Episode One Hundred and Seven
At the edge of the forest Gwen disappeared from their midst. Before she left the woods she had one more visit to make. She felt confidant the boys could get Dumbledore to the castle from the point where she left them. Night was falling rapidly and they were at the castle before they even realized she had gone.
She returned to the Faerie Mound once again and entered quietly. The silver table still laid in the main hall and Gemma was bent over it with her tools, picking up the work that had been so easily abandoned. She didn't look up at Gwen, but spoke softly.
"You returned."
"I want to know what you know even if you don't feel qualified to tell me."
Gemma continued her work on the table, as if she hadn't just been interrupted, as if the girl before her, who was no blood relation to her was no more important than a fly, buzzing by. She didn't speak immediately and Gwen almost thought that she hadn't heard her. She was about to speak again when Gemma spoke.
"Take a seat."
Gwen pushed a little seat into the wall, her favorite mound trick and laid back against the cool surface. She waited patiently as Gemma collected her thoughts. She knew that she was not being ignored, even if it appeared to be so.
The old fey took a deep breath and concentrated on the delicate inlay work. It would not take her long to mount the shiny red stone in its place on the silver, but it seemed to take forever on this day, with the presence she could no longer ignore completely sitting across from her.
"I am old." She said, hardly realizing how heavy those words really were. "I cannot feel anything but sad for the loss of my family. Henry and George were the last of the LeFey line, as you now know, or are piecing together." She dropped her tools and laid her hands on the cold table top. There was no warmth in her pale hands, no warmth in the words she had to relay now that it was demanded of her.
"Your father was unsellie. How he came about is rather a mystery to me and I care not to delve further into the matters of that court. But you must know that he was royalty, or at least partly so, which makes you royalty."
"What kind of royalty are we talking about here?" Gwen said, humor creeping into her skeptical voice. "Duchess? Countess? Queen?"
Gemma's tone quickly wiped the smile forming on Gwen's lips. "Princess." She replied. "Your father was a prince, born of another princess. When Mabb decides to throw off her crown Oberon will pick a new bride out of the pool of princesses." Here Gemma pierced Gwen with her gaze. "You are uncommon enough being half-fey and even then being unsellie. But you are entirely unique as an half-fey, unsellie princess."
Gwen rubbed her forehead. "So my father was a prince?"
"Yes. His mother was Leandre something."
Gwen swallowed hard. Leandre, she knew a Leandre. Where did she know a Leandre? She could've screamed for her memory's blatant desire to lock up. She couldn't picture where she had seen the name before; it had been a piece of a scroll, written in a loopy handwriting similar to her own. Her breath caught in her chest. Jeremiah Leandre had written to her mother, thanking her for a business date or something like that.
"Jeremiah." She said softly.
"Yes, how did you know?"
"My mother's papers. He'd written her a letter about something. I didn't think anything of it, but it seemed odd that she had kept it."
"Yes well now you know all that I know."
The parting was quiet this time, with more regret but less inclination to feel sorry about their separation. Both fey realized that this was a temporary thing that time would resolve and since Gwen was fairly certain her life would be a long one, she had plenty of time to wait.
