The narrow, winding streets of Bordeaux were sloppy with mud and less desirable things, each turn thick with the damp scent of mist and refuse—and beneath it, unmistakably, the sour-sweet tang of spilled wine, soaked so deep into the cobbles over the centuries that no rain could wash it out. The Garonne ran close by, tidal and restless, its low-water reek of salt and silt curling up between the half-timbered houses that leaned toward each other overhead, nearly touching, as if huddling against the damp. A vendor's call—"Adiu! Adiu!"—rang out from a stall stacked with wine casks bound for the next outbound ship, his Gascon tongue rough and quick, utterly unlike the French murmured by the merchants haggling over his prices.
Rónán, Keeper of the Queen's Wardrobe—a title he wore with more pride than the actual stitching he oversaw—walked silently at the edge of Titania's retinue, his cloak pulled low to hide delicate features and pointed ears, eyes flicking warily at every shadow and stranger's glance the way they always did on these errands. They moved carefully, an unobtrusive group cloaked in dark, heavy fabrics to blend with the nightfall and draw no attention from curious human eyes. Every so often, he caught a glimpse of the Queen's delicate green slippers beneath the hem of her cloak, her weight slight enough that they were oddly clean compared to the fabric that danced over top of them.
She walked with regal poise, but Rónán knew her keen eyes missed little. As they passed through the market square, she murmured lowly, "This place reeks of iron and decay." Her voice was soft, her tone edged with distaste.
Rónán remained silent, feeling the weight of her words. The city was human territory through and through—a place where beings like them, who didn't quite belong, would draw attention if they lingered too long.
They turned down a quieter street, the stalls and carts thinning out, and that was when his eyes caught two small figures huddled in the shadows of an alley. Twin boys, young and ragged, pale of hair with faces smeared with grime. He paused, caught by the scene—one of the boys, an odd, bright red mask pushed up on his head, leaned over his brother, murmuring softly. He brushed his fingers over his brother's knee, and for a split second, Rónán saw a faint shimmer of golden light, and a glimpse of far too much ear for the human children who roamed these streets.
He drew a sharp breath. Elfin children. And one of them a healer, of all things.
Heart racing, he ran, boots sticking and slipping in the muck, until he reached his lady's side. He bent close, his whisper fighting urgently against the noise of the square as he delivered his news.
Titania's pace didn't slow, but something in her shoulders changed—a stillness settling over her, sharp and sudden, like a hawk marking movement in tall grass.
"Elfin children," she repeated softly, almost to herself. "Here. Now." She glanced down at the hem of her cloak, already darkened with grime she had no intention of enduring a moment longer than necessary. "Bring them to my ship. I'll not stand ankle deep in this filth any longer than I must."
For just an instant, Rónán hesitated at the thought of rounding up two half-wild children, one of them with innate magic, in this dangerous place surrounded by enemies. But without argument, for he prided himself on being an intelligent elf with a strong will to live, he grabbed for the nearest of his peers to double back toward the alley and fulfill the command.
The sound of footsteps cut through the stillness, and the elder twin looked up, eyes narrowing as three figures approached, faces shrouded by the shadows of their cloaks. A sharp spike of panic threatened to drive the breath from his lungs…. his first instinct was to bolt, but there was nowhere to go. It would have to be fight, then, he knew as one of the figures moved slowly forward. Tengu's hand drifted up to the mask perched on his head, gripping its edge protectively as the man stopped just a few feet away. At the sound of his voice, Tengu tugged it down over his face.
"You don't need to be afraid," the man said, his voice calm and quiet. "We mean you no harm."
The younger twin edged closer to his brother, hand clutching at his sibling's ragged sleeve. He darted a wary look at the man, his jaw clenched. The man extended a gloved hand, palm open.
"Our lady wishes to meet you," he continued, his voice a low, hopeful murmur. "You'll be safe with us." The man lifted his other hand, slowly, carefully, as if he were afraid to make movements too sudden or threatening, to pull away his hood just enough to reveal one slender, pointed ear just like their own.
The boys exchanged a silent glance, both of them torn between suspicion and curiosity. Sensing their hesitation, the man produced a small, glowing orb from within his cloak. The soft light washed over them, illuminating the narrow alley in hues not unlike the fires of the cozy hearth they could barely remember.
The elder twin was unswayed. Short, grubby fingers tingled with a stinging glow of their own that he was unafraid to use to his advantage.
"There's no need for that." The thin note of fear in the adult's voice gave him a warm flush of satisfaction. "This way," the stranger said, motioning down the street toward the docks. He gestured for them to follow, his tone leaving little room for refusal.
And yet, they didn't move. If anything, he thought with a trace of humor, one of them looked poised to fight. "We have food," he offered, stifling the twitch that threatened to tug at the corner of his mouth. "Meat pies, fresh bread…..candied fruits."
After a tense pause, the elder twin gave a reluctant nod, and the other, though still hesitant, held his brother's sleeve a little tighter and followed suit, allowing the cloaked strangers to surround them and stand between them and the city's human watchers.
They moved quickly through the dark streets, the attendants keeping a protective distance around them, their movements practiced and quiet. The docks announced themselves before they were even in sight—the tang of wine from casks stacked high and ready for loading, the briny pull of the Garonne at low tide, thick with silt and rope and old fish. A grand ship loomed against the night sky, its sails furled tight, a single lantern casting a faint glow over its deck. The man guided them up the gangplank, his footsteps light against the wood, and led them through narrow corridors until they reached a private cabin.
The room was luxurious, dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of exotic spices. A woman stood at the center, her face still shrouded by her hood, tall, stately figure bathed in the warm glow of candlelight. The boys stared, entranced by the strange, regal figure before them.
Rónán allowed himself one small, satisfied glance back toward the alley they'd left behind—he, of all the retinue, had been the one to spot them. There would be no harm in a little quiet pride about that, later, over wine. He inclined his head, his voice reverent. "My queen, I have brought them."
Titania dismissed him with a slight nod, her attention never wavering from the twins. She stepped forward, her movements graceful yet restrained, and the boys instinctively took a step back. A gloved hand lifted to her hood, but she did not lower it, keeping her face hidden in shadows. Only her eyes, intense and almost luminous, peered out at them.
"You need not fear," she murmured, her voice like a soft echo in the quiet room.
Her gaze lingered on Tengu, taking in his red mask with a spark of intrigue. "An unusual choice," she remarked, her tone more curious than critical.
The boy's hand tightened on the mask, his mouth set in a firm line, but he kept his silence. Titania did not press him, merely nodding slightly, as though his guardedness only deepened her interest. Finally, hesitantly he spoke. "It hides my face when I'm among the humans finding food." Stealing food, she understood, though he didn't say so.
With a small gesture, she motioned to an attendant, who set down a tray of bread and fruit on a low table near the boys. "Well, there's no need to wear it for such purposes now. You must be hungry," she said, her voice gentler now. "Please—eat."
Tengu's eyes darted to the food, hunger battling with caution. Karu shook his head slightly, a reminder to be wary. Titania's gaze softened as she watched them.
"I can offer you more than a meal," she continued, her tone coaxing yet gentle. "A place where you will be safe, cared for."
The boys hesitated, the weight of her words settling over them. After a tense moment, Tengu gave a slow, tentative nod. Karu hesitated, his gaze flicking to his brother before echoing the gesture with visible reluctance.
"Good," she murmured, her voice soft. "Come."
She gestured for them to sit by the window, where the soft glow of the dock lanterns filtered in. As they settled into the plush seats, Titania took the one opposite, her hood still shadowing her face, the dim candlelight casting strange patterns on the walls.
"Do you know who I am?" she asked, her voice a low murmur that seemed to fill the room. Her accent was soft, musical……entirely different from what the boys were accustomed to.
The twins shook their heads, watching her with wide, guarded eyes.
Only then did she lift her hood back, slow and unhurried, as though she had all the time in the world and nothing left to hide. The candlelight caught her fully for the first time, and Tengu forgot, for just an instant, to be afraid of anything at all. She was beautiful in the same way a flame was beautiful—sharp, dangerous, but warm and bright at the same time. At seven years old, he didn't quite have the right word for it, but something in him fixed on her in that moment the way a compass needle fixes on north; not with desire, but with direction. This was what powerful looked like. This, maybe, was what safe looked like.
"I am Titania," she said, her voice carrying an almost reverent weight. "Queen of a realm far from here, safe from human touch."
The elder twin's curiosity flickered, but the other's wariness remained. The way he clutched at his brother didn't escape the queen's notice.
Titania's gaze softened slightly, as if the warmth in her voice could ease the guardedness in their young eyes. "And what should I call you?" she asked, her voice low, almost coaxing.
The elder twin shifted slightly, his hand drifting up to touch the mask still resting against his cheeks. Carefully, mindful of its age, he pushed it up and back to rest on his head instead, his eyes flickering with a mixture of caution and pride as he met Titania's gaze. "Tengu," he said, his voice clear and steady.
Titania tilted her head, her eyes glinting with intrigue as she noted the careful firmness with which he gave his name, a faint smile playing on her lips. She didn't press him further, gaze shifting instead to his brother.
The boy had edged closer to his twin in silence, his eyes downcast, one hand still gripping Tengu's sleeve as the Queen waited patiently. He swallowed, voice so small that Titania had to lean in to make out any sound at all, but she inclined her head in acknowledgement nonetheless. "Karu, then," she repeated, her tone gentle yet firm, as if solidifying the name in the quiet air.
Karu's cheeks flushed slightly, but he didn't correct her, only glanced briefly at his brother. Tengu made no move to set things straight, his gaze fixed firmly on the array of food set out beside them.
With a small smile, Titania gestured again to the food on the table. "Well, Tengu and Karu," she said, her voice laced with calm authority. "You are safe here. Eat, and let this be the start of something better."
"You possess rare talents," she continued, choosing her words with deliberate care. "Abilities that should not be squandered."
Tengu's shoulders stiffened at those words, hand poised over a steaming plate of food as the memory of his father's voice echoed in his mind. But Titania's tone was different, reverent rather than greedy, as though she respected rather than coveted his power and what it could do.
The ship's timbers creaked softly. "Where are we going?" Karu's voice was barely above a whisper, but it broke the silence all the same. Tengu's breath caught—he hadn't even realized they were moving. They were trapped.
"To a place where you will learn to harness your potential…..both of you," Titania replied, a hint of a smile touching her lips. "A new home."
Rushing to look out the cabin's small, circular window, Tengu watched as the dock faded into the night even as he shoved the meat pie unceremoniously into his mouth. Unsettling, yes. He felt vaguely tricked and dismayed, and for an instant he thought about turning sharp, stinging fingers on their……captor? Savior? But he couldn't deny a sense of wonder and possibility as he glanced back at her. Just beyond, he saw his brother licking a bit of candied fruit from one dirty finger while the other hand reached for another. The plate, stacked high a moment ago, was near half empty and Tengu knew without looking that at least one of his pockets overflowed with the sweets.
With a graceful motion of her hand, the candlelight dimmed, leaving the room bathed in soft shadows. Almost as soon as they were prone on the clean, down filled mattress the twins felt a gentle drowsiness, eyelids growing heavy despite their desire to stay alert.
"Rest now," Titania drew his attention again, her voice soothing yet firm. "There will be much to see come morning. You are meant for greater things than wallowing in the human filth of this city."
They drifted into slumber, heads resting together. Titania watched them for a moment, her expression composed and unreadable, the candle flame beside her sharp and flickering, throwing warm light and crawling shadow across her face in equal measure, as the ship slipped into the dark waters.
The narrow, winding streets of Bordeaux were sloppy with mud and less desirable things, each turn thick with the damp scent of mist and refuse—and beneath it, unmistakably, the sour-sweet tang of spilled wine, soaked so deep into the cobbles over the centuries that no rain could wash it out. The Garonne ran close by, tidal and restless, its low-water reek of salt and silt curling up between the half-timbered houses that leaned toward each other overhead, nearly touching, as if huddling against the damp. A vendor's call—"Adiu! Adiu!"—rang out from a stall stacked with wine casks bound for the next outbound ship, his Gascon tongue rough and quick, utterly unlike the French murmured by the merchants haggling over his prices.
Rónán, Keeper of the Queen's Wardrobe—a title he wore with more pride than the actual stitching he oversaw—walked silently at the edge of Titania's retinue, his cloak pulled low to hide delicate features and pointed ears, eyes flicking warily at every shadow and stranger's glance the way they always did on these errands. They moved carefully, an unobtrusive group cloaked in dark, heavy fabrics to blend with the nightfall and draw no attention from curious human eyes. Every so often, he caught a glimpse of the Queen's delicate green slippers beneath the hem of her cloak, her weight slight enough that they were oddly clean compared to the fabric that danced over top of them.
She walked with regal poise, but Rónán knew her keen eyes missed little. As they passed through the market square, she murmured lowly, "This place reeks of iron and decay." Her voice was soft, her tone edged with distaste.
Rónán remained silent, feeling the weight of her words. The city was human territory through and through—a place where beings like them, who didn't quite belong, would draw attention if they lingered too long.
They turned down a quieter street, the stalls and carts thinning out, and that was when his eyes caught two small figures huddled in the shadows of an alley. Twin boys, young and ragged, pale of hair with faces smeared with grime. He paused, caught by the scene—one of the boys, an odd, bright red mask pushed up on his head, leaned over his brother, murmuring softly. He brushed his fingers over his brother's knee, and for a split second, Rónán saw a faint shimmer of golden light, and a glimpse of far too much ear for the human children who roamed these streets.
He drew a sharp breath. Elfin children. And one of them a healer, of all things.
Heart racing, he ran, boots sticking and slipping in the muck, until he reached his lady's side. He bent close, his whisper fighting urgently against the noise of the square as he delivered his news.
Titania's pace didn't slow, but something in her shoulders changed—a stillness settling over her, sharp and sudden, like a hawk marking movement in tall grass.
"Elfin children," she repeated softly, almost to herself. "Here. Now." She glanced down at the hem of her cloak, already darkened with grime she had no intention of enduring a moment longer than necessary. "Bring them to my ship. I'll not stand ankle deep in this filth any longer than I must."
For just an instant, Rónán hesitated at the thought of rounding up two half-wild children, one of them with innate magic, in this dangerous place surrounded by enemies. But without argument, for he prided himself on being an intelligent elf with a strong will to live, he grabbed for the nearest of his peers to double back toward the alley and fulfill the command.
The sound of footsteps cut through the stillness, and the elder twin looked up, eyes narrowing as three figures approached, faces shrouded by the shadows of their cloaks. A sharp spike of panic threatened to drive the breath from his lungs…. his first instinct was to bolt, but there was nowhere to go. It would have to be fight, then, he knew as one of the figures moved slowly forward. Tengu's hand drifted up to the mask perched on his head, gripping its edge protectively as the man stopped just a few feet away. At the sound of his voice, Tengu tugged it down over his face.
"You don't need to be afraid," the man said, his voice calm and quiet. "We mean you no harm."
The younger twin edged closer to his brother, hand clutching at his sibling's ragged sleeve. He darted a wary look at the man, his jaw clenched. The man extended a gloved hand, palm open.
"Our lady wishes to meet you," he continued, his voice a low, hopeful murmur. "You'll be safe with us." The man lifted his other hand, slowly, carefully, as if he were afraid to make movements too sudden or threatening, to pull away his hood just enough to reveal one slender, pointed ear just like their own.
The boys exchanged a silent glance, both of them torn between suspicion and curiosity. Sensing their hesitation, the man produced a small, glowing orb from within his cloak. The soft light washed over them, illuminating the narrow alley in hues not unlike the fires of the cozy hearth they could barely remember.
The elder twin was unswayed. Short, grubby fingers tingled with a stinging glow of their own that he was unafraid to use to his advantage.
"There's no need for that." The thin note of fear in the adult's voice gave him a warm flush of satisfaction. "This way," the stranger said, motioning down the street toward the docks. He gestured for them to follow, his tone leaving little room for refusal.
And yet, they didn't move. If anything, he thought with a trace of humor, one of them looked poised to fight. "We have food," he offered, stifling the twitch that threatened to tug at the corner of his mouth. "Meat pies, fresh bread…..candied fruits."
After a tense pause, the elder twin gave a reluctant nod, and the other, though still hesitant, held his brother's sleeve a little tighter and followed suit, allowing the cloaked strangers to surround them and stand between them and the city's human watchers.
They moved quickly through the dark streets, the attendants keeping a protective distance around them, their movements practiced and quiet. The docks announced themselves before they were even in sight—the tang of wine from casks stacked high and ready for loading, the briny pull of the Garonne at low tide, thick with silt and rope and old fish. A grand ship loomed against the night sky, its sails furled tight, a single lantern casting a faint glow over its deck. The man guided them up the gangplank, his footsteps light against the wood, and led them through narrow corridors until they reached a private cabin.
The room was luxurious, dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of exotic spices. A woman stood at the center, her face still shrouded by her hood, tall, stately figure bathed in the warm glow of candlelight. The boys stared, entranced by the strange, regal figure before them.
Rónán allowed himself one small, satisfied glance back toward the alley they'd left behind—he, of all the retinue, had been the one to spot them. There would be no harm in a little quiet pride about that, later, over wine. He inclined his head, his voice reverent. "My queen, I have brought them."
Titania dismissed him with a slight nod, her attention never wavering from the twins. She stepped forward, her movements graceful yet restrained, and the boys instinctively took a step back. A gloved hand lifted to her hood, but she did not lower it, keeping her face hidden in shadows. Only her eyes, intense and almost luminous, peered out at them.
"You need not fear," she murmured, her voice like a soft echo in the quiet room.
Her gaze lingered on Tengu, taking in his red mask with a spark of intrigue. "An unusual choice," she remarked, her tone more curious than critical.
The boy's hand tightened on the mask, his mouth set in a firm line, but he kept his silence. Titania did not press him, merely nodding slightly, as though his guardedness only deepened her interest. Finally, hesitantly he spoke. "It hides my face when I'm among the humans finding food." Stealing food, she understood, though he didn't say so.
With a small gesture, she motioned to an attendant, who set down a tray of bread and fruit on a low table near the boys. "Well, there's no need to wear it for such purposes now. You must be hungry," she said, her voice gentler now. "Please—eat."
Tengu's eyes darted to the food, hunger battling with caution. Karu shook his head slightly, a reminder to be wary. Titania's gaze softened as she watched them.
"I can offer you more than a meal," she continued, her tone coaxing yet gentle. "A place where you will be safe, cared for."
The boys hesitated, the weight of her words settling over them. After a tense moment, Tengu gave a slow, tentative nod. Karu hesitated, his gaze flicking to his brother before echoing the gesture with visible reluctance.
"Good," she murmured, her voice soft. "Come."
She gestured for them to sit by the window, where the soft glow of the dock lanterns filtered in. As they settled into the plush seats, Titania took the one opposite, her hood still shadowing her face, the dim candlelight casting strange patterns on the walls.
"Do you know who I am?" she asked, her voice a low murmur that seemed to fill the room. Her accent was soft, musical……entirely different from what the boys were accustomed to.
The twins shook their heads, watching her with wide, guarded eyes.
Only then did she lift her hood back, slow and unhurried, as though she had all the time in the world and nothing left to hide. The candlelight caught her fully for the first time, and Tengu forgot, for just an instant, to be afraid of anything at all. She was beautiful in the same way a flame was beautiful—sharp, dangerous, but warm and bright at the same time. At seven years old, he didn't quite have the right word for it, but something in him fixed on her in that moment the way a compass needle fixes on north; not with desire, but with direction. This was what powerful looked like. This, maybe, was what safe looked like.
"I am Titania," she said, her voice carrying an almost reverent weight. "Queen of a realm far from here, safe from human touch."
The elder twin's curiosity flickered, but the other's wariness remained. The way he clutched at his brother didn't escape the queen's notice.
Titania's gaze softened slightly, as if the warmth in her voice could ease the guardedness in their young eyes. "And what should I call you?" she asked, her voice low, almost coaxing.
The elder twin shifted slightly, his hand drifting up to touch the mask still resting against his cheeks. Carefully, mindful of its age, he pushed it up and back to rest on his head instead, his eyes flickering with a mixture of caution and pride as he met Titania's gaze. "Tengu," he said, his voice clear and steady.
Titania tilted her head, her eyes glinting with intrigue as she noted the careful firmness with which he gave his name, a faint smile playing on her lips. She didn't press him further, gaze shifting instead to his brother.
The boy had edged closer to his twin in silence, his eyes downcast, one hand still gripping Tengu's sleeve as the Queen waited patiently. He swallowed, voice so small that Titania had to lean in to make out any sound at all, but she inclined her head in acknowledgement nonetheless. "Karu, then," she repeated, her tone gentle yet firm, as if solidifying the name in the quiet air.
Karu's cheeks flushed slightly, but he didn't correct her, only glanced briefly at his brother. Tengu made no move to set things straight, his gaze fixed firmly on the array of food set out beside them.
With a small smile, Titania gestured again to the food on the table. "Well, Tengu and Karu," she said, her voice laced with calm authority. "You are safe here. Eat, and let this be the start of something better."
"You possess rare talents," she continued, choosing her words with deliberate care. "Abilities that should not be squandered."
Tengu's shoulders stiffened at those words, hand poised over a steaming plate of food as the memory of his father's voice echoed in his mind. But Titania's tone was different, reverent rather than greedy, as though she respected rather than coveted his power and what it could do.
The ship's timbers creaked softly. "Where are we going?" Karu's voice was barely above a whisper, but it broke the silence all the same. Tengu's breath caught—he hadn't even realized they were moving. They were trapped.
"To a place where you will learn to harness your potential…..both of you," Titania replied, a hint of a smile touching her lips. "A new home."
Rushing to look out the cabin's small, circular window, Tengu watched as the dock faded into the night even as he shoved the meat pie unceremoniously into his mouth. Unsettling, yes. He felt vaguely tricked and dismayed, and for an instant he thought about turning sharp, stinging fingers on their……captor? Savior? But he couldn't deny a sense of wonder and possibility as he glanced back at her. Just beyond, he saw his brother licking a bit of candied fruit from one dirty finger while the other hand reached for another. The plate, stacked high a moment ago, was near half empty and Tengu knew without looking that at least one of his pockets overflowed with the sweets.
With a graceful motion of her hand, the candlelight dimmed, leaving the room bathed in soft shadows. Almost as soon as they were prone on the clean, down filled mattress the twins felt a gentle drowsiness, eyelids growing heavy despite their desire to stay alert.
"Rest now," Titania drew his attention again, her voice soothing yet firm. "There will be much to see come morning. You are meant for greater things than wallowing in the human filth of this city."
They drifted into slumber, heads resting together. Titania watched them for a moment, her expression composed and unreadable, the candle flame beside her sharp and flickering, throwing warm light and crawling shadow across her face in equal measure, as the ship slipped into the dark waters.
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