Another journal

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In the morning, staring up at the dark beams of the ceiling, Emily worried that it’d all come too easy. Sure, there’d been some hassle at the start, but there was that familiar drifting feeling. She was thinking about it too much. Knowing the subtle manipulation of her childhood still had her jumping at luck. She swung out of bed and found the pile of clothes she’d stacked on the foot of the bed had been replaced by the loose trousers and tunic outfit that seemed to be in style here.

Just like what happened in fairy stories. That was part of the problem, the whole thing was both unreal and familiar, she felt like things were out of her control and in someone else’s, but that each step wouldn’t surprise her. Emily wondered if this sort of thing had been easier back when people just heard stories via word of mouth rather than the saturation of film and books. She tried to shake the feeling off as she dressed and found a sort of balance by the time she’d descended to the great hall for breakfast.

Only one of the long tables was occupied, a dozen or so faces Emily remembered from the night before as those who’d asked the most questions and seemed to have the most influence. She took a seat and drank from the cup of chocolate placed before her. Idle chatter wound down and a man with a particularly fancy hat addressed the group.

“This young lady is on a mission of some note, but before we help her, it is best that we get onto even footing, beginning with introductions. I’m called Arbrus.” They went around the table giving their names. The woman who’d been the first to speak with Emily was called Dry-Eyes. There was a pause when it was Emily’s turn. She wondered if she was being tested.

“My name is Amelia, but most people call me Emily.” A murmur coursed along the table and Dry-Eyes looked at Emily in concern.

“Dear, you shouldn’t give your name out so easily.”

Emily frowned, “but you all—oh.” She wrinkled her nose. “Those were all your call names, huh” A girl at the end of the table piped up.

“My folks wouldn’t have named me something this weird as my real name!” She’d introduced herself as Starfell Aaron.

Emily grinned. “No problem then. I guess Amelia isn’t my real name anyway, it’s just what I was given when everyone was exiled, after my parents died.”

“So what’s your real name?” Arbrus leaned in as he asked. Dry-Eyes slapped the back of his head.

“What a thing to ask!” She turned to Emily. “You don’t have to answer that.”

With a shrug, Emily explained. “It doesn’t matter anyway, I don’t know my true name. I guess it was lost?” Everyone at the table gaped at her, some of them with food in their mouths. She shifted uncomfortably. “The folks at Royal Oaks said it was probably for the best, my name being lost. I guess it means nobody can really pinpoint me or anything.”

Dry-Eyes measured her words carefully. “True, though your use name can still be used against you, especially if it’s what you’ve been known by your whole life.”

“Oh. Lame.”

“Indeed.”

Emily explained the plan of action, broken into its most basic steps. She needed to get to the King’s palace. Once there she had to ‘claim her birthright’, which didn’t mean anything to Emily but apparently had some technical significance. Then she would plead her case to the king. Emily realised how empty a plan it was as she said it aloud. In the context of rushing to pack and cramming Sidhe-lore it’d seemed beautiful in its simplicity. She started to feel a faint terror of failure.

Everyone at the table took the plan at face value, either not doubting its validity or politely ignoring its vagueness. A man who was called something like Fieflower nodded thoughtfully when she finished.

“So first we must get you to the King’s castle.” He looked around the table. “She’ll need a guide.”

Dry-Eye’s raised her hand. “I’ll take her. I’ve the least to do right now and it was me that first invited her in.” She turned to Emily. “You’ve got enough supplies in that pack of yours? Food, whatever?”

Emily nodded. “I’m good on food. Like I said, that seems to take care of itself. It’s only water I was running low on. Once I fill back up I’m good for another few days before I need to find a river or something.”

Dry-Eyes set the next day as their date for departure.

Mirrored from Journal of a Something or Other.