Chapter Text
“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -
- Emily Dickinson
Firefly
Royal Knight Firefly, attendant to Prince Elio of the Kingdom of Pegana, does not particularly enjoy meandering aimlessly through the forest bordering the kingdom’s capital. It was initially Kafka’s idea to go, which is the only reason Firefly entertained the idea of exploring so far out in the first place. The elder woman, who excels as Prince Elio’s personal strategist, never fails to offer keen insight to her peers, Firefly included. With few decent ideas of her own, Firefly can do nothing but follow Kafka’s directions.
Kafka’s suggestion involves venturing out into the forest and collecting wild flowers from the forest meadows, which Firefly hopes she can use to create a vibrant pressed flower bookmark. Elio’s personal library in the royal castle holds more books than Firefly thinks she could ever be able to count in one sitting, though they usually find themselves cluttered about various rooms of the castle. A bookmark would hardly be able to improve the prince’s habits, but perhaps passersby might be able better identify which books have taken the prince’s fancy at the moment and must not be stolen, and which are actually available for loan.
While Kafka was the one to suggest flowers, it was Firefly who considered drying and preserving them for the bookmarks. The flowers feel more permanent that way, when she can keep them from crumbling into dust, and prevent their beauty from becoming long forgotten by the world.
She has garnered some good luck, it seems, despite her initial hesitation. The day is pleasant but not too warm, and she doesn't feel the familiar bone deep fatigue of an aching body, the kind of sensation that occasionally strikes and keeps her bedridden until it passes. For now, she has the energy, and with it comes her determination to find something beautiful before the prince’s upcoming birthday ball. The fresh, clean air likewise helps with the stiffness in her limbs, the kind accrued from going stir-crazy in her bed behind the city walls for too long.
Perhaps Kafka really did have a point, suggesting that Firefly spend her day this way. Has Firefly really spent so long with the knights, that she has forgotten to take enough time for herself to simply relax?
Firefly usually sticks to the parts of the forest that she is familiar with, but feeling bold today, she cuts towards a nearby waterfall instead. Behind the beautiful cascading water, which sends rainbow patterns into the air where it crashes against the rocks and mists up, she discovers what looks to be a hidden pathway. Were she not so agile, and unable to summon her armor to help power her traversal, she may have missed it entirely. The path curves behind the sheet of water and through a narrow passage that she initially thinks would connect to a cave system, but instead opens up into a clearing, before spiraling off into an unfamiliar but remarkably lush section of woods bordering a meadow.
Perhaps she can bring Argenti here, when they next both have the free time. Her fellow knight has always had a penchant for beautiful things, and this secret section of forest would certainly delight him.
She quickly spots a small cluster of pink and blue flowers at the edge of the clearing, trailing off through the trees. These particular ones are too large to be pressed into a thin bookmark, but they grow smaller and smaller as she follows them along.
She spends much of the afternoon exploring, occasionally picking a small flower here and there and placing them in her basket, already planning out how she might arrange them. There are enough here that she can even make some for the others-–for Kafka, she finds velvety burgundy petals, for Blade, spindly red lilies, for Silver Wolf, a clustered assortment of white and yellow blooms, and for Stelle, a strange golden specimen. For the prince himself, she follows the trail of those first pink and blue flowers she saw to the edge of a large lake, picking a few of the smaller blooms. Firefly moves to and fro, picking flowers for the other knights and various acquaintances in the city, until her feet guide her to the bank of the lake, and she takes a moment to inspect her reflection in the pristine, glass-like water.
The lake stretches out far before her, peaceful and grand. Much like the water used by her sorcerer prince to scry, the surface reflects the sky above her, as well as the sun, which has just now begun to dip below the horizon.
So preoccupied with picking the flowers, she hasn’t even realized how late it has become. While her enchanted armor and her experience as a knight would protect her should she become lost in an unfamiliar part of the woods beneath the dark of night, she doesn’t fancy dallying here when she should be getting home to check up on her companions.
She turns away from the water so that she can retrace her steps back first to the waterfall and then to the edge of the city, when the sound of fluttering wings draws her attention. Firefly looks up just in time to see a swan fly over the line of trees to her left and land gracefully in the water. Firefly freezes, then crouches to make herself appear smaller, and observes.
The swan stretches its impressive wingspan out. The feathers shine more brightly than Firefly has ever seen on any other bird: somewhere between the expected white and a blueish purple. As Firefly watches, captivated, the swan tucks its wings in and drifts in the water for a moment, before stretching its long and graceful neck out and floating lazily to the bank.
Together, Firefly and the swan gaze out over the lake, watching the sun dip and finally disappear over the horizon. With the last glimmers of sunlight fading around them, Firefly watches in awe as the swan seems to shift in the light, its form shattering into glittery purple dust. Where the swan was now stands a woman dressed in a long gown, her hair shimmering a similar color to the feathers, only visible now on the smaller set of wings sprouting from behind her ears.
Firefly gasps, bringing up a hand to her mouth. She has seen such transformations before-–Prince Elio is fond of transforming into a black cat and using the petite feline form to sneak about the city–-but never did he ever shift with such grace or poise, the way a performer or dancer might embody the transformation.
Is she some sort of sorcerer, like the prince?
Firefly has little time to ponder the sight before her. The sound of her surprise, loud enough to break the peaceful silence around them, draws the attention of the swan woman, whose head turns to Firefly's direction in surprise.
The two women stare at each other, neither moving for a long moment. Even from a slight distance, Firefly notices how stunning the swan woman’s eyes are, blue overlapping vibrant green, like reflections of tall trees in the lake.
In an attempt to break the weird atmosphere, Firefly brings one hand up jerkily and waves, before stepping forward.
“Hello…” she says uncertainly, before wincing. She always feels so awkward outside of her armor. For some reason, it has always been easier to act the part of a determined and serious protector knight, rather than the normal girl named Firefly-–a girl who picks flowers in the forest for her friends, sometimes grows so tired that she has to spend the day in bed, and has only made friends in the city because of Stelle’s and Kafka’s influence. If the remnants of the Iron Cavalry were still around, they’d certainly have something to say about her lingering timidness, but for now all Firefly can do is tentatively say hello.
“My name is Firefly,” she continues, when the swan woman doesn’t speak. “I’m a Royal Knight of Prince Elio’s employ, codename SAM. Um. Who are you?”
The swan woman regards Firefly cautiously at first. Firefly almost curses herself for already bungling the exchange, opening her mouth to offer to leave, but she pauses when the swan woman smiles, the tiniest quirk of the corner of her lips.
“I’m Robin,” the swan woman says, and her voice tinkles like the wind chimes decorating the shops of the city, disjointed but inarguably melodic. “Sorry,” she says. “I’m not used to seeing people out here. You surprised me.”
“I just stumbled upon this place through the waterfall,” Firefly says, before holding up her basket, now full of various flowers, so that Robin can better see her collection. “I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all,” Robin says. “They are quite beautiful, this time of year. I tend to them myself, but we usually don’t have any visitors for me to show.”
We? Firefly thinks. Firefly almost wants to ask for clarification as Robin bridges the gap between them, taking quick and hurried steps toward Firefly, but Robin’s behavior has Firefly pausing and observing instead.
Her hair is such a unique and beautiful blue, like water running over river stone. Humming, FIrefly reaches into her basket, squinting as she digs through her haul until she finds her desired target.
From her basket, Firefly pulls out a beautiful, pristine violet.
“It matches your hair,” Firefly says. She may not be skilled at any sort of creative design or artistry, but even she can tell that the flower complements the woman before her. “You should have it.”
Robin looks stunned. Firefly stands there awkwardly for a moment, trying not to shuffle too obviously in place as Robin processes the sight before her, but the tension breaks when Robin giggles, the slightest bit of color making her cheeks glow.
Eventually, Robin reaches forward, gingerly taking the flower from Firefly’s hand, carefully avoiding Firefly’s touch. “Thank you,” she says.
Robin’s initial wariness has been replaced with something that can only be described as hopeful joy, like Firefly’s presence is strangely significant.
Firefly clears her throat, then opens her mouth to begin asking a long litany of questions already forming in her head: who are you, do you live out here all alone, have you ever been to the city, are you a powerful sorcerer, how can your feathers be that color, only to pause when she hears a voice, deep and masculine, calling out through the trees.
Firefly almost asks if the voice is someone Robin knows, but when she glances back from the source of the sound to Robin’s face, Firefly immediately tenses. She subtly shifts into a position that would more easily allow her to fall into a battle stance, poised and ready to summon her armor. The faintest bits of steam spiral up from her fists, the fire magic spilling out unconsciously from her core, as she readies herself for something unexpected.
Firefly cannot make out the words being called out to them, but Robin must be at least able to recognize the speaker, because her expression drops to something fearful. She looks out into the trees-–perhaps seeing more than Firefly can?--before putting her hands up, as though she means to push Firefly bodily away from the bank and back to the city. Before she even touches Firefly, however, she jerks her hands away, as though she fears her hands may burn.
“You–-you need to go,” Robin says, clasping her hands nervously down in front of her. “Please.”
Firefly almost refuses instinctively, but it quells itself as fast as it comes. Whoever is approaching them in the woods, Robin obviously must know them. And yet, despite only having known the other woman for a moment, Firefly feels compelled to listen to her advice.
Plus, if Robin is a powerful sorcerer like Firefly surmises, then she might be able to take care of herself, too.
Perhaps Firefly can come to a compromise.
“Will you be safe, yourself?” Firefly says, just to make sure. “I’m a knight. I know how to fight. If something dangerous is coming for you, I can protect you.”
“It’s not like that,” Robin says, a bit of warmth returning to her voice, even as she continues trying to shoo Firefly away. “Though, perhaps…” she says. Her eyes dart between Firefly, then back at the trees, where the sounds of heavy footfall grow in volume. “If you come back later, I can explain. But for now, Lady Knight, you should leave.”
Firefly takes one last look at Robin, then nods, quick and assured. She breaks into a sprint toward the trees, footsteps light but hurried as her armor forms around her. She makes it out of sight of the lake just as it solidifies around her, in time to see two men appear and make their way towards Robin.
From the younger looking man’s head sprouts a familiar pair of wings, although the feathers are a simpler gray in color. Robin smiles warmly and sincerely at him, and it helps somewhat to lower Firefly’s guard.
The older one, a man with no wings, has his back turned, so Firefly fails to identify any noticeable features other than dark hair and glasses. Firefly drops into a crouch to watch them unseen for a few moments, preparing herself to step in should they do anything to harm the other woman, warning be damned, but they only speak to her normally and familiarly, barely audible from this distance.
Robin smiles and speaks with them, no trace of that previous fear in her expression. As Firefly observes, the strange woman casually glances in Firefly’s direction over the shoulders of the men, eyes bright, as though silently telling Firefly, go.
Firefly swallows but compiles, already thinking of the next time she can sneak out from the castle and return to the dreamy haven.
The next morning, Firefly wakes up earlier than normal, sneaks into the castle library, and checks out a handful of Elio’s books--ones buried beneath a thick layer of dust, and which she suspects no one will be gearing up to read anytime soon.
She passes a sign nailed to the door as she leaves the library. In familiar handwriting, it says:
TO WHOMEVER HAS BEEN STEALING THE PRINCE’S FAVORITE TEXTBOOKS, PROMPTLY SEE THEM RETURNED /OR/ PROPERLY SIGN THE CHECK OUT FORM, LEST LADY KAFKA COME AFTER YOU FOR IMPROPER LIBRARY CONDUCT.
Firefly’s lips quirk up in a half smile. The prince, who could well and truly be blown over with a nothing but a well-aimed cough, is as eccentric as ever.
She carries her own books back to her room (somewhat clumsily, admittedly) and organizes her flowers in little groups in preparation to begin pressing them. She still has plenty of time before the bookmarks need to be completed--the ball, and by extension Elio’s birthday, are a few weeks away–-but she wants to be prepared in advance.
She will return to performing her knightly duties for the next few days, but she is already debating in her head whether or not she should make the time to head back to the lake. Would it be appropriate to interject herself in whatever is going on out there? Firefly cannot help but to think about that fearful expression that Robin wore, but also of that soft smile, and those bright blue-green eyes.
Kafka catches Firefly as she’s leaving her room, eyes alit with interest when she notices the hint of contemplation on Firefly’s face.
“Well, well, well,” Kafka says. “Look who’s the early bird. I take it you’re feeling sprightly today?”
Firefly hums. She has felt more energized since returning from meeting Robin. Partially out of that lingering worry, but also out of a persistent curiosity.
“Good,” Kafka says, sounding satisfied. “Was yesterday a fruitful trip, then? You came back pretty late.”
Firefly sighs. Here we go.
“I got the flowers.”
“And?” Kafka probes.
Firefly shuffles in place. “I met a woman.”
“Oh?” Kafka says, amusement obvious in the curl of her lips and the tilt of her head. “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”
Firefly bites her lips. “Sort of…”
Firefly ends up explaining the whole of the strange encounter by the lake to Kafka, who listens intently. As is usual with Kafka, her face hardly gives away her true thoughts on the matter, but she’s not Elio’s chief confidant for nothing. Firefly can trust that Kafka will formulate some opinion on the matter at hand, even if she doesn’t say so immediately, or if her advice seems confusing at first. Firefly has valued Kafka’s opinion ever since she first found Firefly and Stelle and brought them to the city, back during that dark time after the Iron Cavalry perished. Firefly isn't about to stop trusting her now, even if she can come across as a bit…nosy at times.
“Do you think it was right to just leave her behind like that?” Firefly asks.
“She told you to do it, didn’t she?”
“Yeah…” Firefly says. “But it still felt like something was wrong.” Firefly wants to trust her instincts, especially in a tense situation, but she still doubts herself with things like this. Even if Robin acted as though she knew those two men, what occurred at the lake felt strange, and letting it lie doesn’t seem entirely like the right choice. “I want to go back and learn more about her, but I also don’t want to cause her any trouble.”
“Then do just that. Investigate and then try again,” Kafka says, like the decision deserves no more thought than that.
Firefly considers. Maybe Kafka is right, and Firefly is simply overthinking it. Plus, if she stops fretting and simply asks Robin to explain, she’ll have more information to work with moving forward. Paths are made by walking, Kafka had told her once. Perhaps it is Firefly’s time to put those words into action.
So, the next opportunity that Firefly has to slip away, Firefly makes her way out of the city on foot, dodging busy pedestrians going about their morning errands. She also passes by Blade on her way out towards the city gates, hard at work at his forge, but he only gives her a grunt in passing, so she waves at him quickly and moves on.
Firefly attempts to make her way to the waterfall passage as quickly as she can. She actually has trouble finding it at first, which sends sharp panic through her, thinking that perhaps Robin and the lake were simply figments of her imagination, but after focusing on the image of the path in her mind and retracing her steps, she manages to find it.
The sun, high in the sky, seems to guide her as she walks, and she follows that same trail of flowers until she stands at the edge of the trees, looking out over the lake. There is a flock of ducks congregating on the east side, but no swans, so she ends up sitting on the bank and waiting, watching the water lap at the shore.
Firefly has already begun planning more times to return in hopes of finding Robin, but the sound of a trumpeting call startles her out of her reverie, and she looks up to see a familiar swan descending beside her, landing gracefully to her side.
Firefly notes that she keeps a fair amount of distance between them, even as her eyes burn with happiness. Firefly doesn’t blame her for still being wary–-it’s a logical precaution, after all.
“You came back!” comes Robin’s voice from the swan, sounding relieved.
Firefly smiles, some of her anxiety from the past few days melting away seeing Robin seemingly unharmed. She waits for Robin to change to her human form, but the glittery transformation does not come, and Firefly mentally shrugs. If Robin prefers one form over the other, Firefly would never judge, though it does leave her more curious.
“I wanted to make sure you were okay,” Firefly says. “Our meeting was quite abrupt.”
“Ah. I was a bit frazzled, wasn’t I?” says Robin, looking as embarrassed as a swan is capable of looking: her feathers ruffle out and shake, and she lets out a breathy laugh which sounds distinctly birdlike. “I’m sorry about that. I just didn’t want you to get caught.”
“Who were those men?” Firefly asks, a note of concern entering her voice, despite her attempt to play it cool.
“My brother and father,” Robin says. “They aren’t very fond of visitors to our valley, so I needed you to hide if you ever wanted to return.”
“Not fond of visitors?” Firefly echoes. Just how isolated is this lake from the city? “What do you mean?”
“It’s a long story,” Robin says, sounding somber, before clearing her throat. “But my father has left for a trip, and my brother is busy elsewhere, so we can talk now!” she says, her voice newly imbued with cheer. Firefly wonders how much of it is true, and how much is a performance. Firefly does not know Robin well enough to say, but she gets the sense that perhaps it is a little of both.
Firefly sighs, but doesn’t push. Instead, she pivots to a different topic of conversation-–hopefully a less touchy one.
“Are you a sorcerer?” Firefly asks. “As far as I’m aware, only powerful ones can turn into animals.” While time and effort have made it easier to use magical implements to alter aspects of the physical human form as one desires, such magic is common and accessible and not particularly complex anymore. Changing fully to that of an animal, however, is much rarer, and far more difficult than common alterations used in everyday life.
From what little Firefly knows about the actual crafting and manipulation of magic, animal transformation are so uncommon, likely due to the difficulty, that Firefly can only think of a few in the kingdom capable of doing something similarly intricate: Elio, who favors his cat form, and two of Stelle’s acquaintances–-that Dr. Welt with his creation abilities, and his blond companion, who Firefly has long suspected is some form of artificially created creature. That traveling sorcerer Black Swan, as well, has been known to shed her physical form somehow, but Firefly has never seen her actually turn into a swan herself or speak about her methods. After all, only the most stubborn, dedicated, and creative pursue magic as a craft, while everyday people prefer to simply use the simpler, widespread variations of it.
The point being–-the young looking Robin would need to be extremely strong, likely from diligently studying magic for years, to seamlessly shift between a human form and another form like this.
Firefly waits patiently for Robin’s answer, expecting Robin to brag about her skills somehow, but Robin simply twists her head away, and looks out over the water.
She stays silent, and as the seconds tick on, Firefly almost feels as though Robin will never answer. She watches as Robin’s expression twists from somber, to pensive, to determined, like a canvas painted over and over again.
“You’re not wrong,” Robin says, when she finally tilts her head to meet Firefly’s eyes. “It is the result of powerful magic, but not my own. I’m not skilled enough for such a spell.”
Not her own? Firefly thinks, taken aback.
Robin answers her question before Firefly can even pose it. “My brother and I are cursed,” she says, like the great exhaling of a long held breath. “When the sun rises, we transform into swans. When the night comes, we return to our original human forms. We have no control over it, and have been trying to find a cure for years, so that we can return to living with other people.”
Firefly looks at the swan beside her, and thinks about that glittery transformation, the beauty of Robin’s feathers, and her bright blue-green eyes. It seems like a wonderous thing, to be able to fly so freely as a swan, and to find joy in a unique experience. But to think that Robin has been deprived of any choice over the form of her own body for so long-–it rings deep like a bell in Firefly’s core, and she brings her knees up to her chest to hold them close in comfort.
“Frankly, I shouldn’t even be speaking with you,” Robin says, sounding forlorn. “But when we met the other day, I was so surprised to see another person after so long, that I suppose I grew selfish. I’m…grateful that you came back, even though you won’t be able to return after this.”
Firefly looks up. “What? What do you mean, I can’t come back?”
“The curse is dangerous,” Robin explains. “Living here helps to mitigate the risk somewhat, but touching you directly could bring trouble. It would be cruel to act just to satiate my curiosity, and I could not forgive myself if I hurt someone because of it.”
But was it cruel for Firefly to come here, to satiate her curiosity? Firefly doesn’t think so. Firefly has never been the best with magic, outside of that which powers her armor, so she cannot be sure that what she senses is accurate, but Robin does not seem to be overtly emitting any dangerous energy.
Perhaps it means that Robin’s situation is not as hopeless as she thinks.
“Can I test something?” Firefly says abruptly, when the idea strikes her.
“I suppose?” Robin says. “Just be careful.”
“Of course,” Firefly says, standing. She begins to concentrate on the flame filled core, deep within her. “I told you that I’m a knight, right?”
“Yes…” Robin says.
“I’m the last remnant of a group known as the Iron Cavalry. Do you know anything about them?”
Robin hums, then shakes her head. “I may have encountered them when I was young and traveling with my brother, but I don’t recall anything now.”
Concentrating, Firefly summons her armor. Piece by piece, it manifests over her body, covering her head to toe in silver steel. The familiar steam rises from her joints, blanketing her in warmth and the promise of fire, should she choose to summon it.
“My armor is specially enchanted to protect me, which includes all manner of curses and spells. It’s not…perfect,” Firefly admits, “but it has protected me so far. Plus it's been modified to have additional spellblocking. It should be able to resist a curse as powerful as yours.”
At least, Firefly thinks it usually does. Blade has personally made adjustments and repairs to the base armor over the years, and Elio and Silver Wolf have spent long nights dissecting the intense spellwork imbued in the metal, adding additional protections here and there that they refresh periodically when Firefly tends to her equipment. She has never tested it on a curse like Robin’s, but as an accomplished knight versed in combat, it has been heavily used over the years against a variety of malignant forces. The modifications have even made her bouts of fatigue easier to cope with over the years, helping to protect her body from physical ailments until she can go home and rest in bed. Firefly thinks it could very well protect her against something like this.
Well…probably.
Robin looks at her with hesitation, but doesn’t back away as Firefly steps closer to her and kneels. Firefly holds one armored arm forward, an invitation for Robin to perch upon her.
“Are you really sure?” Robin says. Firefly nods, and doesn’t back away.
Slowly, tentatively, Robin reaches her long neck forward, poking at Firefly’s armor with her bill. She darts back immediately, but when nothing spontaneously happens, she tries a second time, maintaining the contact for half a second longer. Slowly, carefully, Robin entertains longer and longer bouts of contact, then with one final flutter of her wings, hops up onto Firefly’s arm. Firefly stands, holding her arm out before her to give Robin enough space.
“See, everything is fine,” Firefly says, feeling a sense of relief wash over her.
Robin lets out a loud, trumpeting call. Firefly nearly flinches, only to realize a half a second later that Robin is laughing. The swan’s eyes close, and she throws her long neck back, and she laughs, that same, distinctive wind chime sound.
“You’re right,” Robin says, after she collects herself. “It’s wonderful.”