Into The Woods

Charles road casually through the countryside, pleased with the weather and the state of affairs at home. Everything was well. His wife was wonderful, the kingdom was wonderful... life was wonderful. It didn't seem as if a single thing could bring him down and truthfully, he didn't want to seek out something that would succeed. He would simply enjoy the fact that it wasn't raining, the sun was out and everything was in full bloom.

He was dressed as a peasant today, clothes not befitting a man of his stature. It was intentional. It was how he learned what the peasantry truly thought of him. He knew well enough what those who lived close to the castle thought, they were ever present and ever vocal. But those in the lowlands, those who didn't always make it to affairs of state, those were who Charles wanted to hear opinions of. And so to speak to them as one of them, he needed to move among them as one of them.

Beard unshaven, as was commonplace, and little groomed. The horse he was astride was not his favorite grey and white steed, but a standard bay mare that was rarely ridden. Provisions kept with him were very little. Nothing to show that he was of royal standing in a peasant's guise. Even though that's exactly what he was.

He whistled as he rode along. A tune that lacked a standard melody... just a string of sounds put together in a merry sort of way, passed his lips. Though it was hard to whistle when a smile was so firmly planted on his face.

Life was indeed wonderful.

Well this was just fantastic. Fan. Tastic.

Robin was thoroughly put out. With himself. He knew better, he truly did. In fact, it was a standing rule with himself: no long trips or outings when it was close to the new and full moons. He had a calendar made up with those dates specifically outlined so he would not make such mistakes as this.

Well. This was not so much a mistake as a serious misjudgement on his part. He should have taken his own horse on this trip. But he’d not anticipated the delays along the way, and he was near enough to home that he thought he could ride all day and make it at least to an area he knew well enough to know where to hide. Instead, the horse picked up a stone, causing him to have to slow their pace.

And once the full moon rose, once his transformation began, the animal had bolted. Robin hoped that he would be able to find the creature again, as the thought of it wandering about with its tack still on was bothering him. Had it been his own horse, he would have continued to head for the castle, clever beast that he was. But all of that was wishful thinking, because it did not change the fact that he was here, in an unfamiliar wood, and he was once again a frog.

Robin had not forgotten the lessons learned when this form was the one he had to live in every day. He was cautious. He was careful. And he made his way to as safe a spot as he could find, a half rotted log with a hollow just big enough to hide a little, frog-sized person. Then he settled in to wait for morning, and prayed that nothing would find and eat him between now and then.

One morning, after completing his errands for the innkeeper, Miles took Mother Goose’s advice and made a trip to the nearest castle. He felt a promising excitement take hold of his heart. There was every possibility that the military man in charge would know something about his lost unit. And if not, certainly he would be invited into a new brotherhood of soldiers. The post commander would see that he had much to offer. But things did not go as he expected.

Miles thought he had done everything properly, according to military protocol. He had presented himself at the castle garrison and respectfully requested an audience with the captain of the guard. Annoyingly, the underling he met there had not treated him professionally at all. The sloppy rogue had merely inserted dirty fingers under his scuffed leather jerkin and pulled out a bodkin. He then had the nerve to challenge Miles to a game of mumblety-peg for the privilege of speaking to his superior officer.

“I’ll just wait,” Miles had said coldly. And he waited, standing still and tall just outside the garrison. The castle servants stared at him as they passed by on their business, some attempting to engage him in conversation which he politely deflected. At times, when the wind was right, he could hear some catcalls and jokes being hurled at him from the guards in the towers. Miles ignored all of this, determined to show that he was a superior soldier to someone who mattered.

Robin moved deftly past the stalls, giving the horses within cursory glances for the most part. Now and then, he stopped to look more closely at a particular animal, but none had yet to truly catch his eye. All were fine examples of horseflesh, which was what he’d come to expect of this particular vendor. The man only found the finest to offer at his auctions.

His difficulty in finding any particular animal to hold his interest might be due to the fact that he really didn’t need a new horse. He had a perfectly good mount that served him well, and he was fond of the horse. Not enough that he’d given him a name, but he was a quality animal, from fine bloodstock. Robin wasn’t here so much to find new horses for his stable as he was to stave off boredom.

He was vastly looking forward to Mr. Wolfe’s arrival at the castle. It had been a few days since he’d seen the philosopher that he’d met in the woods, and with each passing day, Robin grew more and more anxious for his appearance. It was getting close to the new moon, and he’d really wanted to have more than a few days time to get the man settled and get acquainted before he had to seclude himself. There was no point in scaring the man off with his shameful secret. Robin doubted, as forward thinking as Mr. Wolfe seemed to be, that he’d be willing to discuss the meaning of life with a frog.

Robin heaved a deep sigh, disappointed that he’d let himself get dragged down by such unpleasant thoughts when he was trying to keep himself from dwelling upon them. Distractedly, he moved to the next stall and stopped dead, looking at the most incredible equine he’d ever seen. Now that was what he’d been hoping to find. Almost reverently, he moved forward, breathing softly, “Oh you are a beauty, aren’t you?”

The only question now was whether or not he could manage to purchase him in the auction. It was not much of a question, though, as Robin was willing to pay whatever it took to win. He was a prince after all.

Fred wasn’t sure what she was doing here. Well, she was. In a sense. She knew that she’d been sent to represent her husband’s family at this function. Though that in itself was a bit odd, because it wasn’t like her monster-in-law was proud of the girl her son had married or anything. So Fred could only conclude that this must not be a terribly important event.

But in the more immediate sense, the princess wasn’t certain what she was supposed to be doing at the moment. Right now, she was standing on a platform, smiling in a perfunctory way, watching the parade unfold before her. People were passing before the platform, marching in uniform, waving holiday banners decorated with streamers and flowers. Occasionally they would wave, and Fred was wondering if she was supposed to wave back or not. She just didn’t know. They didn’t do this sort of thing where she came from, a spring holiday parade. Or if they had, her parents had done the honors.

She had to admit, if she wasn’t so nervous about what she was supposed to be doing, she might actually be enjoying it. It was a lovely day, there were bands and apparently a big picnic planned for afterward. Though with a retinue trailing her today, she probably wouldn’t be able to be as open about her pleasure as she would were she alone. Fred always sort of suspected they were there less to serve her and more to spy on her for her husband’s mother. But with several other royals here as well, it would look odd if she was not attended properly.

At that moment, a particularly adorable little girl with curly pigtails and big blue bows walked past. And with a very big smile, she waved at Winnifred. The princess couldn’t help herself this time, and her hand lifted to return the greeting enthusiastically. From behind her, she heard one of the ladies in waiting give an embarrassed cough just as another of them sighed. Fred dropped her hand hastily, fighting the blush she could feel creeping across her cheeks, hoping nobody else saw her gaffe.

When was this picnic supposed to start? She could really use some pie.

The trip to the market had been even more productive than she could have imagined. She got all she required, of course, and got to meet a kindly young man in the bargain. Despite his pleasant nature, however, there seemed to be a secret he was hiding. No matter. If there was anyone who could find the answer, it was she.

Despite his assurances of assistance, Mother Goose's purchases proved to be too much for even the youth, and she opted to hire a delivery man. It would likely be sometime before he arrived, however, and in the meantime, it was time to start on a fresh batch of pies. One never knew when company might arrive, and she would likely have less time for her own baking as Rowan's studies would need to take precedence. Stepping through the gate, she marched purposefully up the walk, already computing in her head how many pies she already had remaining, and how many more she would likely need.

Smiling fondly at the sleeping owl, Mother Goose stepped inside, setting down her basket of the more important market acquisitions. Reaching up, she deftly plucked the hat pin from her pink straw hat, fluffing the flowers before hanging it on the rack, exchanging it for her bright floral apron.

It was quiet.

Too quiet.

Rowan had not strayed from the path, she'd learned her lesson on that well enough, and continued to walk along though she glanced over her shoulder from time to time. Just to be sure. She didn't venture into the woods often anymore. Mostly because of the incident with the wolf. But she was venturing now.

She needed herbs and mushrooms. The kind that only grew in the woods. The kind that her mother had taught her form very young were alright to use for certain things. Some where good to have if you needed to make a poultice, some were edible. It was all a matter of knowing what you were picking and Rowan felt relatively comfortable with that.

With a basket slung over on arm, she took stock of what she had: some cinquefoil, some mushrooms and some wild raspberries she had found. There were other plants she was looking for, but if she didn't find them soon, she'd have to abandon her search and head back to the village. It was going to get late.

Smiling, she paused over particular bush. Kneeling before it, she rustled through the branches looking for the berries she was sure she'd find and ignoring anything else around her.

ooc note: continued from here

The gossiper seemed to be spouting nothing of interest after all. Just a windbag looking to sell his wares by bragging that the castle only purchased his elixir of health. Which was enough reason for Verity to decide she never would. If elixirs were what they wanted, she would be more than happy to provide a few of her own-with very interesting side affects.

She was about to turn away, when a familiar voice spoke in her ear. A familiar voice that belonged to a certain someone she had trusted enough to tell where she lived, invite to her home, and was still expecting for dinner. And he already had news for her. News that was startling, but highly welcome. So her new friend had gained a position in the castle. Could it be that, at last, things might be beginning to turn her way?

Keeping her face emotionless, despite the turmoil of excitement she felt, she reached down to take him by the elbow, drawing Bartleby away from the crowd. "Why there you are." She spoke loudly enough to make their sudden removal from the crowd excusable, but quietly enough to not draw excessive attention. "Yes, I am just about done with my shopping. I thought we could perhaps stop by the pub for a meat pie for lunch?"

Once they were well out of earshot of the crowd, she stopped and turned to face him. Despite no ears close by, her voice became a low hiss, to prevent it carrying. "The castle? Bartleby, how did you manage such a thing?"

It seemed her urge to trust him was going to pay off.

So it seemed she had a new pupil, of sorts. Young Rowan was  a willing student, at least, if completely lost in the kitchen. Far be it for the kindly old woman to make the girl feel worse, but she couldn't help but continue to wonder at the ineptitude of Rowan's mother and grandmother. Who in their right mind felt they were protecting a girl by not allowing her to learn how to cook and bake? It was an essential part of life, unless one wanted to live on uncooked roots, or buy expensive pre-baked goods from the market.

Not that the market was useless. It was where Mother Goose was heading, as a matter of fact. If she was going to be teaching the girl how to cook, she was going to need supplies. Lots and lots of supplies. Far more than she could procure from her own garden. With a basket over her arm, she said goodbye to Osgood, the owl that stood sentry at her home. She stepped through the gate, and set off at a quick pace toward the center of town.

The market was always the place to get the latest news. Especially regarding the goings-on in the castle of that little bitch and her husband. Peasants loved to gossip about royalty, thinking their pathetic little lives were nothing in comparison to the wonders that must certainly be found when one held the crown.

The insignificant fools were absolutely right.

More than gossip about the king and queen, however, Verity was very interested to hear if there was any news regarding herself. She still lived on the hope that everyone thought she was dead. To that end, she once again donned a peasant disguise, making herself appear just a little too old to possibly be the "evil queen" they would all remember.

It wasn't often that Gin ventured into a village. It was rarer still for him to venture into a marketplace. The looming threat of being harmed by the masses was usually far too strong for him to want to shop. Except Gin wasn't there to shop. Or more accurately, he wasn't there to shop for things by the means of buying them. He preferred his five-finger discount as opposed to actually having to interact with anyone.

It had worked just fine for him up until now, why would it change.

Hungry, he walked past a vendor that held some apples in crates out for passerby to inspect and purchase if they chose. A lowly farmer's wife stood behind the crates and was speaking to a woman who was selecting a number of apples. Something about making a pie.

He paused and realized that the vendor would hardly notice him if he took an apple off her hands while she was busy with a paying customer. Gin turned on a dime, slyly made his way into a group of individuals shuffling past the vendor booth and swiped an apple without looking down at it or over to the vendor and her customer.

As far as Gin was aware, success. Now there was only to see what else in town there was that he needed and could easily help himself to.

It was an odd aftereffect of the Incident. Prior to his time away from home, Robin would never, could never, really imagine being alone. There was always someone nearby as he was growing up, always. Attendants, servants, courtiers, family both distant and immediate. If there was any time wherein he was left to himself, it was fleeting and of no note. Nor had he ever really wanted to have such a thing happen. There was comfort in being surrounded by others.

It was something that he had dearly missed when he had been on his own. Never again would he take companionship for granted. After all, it was the longing for human contact that had been the greatest motivator in his bargain with The Girl. But that time had also taught him something that he’d never expected.

( Occasionally, he enjoyed being alone. )

This was not the market that she had wanted. There was no vendor with little metallic bits and bobs, no odd little sprockets or strangely oblong gears. She’d had ideas for those gears. This was not even the right village. All of the buildings here had grey slate roofs, and the village she had actually wanted, she recalled, had red tile roofs. This was the wrong place altogether.

It would be very tempting to blame the cookie-hoarder, to think that he had given her false directions. But after replaying the conversation in her head, Fred was forced to admit that she might have made a mistake in her calculations over which village contained the market she had an interest in. She had asked for help in finding a village, and the twitchy man had provided it. It just happened that it was not the village she was hoping for.

( Oh well. She was here, she might as well make the best of it. )

Rowan was hungry.

It was often food that had her diverting from her path toward whatever she was doing or wherever she was going to the location of something that smelled or sounded delicious. Whenever she had the chance, she partook of eating at the pubs, that was when she had money of course. At home she was relegated to stew and stale bread.

The bread was stale because she would purchase it in bulk from the marketplace and was unable to make her own and stew because it was easy to just continue to add things to a boiling pot of water until it was cooked through. Though generally it was all overcooked and boiled to the point where it lost its flavor. ( Rowan was a horrible cook. )

It had always been quite the dilemma.

Buttons had been sitting in the grass, watching a little caterpillar climb his way up a stick. Such a pretty little caterpillar, sure to some day grow into a beautiful butterfly. Or at least a pretty moth. She couldn't have been sure why he'd chosen this particular stick, since it was just sitting there, sticking out of the ground, and didn't lead anywhere at all. So when he reached the end, she very considerately turned it over gently, giving the small creature time to turn around and head the other way. She'd giggled with delight as they played the game over and over, until she saw the robin a few feet away, obviously eying up her new friend.

Her supply of fly agaric was running horribly low. She loved the mushrooms, both for their toxicity and the pretty colors. They always looked so nice in a jar in her kitchen, and it only took a little of the poison to turn a victim to a blubbering mess, and little more to end their life completely. A worthwhile item for any witch to have handy.

Well this was… not right. That wasn’t the first phrase that had come to mind, but those words were not the sort a princess was supposed to say so it was better to not even think them. So Winnifred had hastily amended what she had been thinking, but the sentiment was still the same. This was not right.

She stopped, standing dead still in the middle of the path and turned in a slow circle. No, this was not right at all. She should have reached the fork to take her to the left to that village that had the interesting marketplace. It wasn’t every market that had a vendor with boxes full of interesting metal bits and sprockets. Fred had only stumbled across such a helpful find once, by accident, but she had very carefully made note of where it was so that she could return.

( Apparently not carefully enough, because she was pretty sure that she was lost. )