. "There is no one around for ages, and you would be hard-pressed to find someone for any aid. Most likely, you would have been dead by morning had you not come here."

Before Blaine could ask more, the wind outside the cottage shrieked loudly. The windows began to rattle and shake violently. He whipped his head around as a loud groaning filled the room. Kurt's eyes quickly flew to the door, as did Blaine's. The groaning was soon replaced by a loud thump-thump-thump which grew louder by the moment. It echoed in his ears and was so violent he could feel it in his body. The air in the cottage became cold and heavy as the pounding became even more intense. Something was outside. Blaine watched in horror as he believed he saw the handle to the iron door begin to move on its own.

Kurt moved swiftly to the door, placing both hands upon it. Both men could hear a frantic scratching from the other side of the door. "Begone!" Kurt shouted over the din. "You are not welcome here!"

A high-pitched scream answered from outside the cottage. The wind wailed along with it, shaking the tiny cottage once more before shrouding it in silence.

The only sound Blaine could then hear was the crackling of the fire, his own labored breathing, and the wild beating of his heart.

"What was that?" he whispered, almost too afraid to speak aloud.

Kurt sighed. He turned, wrapped his arms around his torso tightly, and leaned heavily against the door.

"That," he said pointedly, "Is why no one dares to venture into the Dark Forest. Especially at night. Especially when the moons are full." He stared at Blaine incredulously. "You are a bard. Surely, you have heard the tales and songs of these woods."

"I have," Blaine said. "But. . . but those are just stories. They are only fantastic tales to keep an audience enthralled." His mind raced as he recalled all he had learned during his apprenticeship about the Dark Forest. His hazel eyes looked to Kurt's blue ones, searching for answers. "Are they not?" he wondered aloud.

"There is more truth to them than you suspect," Kurt admitted quietly as he crossed back to the table.

Blaine stared at the door once more. "Will they return?" he asked, the concern evident in his voice.

Kurt shook his head. "The door and the window lashings are iron. They cannot enter. And there are other protections about," he told Blaine confidently.

Blaine nodded, finally understanding. "The iron gate?" he asked Kurt. "And the silver shears you handed me? Were you ensuring that I was not one of them?"

Kurt smiled sadly. "I have always been wary of strangers in the wood. The fae folk that live within this forest are twisted and unkind. And some of them are even deadly." His breath hitched, and his eyes clouded over for a moment. "My father discovered this all too well."

Blaine's own heart dropped. He slowly began to understand the sadness he heard in Kurt's song.

"I am so sorry," he whispered, slowly rising to walk to Kurt's side. "And has it been just you? Here? Alone all this time?"

Kurt nodded as the tears slowly rolled down his cheeks. "I do not mean to burden you with my troubles," he murmured, wiping the tears away. His fingers slowly fumbled with the dried herbs on the table before him.

Blaine placed a hand on Kurt's shoulder gently. "I have more than troubled you with my presence here. To listen to another is no burden." He gave Kurt an encouraging smile. "I have a good ear for those who have tales that need telling," he confided to Kurt.

The young man nodded but could not bring himself to look at Blaine.

"I . . ." Kurt hesitated. "I . . . I do not believe this is a tale many would wish to hear." A look of concern marred his features.

Blaine gently took Kurt's chin and tipped it upwards so that he could see those beautiful blue eyes. "Do not be afraid. " Blaine whispered. "I am here."

Kurt shared a sad smile with Blaine and took another breath, his gaze lingering on Blaine's hazel eyes as he simply told his tale.

"My father, mother, and I lived here in this cottage for many years." Kurt quietly began. "We were so happy. The woods were not like this then. It was a place filled with light and life. It was as if the woods were always filled with music and magic - so much magic. "

"My mother was an herbalist and an apothecary of sorts," Kurt told Blaine. "She taught me all she knew." He motioned to the herbs and flowers hanging from the rafters above and the various baskets they had filled that evening. "My father was a mere tinker - but he was a man of good repute, honest, strong, and very kind. My mother adored him - as did he her."

Kurt tore his eyes away from Blaine and began to tidy the table before him as he continued.

"One day, while on a journey to the Lower Kingdom to sell her wares, my mother was set upon by brigands in the forest," Kurt paused, a pained expression crossing his face. "They . . they killed her. My father was the one who came upon her body. He searched the wood for her when she did not return later that day." Kurt closed his eyes, seeing once again the sight of his father returning, his arms gently cradling Kurt's mother. He could not stop seeing the blood smeared across her beautiful face, nor could he stop hearing his own uncontrollable sobbing as he clutched her gown, begging her to wake up.

"I suspect it was once her blood was spilt within these glades that everything changed. The magic was no longer life-giving. It was tainted with darkness. You could feel it – it was in the air: heavy and foul and oppressive. The animals became cruel; the foliage grew poisonous. The wood slowly became the Dark Forest you sing of in your tales."

"But my father and I never wanted to leave this place. This home, that garden outside – it was all we had left of her. So despite the growing darkness that seemed to envelop these woods and all that lived here, we remained. This cottage was our safe space, and the evil magic- there is something in this place that repels it. As try as hard as it does, it cannot taint whatever is here."

The tears began running down Kurt's face more profusely as he continued his tale.

"My father also made that journey towards the Lower Kingdom. He followed the same path my mother had taken years before. But he left behind his satchel of tools by the hearth. Upon discovering it, I rushed down the path to bring them to him."


Kurt quickly ran down the path he knew his father had taken, not but a short time before.

"Papa. . . " he called out, hoping perhaps his father would hear his voice and take a pause in his journey. "Papa, wait. . .you left your tools by the hearth," Kurt said aloud as he jogged quickly down the well-worn path through the wood.

As he turned in a bend in the road, Kurt stopped abruptly as he saw his father just ahead of him. He appeared to be about to leave the path and go further into the dark foliage.

"Papa!" Kurt hissed. "Stop! Why are you straying from the path? You know it is not safe in other parts of the wood," he warned his father.

Kurt's father turned and motioned for his son to come closer. Burt smiled at his boy and accepted the satchel he had left at the cottage. "I know, son," he said, "But I heard something. I think someone is injured and needs our help."

Sure enough, both of them heard weeping in the air. The cries appeared to be coming from just beyond the path, within a thicket of bushes and trees not far from them.

"Help, please help us!" a woman's voice called out.

Another woman's voice joined that one. "Please! Do not leave us here!"

"Where are you?" Burt called out as he started once again to walk toward the voices in the wood.

"Papa, no!" Kurt pulled at his father's cloak. "Do not go there. Please."

Burt turned and placed his hands on his son's shoulders. "We must, Kurt. We cannot turn away someone lost in this wood and who is in need. It is our duty to assist them," he said firmly. "Think of your mother, Kurt," he said quietly. "If someone had heard her cries and helped her, she might be with us today. We cannot let someone else meet her fate."

Kurt paused. He would not let someone else feel the same pain as he did with his mother's loss. The young man took a deep breath and stood taller, willing himself to be brave. He nodded. "I will return home and get some bandages and healing ointments if you wish," he offered.

Burt nodded, proud of Kurt. "I think that would be good. But first, let us see how dire the injuries are. That way, you will know how much to return with."

Burt turned back to the wood once again. Kurt gripped his father's arm in alarm as a loud wailing began to come from the bushes.

"Papa, I do not like this," he murmured as his heart slowly began to race.

Burt took a deep breath and looked at his son, giving him a reassuring smile. "Courage, Kurt," he said.

Kurt's father called once again into the shadows of the wood. "We hear you!" he said. "Where are you?"

Burt began pushing through the overgrown foliage. Kurt followed a few steps behind, warily looking about, half expecting something to come out of the dark shadows to surprise them.

"Here!" one of the women called out again. The other woman began sobbing. "Shh, do not cry, my sweet. He is coming to help us." Kurt could overhear them saying.

Burt pushed back more branches as he searched for the source of the weeping. Soon within a small glade, he and Kurt found two young maidens. One was fair of hair and complexion, the other was darker, with ebony locks that tumbled about her shoulders and skin tanned no doubt by the sun. Both maidens had tear tracks marring their beautiful faces. Their gowns were ripped in many places and dirty. Small cuts and bruises were scattered on their arms and hands.

"Oh kind, sir," the fair maiden cried out to him. "I have fallen . . ." she held her arms out to Burt, who knelt beside her to try to calm the weeping lass.

"Her ankle pains her," other maiden told him, leaning close. "We were chased into the wood by these vile men and are now lost." she wept prettily. "I could not help her to stand, and I could never leave her to seek help."

"Shhh, child . ." Burt reassured the weeping fair-haired maiden. "Do not cry."

The frightened maiden whimpered in pain as Burt carefully checked her ankle.

"Thank you, kind sir," she told Burt. "I do not wish to think what may have happened if you did not hear our cries."

"We feared the worst," the other maiden whispered. "That we would be left here to starve to death in the wood."

"Cold and hungry," her companion murmured softly.

"So very hungry," the fair one moaned.

"But no longer." the dark maiden hissed as she nodded to her friend, a knowing smile shared between them.

In a heartbeat, the women transformed into a mockery of their former selves. Gone were the blushing, meek maidens, and in their stead were the dark creatures of the forest. Their hair was wild, and their eyes were filled with madness as they set upon Burt with the strength of twenty of the King's men. They quickly pinned him down to the forest floor. Burt struggled valiantly but to no avail. He had not a moment to call out a warning to Kurt before the fair one gave a deafening shriek. Kurt watched in horror as the fair-haired creature plunged her bared fangs into Burt's throat, ripping and tearing the flesh as she gorged on her meal. The dark creature began shredding his father's chest with her claws until, with a loud crack, she reached inside to tear out his still-beating heart to share with her beloved.

"Papa!" Kurt cried out as he stumbled away from the gruesome scene.

At the noise, the fair creature turned towards Kurt, blood dripping from her lips as she smiled.

"Hello, pretty unicorn," the mad creature whispered. "Pretty, pretty unicorn. Here to play? Come, give us a kiss."

She shrieked once again and lunged at Kurt with a bloody grimace, her claws reaching out for him as she wailed loudly.

Kurt turned and fled back to the cottage.

That evening the nightly visits began.


Blaine took a shivering Kurt into his arms.

"I could not save him." Kurt railed as he wept. "I could barely save myself. And yet they come every evening. They come for me and anyone else they can find in these woods."

Kurt roughly swiped at the tears that continued streaming down his face. He looked at Blaine, and all he could see was another pure soul that would only be lost to the deadly creatures in the wood.

"Tomorrow at first light, you must go. "he pleaded. "Leave these woods, Blaine. Return home and never look back."

Blaine's heart ached at the pain he knew Kurt was feeling at this time. "So much sadness," he whispered, staring into Kurt's eyes. Blaine cupped Kurt's face in his hands, his thumbs gently stroking the tears from the young man's face. "And yet, so much courage. To stay here after all this time. . ." Blaine leaned in and placed a gentle kiss on Kurt's lips. "I do not think I can leave you here. To face them alone night after night."

Kurt shook his head. "I must stay. This is my home. Where else would I go?"

Blaine's heart could not stop beating. Though this time, he knew it was not from fear. This beautiful, brave young man had captured it, and Blaine was ready to give it to him willingly.

"With me," Blaine said.

"Wait, what?" Kurt could not believe his ears. He pulled himself out of Blaine's arms to look at him plainly. "You could not mean. . ."

"Come with me," Blaine offered. "Please."

"Go with you? Go with you . . . to where you live?" Kurt asked once again.

Blaine paused for a moment. "First, I must complete my journey. Accompany me to my destination, then yes, afterward, we shall travel to my home. Come leave this dark and forsaken wood."

"Where must you journey to?" Kurt asked.

"The Lower Kingdom," Blaine told him.

Kurt paled. "The Lower Kingdom?" his stomach dropped. "Blaine, only one path out of these woods leads towards the Lower Kingdom. Both my mother nor my father did not survive traversing that road. Do not go."

"But I must," Blaine cried as he removed two missives from the pocket of his tunic. "I have been summoned by two noble houses to play for their harvest moon celebrations, and I cannot turn them down. As it is, I am a day late in arriving. And the payment promised could help me through the coming winter."

Blaine took both of Kurt's hands in his own. "It will not be for a lengthy amount of time. Once my obligations have been fulfilled, we can leave. "

Kurt shook his head. "This is much for me to think about, Blaine." His fingers nervously stroked a small metal brooch pinned to his midnight blue tunic. "Perhaps it would be best to take your rest for the evening. I will have an answer for you by morning."

Blaine nodded, understanding. This was a great deal to ask of Kurt, whose whole life was contained within the four walls of this tiny cottage. He quietly followed Kurt as he showed Blaine a spare room to sleep in for the night.

Kurt paused at the door, and before he left, he turned back to Blaine. "Thank you," he whispered softly to Blaine. "Thank you for your kindness, for listening to my tale. . and for your offer."

Blaine smiled softly. "Courage, Kurt. . ." he told the young man. "With each new dawn can come only new things, good things for you. I am sure of it."

Kurt smiled back in return. "I hope so. Good night, Blaine."

"Good night, Kurt."


The following day Blaine awoke to the sounds and smells of a meal wafting through the cottage. He stretched his sore muscles and slowly ambled out of the spare room, using his nose to lead the way.

Blaine found Kurt looking out of one of the windows to his garden. His hands were wrapped around a cup holding a warm beverage, the steam visibly floating upwards over the rim. He appeared deep in thought.

"Good morning," Blaine said, feeling guilty interrupting Kurt from his reverie.

Kurt looked up at Blaine, a sad smile on his lips. "Good morning, Blaine," he said softly. "Come. Sit. Eat."

He waved his hand towards the wooden table, laden with an assortment of loaves of bread, sweets, eggs, and meats, perhaps more than the two men could possibly eat in one sitting. Blaine looked at Kurt, a question lingering in his eyes.

Kurt chuckled softly. "Yet another habit I acquired from my mother. Once heavy in my thoughts, I tend to prepare food. Perhaps I should consider becoming a baker instead of an apothecary?"

He sat down across from Blaine and gently pushed a plate toward him. "Biscuit?" he asked and smiled as Blaine bit into one covered in cream and jam. Blaine blissfully moaned as he finished it and reached for another.

"Baker. You must definitely become a baker," he teased Kurt. "Or perhaps just make these for me only."

Kurt blushed and looked away, smiling. He reached for a pitcher and poured Blaine a cup of something warm; perhaps it was what Kurt was drinking. Blaine sniffed the cup before he sipped it.

"Merely a tea from my gardens," Kurt told him as he sipped from his own cup. "A particularly useful blend – and all my own."

Blaine swallowed another mouthful before looking at Kurt. "Have you thought about. . ." he began, unsure how to broach the subject. "Will you come with me, Kurt? Please?"

Kurt sighed sadly. "Will you forgo your journey to the Lower Kingdom? Will you return home instead?" he asked.

Blaine shook his head. "I cannot. I must go, Kurt. They are waiting for me."

Kurt reached across the table, clasping Blaine's hand in his own. "I beg of you, Blaine. Do not do this."

Blaine pulled his hand away. "And I implore you to accompany me. We will be safe together, I assure you."

"So, you will still go?" Kurt asked incredulously. "Even after you have heard my tale. You would still risk your life for a few gold pieces?"

"I am a man of my word, Kurt." Blaine countered. "I have promised. And I will keep that promise."

Kurt stood and turned away from the table. "Then I cannot go with you."

"I wish you would reconsider. . ." Blaine whispered. He could not bear to think of Kurt in this cottage, besieged night after night by those foul creatures. "You cannot stay here," he pleaded. "You will go mad."

"Perhaps I am already mad," Kurt laughed. "To even contemplate leaving with you." His heart ached to say this.

"Kurt . ." Blaine tried once again to change his mind. "You must leave this place. If not with me, then on your own. Those creatures will not stop until they get what they want."

A few painful moments of silence filled the cottage.

"You are not going to the Lower Kingdom, Blaine." Kurt turned back to face him, determination in his eyes. "I will not let you travel that road." And yet, there were so many words he knew he could not tell the young bard: I do not want to find your lifeless body. I cannot bear to wash your blood from my hands. I would rather die myself than see you step one foot toward the Lower Kingdom.

Blaine's head began throbbing. "I will not have our last words with each other in anger, Kurt. I am going. Now."

"No, you are not," Kurt said calmly.

Blaine stood from the table, frustrated with the other man. As the bard made his way to the door, he stumbled and fell to his knees. He cried out in surprise.

Kurt rushed to his side. "Blaine?" he asked.

Blaine looked to Kurt, a panic in his eyes. A numbness and heaviness began to fill his limbs. He clutched wildly at Kurt's tunic. "What is happening? Why do I feel . . ." he could not seem to find the words to finish his thought.

Kurt scanned Blaine's face. "How do you feel?" he asked carefully.

"My . .my strength is leaving me. I cannot feel my legs." Blaine said slowly, his speech slightly slurring. "Kurt . . I do not know why this is happening."

"You are not going to the Lower Kingdom, Blaine," Kurt reiterated quietly.

Blaine struggled to speak. "Kurt . . .I . . I must. . . " he tried and failed once more. His body slumped forward into Kurt's waiting arms.

"I will not let you go." Kurt's voice was firm.

"Let me?" Blaine did not understand. His arms were like they were filled with lead. As every moment passed, his head felt more like a heavy weight upon his shoulders.

Kurt slowly lowered Blaine's body down to the stone-cold floor. Blaine's eyes moved from Kurt's calm face to the table laden with food. "What . . what did you do, Kurt? What did you do to me?" he gasped.

Kurt smiled. It was an eerie yet peaceful smile. It was full of knowing and certainty.

And it chilled Blaine to the core.

"I have saved you," Kurt whispered, slowly stroking Blaine's curls and humming softly.

As the darkness enveloped Blaine, he could only hear Kurt's voice echoing in his ears:

Yet if death it should blind me as true love inclines me,

My Blackbird I'd seek out wherever he be.

TO BE CONTINUED . . .