Memories of the Iron Crown

Wesley’s Tale: Interlude: Memories of the Iron Crown.


The rain had mostly stopped, or had at least gone from pounding sheets to a sullen and tired drizzle. Hazel sat on the hollowed out remains of a windowsill and pulled the light blanket tighter around her to fend of the still damp wind. The old crumbling and decayed cottage they had taken shelter in sat on a small rise and gave her a good view of the damp, wind-swept grass lands that rolled out to the horizon to the south and to the just barely visible sea to the east. The dreary and desolate view matched her mood.

It had been a bit of a climb to make it up to the sill. Her sides still hurt from impact from that half demon harlot throwing her against the wall. She ached, but brownies were good climbers and the crumbling stone gave her plenty of hand holds. She was still more out of breath than she liked when she finally reached the sill.

She turned from the window to look at the others. They lay sleeping huddled in one corner, the one spot with enough wall left to block the wind and enough roof remaining to keep them mostly dry. Wesley of course did his duty as a mattress; Wenda snuggled against him with her head on his shoulder and one arm across his chest. Peach and Cherry had curled up together and were holding each other. They lay in a nest made by Wenda’s elbow on Wesley’s chest. Hazel had been curled up with the two fairies trying to sleep, but had at last given up and scrambled over the sleeping boy and made her way over to the window.

Strange traveling companions she mused. A boy that looked like a human, but who’s scent and the feel of his blood held something fey, a girl, who up until a few days ago had been a sheep, and two fairy sisters, one who did not act like a fairy, and one that acted too much like one. Last Hazel, a royal princess of the Lealoa'fey turned wilderness guide. She scowled at that thought and did her best to push THAT thought out of her mind. She had not felt like a princess in a long time. She shivered, not sure if it was the slight breeze that flittered through the window, or old wounds her dark mood was dredging up.

A gull cried from somewhere and she turned her gaze back to the grey-black sky. She searched for it, but even her sharp eyes could not spot the bird. She shifted her position so that she could see to the north. Her gaze fell on the ruined human city that, for the time being at least, was their destination. Her teeth clenched involuntarily and she felt the blood start to boil in her veins, momentarily forcing the old feelings away.

The lingering sense of black sorcery and demons was almost tangible; she felt it caressing her skin like a slimy, oily sheet every time she looked at the city. Stupid humans and their wars. A vicious snarl twisted her features. Horrible things had been done here. Horrible enough to be felt after thousand years. Stupid, stupid stupid.

She was shaking with rage and her hands were clenched into painful fists at her side. She was a little surprised to realize she had gotten to her feet without realizing it. She closed her eyes and took a few soothing breaths to try to put out the fire in her heart. She willed herself to sit; though it took her a few moments to relax. Something in her did not want to let the fire and anger go. Something deep inside wanted to howl and rage at what she was feeling, but she knew that it would do no good to let it have its way. She instead fought to let those feelings go. Like she had long ago. The gull called again and she opened her eyes to again to look for it. Nothing.

All thoughts of anger faded from her mind, replaced by a hungry sadness. She gazed out at the dark sky and remembered a time that now seemed lost forever. A time when the hole in her heart had not been there. A time when she had never really felt anger or hate or sorrow. She had not been innocent then, by no means, but she was not as hard as she had become. No, not nearly as hard.

She leaned back until her back come to rest on the damp, old and ancient stone. The chill it produced brought a strange, melancholy comfort to her. She pulled off the shapeless hat that adorned her head, pulling off with it the long honey blonde wig. She raised a hand and let her fingers move through her natural hair. Definitely not a princess’ hair cut. Short and uneven, the tips ragged as it had been since Cherry had cut it as one of her infamous practical jokes 75 years ago. It hadn’t grown back yet, and she wondered if it would ever would. She looked at her hat and wig and snorted at the irony of wearing a wig made from your own hair.

She felt her eyes tearing up and angrily scrubbed at her eyes with the heel of her palm. It had been decades since she had last cried over all this. Hair and vanity was a foolish thing to shed tears over. She sniffed and roughly scrubbed a few more mutinous tears away with her sleeve.

“I will not cry” she thought to herself as the tears began to flow with more malicious vigor. She couldn’t quite force down the quiet sob that tried to.

Such a stupid waste of time to cry she told herself. And over such a stupid thing. Her shoulders shook with fiercely suppressed sobs. Why should it even matter what her hair looked like she snapped at herself.

Fur used to love running his fingers through your hair, came the faint, unwanted reply, and Fern used to spend hours brushing it and combing it for you, and today is, today...

And the dam broke. The pain took hold fully again from the back of her mind where it always lingered never fully out of her thoughts. Her body shook as the sobs finally broke free, though she made no a sound beside a few weak mews. She refused to let the other see her like this, would not let them see her this weak. She did not want their damnable sympathy or pity. She would not allow herself that even as the tears fell like the drops of rain from the dark sky outside.

Eight decades had passed, but it still burnt like a fresh wound. Her husband, her kin and friends dead. Battles fought and blood spilt on the fields of Aro, Tonosoon, and so many others in the heart of the Fey Realm where no war had been waged since the elder days, no battles faught in living memory. Tainted and Lost, fey that had fallen to darkness and evil and dark creatures from nightmare, streaming back into the lands they had been banished from. The Realm burning. The War of the Iron Crown, started by a twisted abomination, a betrayer her people named Plum.

Plum who had placed a crown wrought of cold iron upon her own brow, and laughed as it burnt her flesh; who had declared herself Queen of the Lealoa’fey and Ruler of all the Realm and had opened the gates to those banished so that they could serve as her army. Plum a brownie who had personally ripped the wings from one of the High Queen’s own fairy daughters and had them grafted, through foul magic to her own body. Plum who had once been Fern Leaflighter, beloved only daughter of Fur and Hazel Leaflighter.

She remembered Old Elma, Keeper of the Dead, riding that piebald and blind horse of hers, as she pulled the train of carts that held her husbands remains, along with those of the others killed in that first battle. She remember watching them being taken to the Death Mound to sleep forever. Old Elma had returned drawn Fur’s sword and placed it into Hazel’s hand.

“This is on you,” the old hag had cackled. “Your blood lost. By your blood it must end.”

Hazel had ended it. It had been long and it had been bloody, but she had ended it.

Hazel wept. She wept for a husband and love lost. She wept for the blood of a daughter that stained her hands. She wept for a self-imposed exile that meant she would never see her true home in the Fey Realm, would live the rest of her life and die in the lands of the damned humans. She wept for a little girl, eyes like the sky, hair like honey, who’s smile shone brighter than the sun. A child she couldn’t help. A child lost first to madness, then to death. A child that had died laughing like a madwoman and crying like a broken heart.

Eighty years that felt like a heart beat.

“Happy anniversary, my husband,” she whispered between sobs. “Happy birthday Fern.”

She couldn’t finish as she collapsed. She slid sideways to lay on the cold stone. She curled into little ball and let the silent sobs rack her body. She stayed like that until she heard the others begin to stir. She scrubbed at her face and sniffed then put her hat and wig back on and got to her feet. She turned to glare at the others that were just beginning to stretch and move and put her hands on her hips.

“You all sleep forever?” she announced speaking in the foreign human tongue and hating how ignorant it mad her sound though glad that any emotion in her voice could be taken for impatience.

Wesley winced as he sat up, which caused Peach and Cherry to take to the air.

“What in heaven’s name are you doing over there, Hazel?” Peach asked as she flew towards the window. “You’ll catch a chill in those wet clothes.”

“Bah,” Cherry remarked as she came up beside her sister. “Brownies are just too stupid to know when to come out of the rain.”

“And fairy too stupid to know it raining,” Hazel retorted. Cherry stuck out her tongue.

“Are you alright Hazel?” Peach asked as she landed and walked to stand beside the brownie. “Are your bruises bothering you?”

“Is okay,” Hazel said dismissively, and turned away. She wouldn't have admitted it but she was touched by the honest concern she saw in the fairy’s eyes. “Hurts some, but Hazel tough. Hazel always been tough.” Then as an after thought. “And treatment Peach help too.”

In the corner, Wesley groaned rolled his neck in attempt to work out some of the kinks, then stood.

“I’d love a hot meal about now,” he grumbled then sighed. “Its still dark out but the rain looks like its let up. I think we should get moving.”

Once again they were on their way.