Chapter Text
People across the realm say that magic is woven into the stonework of Storm’s End. It is a formidable castle, able to withstand the harshest of weathers that plague the stormlands. There are thunders so loud you feel their booms and downpours fierce enough to swamp entire villages. Yet Storm’s End has held for thousands of years, dating back to the Age of Heroes where forgotten creatures and giants still freely roamed the earth. Its huge grey walls have endured much against the bitter climate, and some say this is due to the use of the higher mysteries. Spells were used when each brick of the castle was laid, so that no amount of sorcery may ever pass through. Perhaps no one considered, however, that magic might’ve already lived within.
The Baratheon sisters have one very important promise between them. They believe secrets are best kept when you pretend they do not exist. For years, that was how they had managed to journey beyond the confines of their gloomy castle into the Other Forest. It was a trip that occurred only once each moon—when the brightest night was upon them. In their daily lives, they would not whisper a word about it. Nobody at Storm’s End knew of their nocturnal adventures, not even their mother and father. The girls shared their living quarters, and slept in one great, big chamber like four peas in a pod. When the night of their disappearance would come, the lock on the door kept their secret safe.
Floris was the youngest of her sisters and had only recently begun to understand how mysterious their wanderings were. It was believed in Westeros that the Children of the Forest were gone from this world, but that was not true. They were merely hiding in the trees and the stones, away from the seeing eye of mortal men. Yet each moon, some chose to hide no longer.
Floris’s sisters had been visiting the Other Forest since she was just a babe. The first time had been an accident; Cassandra had stumbled across a watery cavern beneath Storm’s End. There she had found a clan of Children. They spoke in a strange but beautiful tongue, like the earth’s natural song of wind through leaves or rain on water. Their voices were as beautiful as a golden sunset, and Cassandra had been charmed enough to follow where they led. Nothing but scraggy mountains surrounded Storm’s End, yet in just a single walk through the dark cavern, Cassandra had emerged into a forest of lovely greenery with the castle nowhere to be found. Ever since then, the tradition began: a night spent among magic. The allure of the Children and the charm of the Other Forest offered an adventure. It was impossible to refuse.
The day of the full moon was here, and the girls went about their routines as usual. Cassandra was the heiress of Storm’s End and usually the busiest of all. None of them would see their eldest sister until later on, but it was easily assumed she must be off somewhere with Father. Floris was supposed to be reading through the history of Westeros, but she spent most of her time glancing out the window to the courtyard. Maris and Ellyn were down there, perched upon the brick wall whilst the men were training. It was no surprise that Maris seemed more interested in the book she was reading, but Ellyn was lively as ever—smiling and clapping each time a man bested his duelling partner. When supper came around and they were finally together, their excitement was much more palpable. They tried their best not to share quiet smiles across the table.
The full moon was a beloved night among them. It was like a dream come to life. Each would wear their prettiest dress and do up their hair with ribbons and pearls, all to impress the Children that dwelled within the forest. Floris was often the first one ready (her youngest sister status meant she dressed the simplest by default), and this night was no different. Her gown was of a deep cinnamon and her hair was freshly combed. She sat cross-legged on her fluffy bedspread to wait, whilst her sisters fussed and fluttered across the room.
"It’s not fair," Maris said, wielding the hairbrush with impatient strokes. "You can wear anything and look beautiful, Ellyn. You were made in the image of Father—so tall and broad-shouldered."
Ellyn giggled at the compliment and twirled around to flaunt her deep royal blue gown. Although she was a year younger than Maris, she looked more like a woman with her new, shapely figure. "I have had a growth spurt, haven’t I? And at barely thirteen!" she boasted.
"But don’t frown, Maris. You will flower soon enough," Cassandra reassured as she fastened on some pearl earrings. "Do hurry and finish your hair, though. We mustn’t be late and miss the Children."
"I’m not going," Maris declared, letting her dark curls dramatically cascade around her face. She tossed the hairbrush aside for it to clatter onto the floor.
"Shh," Cassandra hissed. "If anyone hears us! You are going, don’t be stupid. We always go. Turn around and I’ll do your hair."
"I don’t think they mind if we look pretty or absolutely dreadful," Ellyn chimed in. Her bed was a mess, with gowns and necklaces and odd shoes lying askew. Rather than tidying up, she dashed over to Floris’s bed instead.
"How very humble of you to say that," Maris argued in a dull tone. "You’re more dressed up than Cassandra."
Floris found that hard to believe, but perhaps that was because Cassandra had the sort of beauty that made even her simple dove-grey gown look resplendent. Her black hair was braided back and pinned into place with silver combs, which glistened whenever light hit. Even the way she moved was elegant, like a swan, so that everything she did looked purposeful. Floris loved all of her sisters with her whole heart, but she wanted nothing so much as to be like Cassandra when she grew up.
"Come on, Floris. Aren’t you getting your shoes on?" Ellyn asked suddenly.
Floris snapped out of her daze and looked at the room with fresh eyes. Everyone was nearly ready. Maris’s hair was finished with no more frowns to be seen. She turned to Ellyn, a little bewildered. "The winds are bad tonight. Shouldn’t we stay here?"
"No no no. Of course not," she answered easily. Outside, the gale howled unnervingly, but Ellyn did not seem to hear it. "I’ve only ever seen it rain once in the Other Forest. It doesn’t matter what the weather is like here."
"She’s being a baby again," Maris called out in a lilting voice. "I told you from the very beginning we should never have brought her along. She’ll tell Mother."
"I will not!" Floris cried.
"Enough, girls." Cassandra crossed the room, crouching in front of the bed. "What is it, sweetling?" she asked, placing a kiss on Floris’s cheek. "I thought you liked visiting the Children?"
"I do," she mumbled. Now that everyone thought she was scared, Floris only wanted to stubbornly prove them wrong. "I only said the weather was bad."
Cassandra watched her closely for a moment and nodded. "This storm is no worse than usual," she said solemnly. "Won’t it be a joy to go and dance, far from the thunder? Come, now. Everyone get ready to leave."
The girls checked over each other’s gowns and hair as excitement twinkled in the air. It was quite easy for Floris to ignore that coiling twang in her stomach when they were so close to leaving. There was something about the Other Forest that made worries disappear. No matter if you were nervous beforehand, once you crossed over the path only dream-like whimsies misted your thoughts. More times than was sensible, the girls had been tempted to never return to their beds at Storm’s End. It was lucky they had Maris for that. She was usually the one to remind them all that the woodland was not their home.
They each had their part in this moonly ritual. It did not matter how many times they’d done it before—they always bustled around their room like hens in a barn. Ellyn dashed to snuff the candles, Maris grabbed the lantern, Floris held their wicker basket of weirwood leaves, and Cassandra moved to push the big, wooden chest out of the way. Behind it was a little alcove where one of them could fit comfortably inside. When they were younger, the alcove had been a place of solitude to hide away. Cassandra had been sitting on the small stone floor, twining weirwood leaves together for a sheath. A little candle glowed before her and—be it an accident or sheer luck—when the leaves made a particular shadow, the pathway to the Other Forest opened up. Now, it was routine. Maris placed the lantern so its light flickered upon the old brick walls. The flame curled and danced, and the alcove was cast in a warm orange hue.
"Hurry up, Floris," Ellyn said. "It’ll be dawn before we know it."
Dawn meant home time. Nobody else had caught on to their secret because they were very careful. The day after full moon was a tiring one, especially with no sleep. More times than not, their boots were dirty and their dress hems muddy, so the girls would have to wash their things in private. Floris did not want to be late, so she quickly handed out a leaf for everyone without argument. Grouped together, the girls stooped down to hold them out before the lantern. The fire-light wall came to life with shadows. Each leaf joined together to create the silhouette of a tree, its veins acting as winding branches. Like always, they were breathless for a single moment. Then the wall was no more.
Instead, a spiral staircase opened up, winding down into the dark depths below. Floris had always found it remarkable that Cassandra first wandered down there all by herself—the stairs were alive, like a snake that slithered down a trunk. They nervously descended into the pool of darkness, huddling close together. The lantern Maris carried was but a single speck in a starless sky. The deeper they trekked, the more their senses betrayed them. Whispering breaths touched their necks and strange little beasts flitted across the corners of their eyesight. It was not real. At least that was what Floris told herself, for no one else acknowledged it either. She chose not to look anywhere but in front of her this night.
"I hope Petal is here this time," Cassandra whispered. Quiet dewdrops plopped around them, and her voice echoed into the chasm. No howling wind could be heard down here.
"Where do you think she went, though?" asked Maris. "Never once has she not been at the Other Forest waiting for us… Except last moon. It makes me wonder."
"Mayhap she was just tired that night and chose not to reveal herself," Ellyn said and squeezed Floris’s hand once. "Will you ask her?"
At that, Floris pursed her lips. No one could communicate with the Children, not with mere words. Her sisters seemed to think she had a special way of understanding their gestures, but Floris was just observant. The Children were like unusual, wild cats, and it was only with some slight intuition that she watched them more intentionally. "I suppose I’ll try," she said. But she did not think they liked to be questioned.
What the girls knew about the Children had been acquired from history scrolls, not their own experiences. Myth says that thousands of years ago, the Children of the Forest lived in harmony with nature until the First Men arrived in Westeros. These human invaders were big and strong, carrying bronze weapons thence unknown. They felled the sacred weirwood trees in the hundreds, to provide for their shelters and stop spying eyes looking out from the heart tree faces. This deeply hurt the souls of the Children, but the war they led against the First Men was fruitless. Without the means to win, a peace agreement was decided upon: The Children would retreat into the forests if the humans stopped cutting down the trees. This pact was sealed at the Gods Eye, and since, there have been no other chronicles of the Children even existing.
One thing was certain—fire greatly unsettled the Children. When the girls reached the bottom of the staircase, the path ahead became jagged and slippery. They could do nothing more than walk very carefully with one hand on the cavern wall as Maris doused the lantern’s flame. What was left of their reason faded away. They walked blindly ahead, their eyes wide. The Children were here. You could feel their presence like a net of glitter encased around you; your skin tickled with the awareness. The girls walked a short distance in the dark until a cold, frail hand entwined with theirs. It was something like a puzzle piece being slotted into the wrong place. The Children had only three fingers and a thumb, with claws so sharp it was not easy to walk hand in hand with them. Floris’s heart leapt when she felt it, but she let herself be led away from the wall and deeper into the cavern. Either the Children could see perfectly fine in the blackness, or they had dwelled in this place so long that they knew every corner and every murder hole there was.
The Other Forest was an unusual place that made no real sense. There were not any woodland areas around Storm’s End for leagues. But this forest must exist somewhere else, and the walk through the cavern merely a quicker gateway to it. Nonetheless, the trees were taller and the air smelled like a winter dawn. Wherever the forest was, magic was its heart.
A distance away, there was the greenery. As soon as moonlight brightened the steps they took, Cassandra asked, "Everyone all right?"
The girls took turns announcing themselves, a little breathless with glee. When they eventually tread onto the grassy plains that welcomed them, the Children who acted as their guides slowly crept to the side. It was impossible to deny they were beautiful, but their loveliness was quite uncanny. Their slitted eyes were lustrous, their ears large and delicately pointed, and their skin—most striking of all—was soft like a peach’s but brown like a deer’s. They moved graciously, in a way so that it looked like the very air carried them along the way. Though they were no taller than the girls, the Children were not child-like. It seemed to Floris that there lay a cunning intelligence behind their eyes.
"Oh no!" Ellyn was the first to exclaim. "Where is everyone else?"
"Don’t worry. The rest will be at the meadow, won’t they?" Cassandra spoke to the Child they’d named Thorn. His face was slightly more harsh, and his clothes had viny tendrils and thorns. "There is only one way to find out anyway. Let us go now, shall we! I wish to dance."
Thorn tilted his head as a bird might, then spoke in his tongue. What they heard could be described in many ways, but Floris imagined the trickle of pebbles in a stream. He crouched down and plucked three daisies. With light steps, he moved between them to tuck one behind their ears. Floris thought she might not be getting one, but from one of the trees emerged Petal. She was the tallest among the Children, and her namesake came from her lovely hair. She had the buddings of autumn crowning her head, with long tresses of red, brown and gold interlaced with twigs and dried flowers. She raised a long arm from beneath her cloak of leaves, and placed a sprig of lavender behind Floris’s ear.
"Thank you, Petal." The flower had a stronger fragrance than usual—calming and syrupy.
Petal curiously mirrored the smile Floris gave her, then took ahold of her arm to lead them off and away. It was a short walk along the stream that brought them to the meadow. A circle of towering weirwood trees surrounded it, and the bed of moss underfoot was soft enough to patter across without the need for boots. Festivities were already abloom at their arrival, and the intoxicating voices of lots more Children filled their ears with blissful song. Only fireflies and moonlight illuminated the meadow, so the figures dancing across its foliage looked something like shadowy sprites.
The girls were being slowly led away from one another. It was how it had always been—the Children gave them a lot of attention during their full moon visits, like they were guests brought by destiny rather than good luck. It was easy to lose track of time, and Floris often wondered if the nights at the Other Forest were longer than the nights at Storm’s End. Maris, ever the sensible one, insisted on a departing speech.
"I will say this every time, but remember not to wander," she told everyone. "No matter how tempted you get. Stay by the meadow."
"The music this night is too beautiful," Cassandra said as tears filled her eyes. It was something that could not be controlled; sometimes the Children’s voices caused a reaction such as this like second nature. "Go on, sweet sisters. If you need me, I’ll most likely be dancing away."
Maris gave her a stern look. "Yes, but remember to watch the moon. When it’s time to go, we cannot be looking for wherever you’ve disappeared off to."
Cassandra smiled airily and nodded. The magic had already placated her better judgement. Within a moment, she was whisked away by Thorn to dance between the trees.
Petal tugged at Floris’s hand, encouraging her towards the stream. With us, her eyes said. To the waterbed.
So she followed along with a little group of Children. Here as well were Cinder, who had wide red eyes, and Bramblebind, who always wore a string of berries around her slender neck. Floris looked back only once. Ellyn was already whirling across the moss wearing a happy grin, engaged in a jaunty circle dance. And despite Maris’s stern demeanour, she had quite quickly occupied herself with the animals. Wolves and aurochs were lounging by the brushes, larger than grown men. It was always extraordinary to watch how they were calm and unmoving, and did not blink an eye if someone stepped close to stroke their fur.
You carry worries here, Petal said silently when they sat to face each other on the bank. She was gazing at Floris’s face, trying to frown in a similar way. At the same time, Cinder began to sing with his pure frosted voice as Bramblebind braided flowers into Floris’s hair. It was all soothing and hazy—the claws that should hurt were feather-soft on her head; the ground beneath was woolly and not the compact soil as it appeared. Yet something inside was not quite right.
"I’ve never brought my troubles to the Other Forest before," Floris pondered. "But now I cannot say the same."
Petal ducked her head. Why?
"Like a beetle scuttering around my mind." Floris shrugged, for it was hard to explain. "I’m not sure why it is there."
It appeared as though Petal was more intrigued by the idea of human troubles. They were creatures who always felt content, after all… At least, that was how it seemed. Their forest was serene yet wondrous, and their clan had an intimate dynamic. They had been forced to hide in the trees, but how marvellous they made it seem on these full moons. Sometimes Floris had the passing thought that their songs sounded more sad than sweet. But it was a fleeting worry, and perhaps she only thought that way because their voices made her cry.
Petal replied in her own tongue, sounding so like the murmur of the stream beside them that it was hard to differentiate between. Whatever she said was too inconceivable to guess.
"You weren’t here last time," Floris decided to bring up. "It surprised us. We missed you. Did you go?" She pointed to the other side of the stream. "Go somewhere else?"
As she talked, she noticed Petal’s mouth was copying the shape of her words. In the years and years of their visits, none of the Children ever spoke the Common Tongue. They seemed incapable of doing so, just like the girls couldn’t learn the speech of the earth either. Which was why Floris knitted her brow in confusion.
Before she could think too long on it, however, Petal gently grabbed her hand and stood to head towards the water. Floris’s boots were gone, but she did not remember taking them off. A quick feel of her hair told her Bramblebind had finished, for there was a wreath of braids and flowers crowning her head. So quickly done! She looked up at the night sky. The moon was golden tonight, and it had shifted noticeably westward. This was why time was confusing; what felt like five minutes had really been closer to an hour.
The stream was shallow here, but the bottom of Floris’s gown became sodden nonetheless when she waded through the water. Fish of all colours and sizes drew towards Petal and swam about her feet. Far off, Floris could hear a flute playing; it must’ve been Cassandra, for she’d been practising the tune every day this past moon. But it was distant and quiet, and what was more preoccupying was Cinder’s voice. His song had turned lighter and sweeter. If it wasn’t for the stones poking her feet, Floris might have floated away with the melody. Somebody brought over servings of stew for them in little bowls fashioned like acorns, but Floris did not feel hungry. Though she had been worried only before, now she did not feel much of anything.
Eat, Petal urged as she held out the food.
"No thank you," Floris said. "I … don’t think I can eat. I feel like a feather."
Without fuss, Petal drank the stew instead, then began to twirl around with Floris. Her footsteps didn’t make splashes in the water—she was so at one with the earth, it seemed she was a part of it. Yet curiously, Floris glanced down at her own feet and noticed the same. No splashes. Just Cinder’s song and Petal’s yellow eyes, and the trees spinning around them. It was the most content Floris had ever felt, as bizarre as it was.
Then there came a prick to the palm of her hand, as sharp as a needlepoint. The spell was broken. Floris did not know if she yelped aloud, but suddenly she was looking at her hand and the black splinter of glass underneath her skin. Petal had hurt her—the Child she had called a friend for six years. Already the splinter was disappearing, before her very eyes. Like water on thirsty summer soil. Floris’s eyes shot up, ready to accuse. Yet the confused anger she felt was slowly drifting away, and Floris could not hold on to it. A cold chill was swallowing her whole, and everything felt all of a sudden much more misty and dream-like. Why would Petal prick her with that black splinter? It seemed unimportant now that it was gone from her sight.
"All is well," Petal said aloud, flashing her teeth in an unnatural smile. It should have perplexed Floris… She could understand the words perfectly, whether Petal spoke in the Common Tongue or otherwise. But she found it to be a simple, secondary thought, gone quickly from her mind.
Floris did nothing when Petal took the sprig of lavender that had still been behind her ear, and brushed it along the tip of her nose. Its fragrance was the same. Calming and syrupy.
They twirled along with the stream and its current like normal, hand in hand once again. Floris felt changed somehow, though she could not place a finger on exactly what was wrong. Her emotions were falling like a distant rain in her mind, far away and unimportant. In the end, it was quite easy for her to pay no more attention to the whole ordeal entirely. The dancing was much more lovely.
The festivities came to an end when everyone agreed it was time to go home. Back to Storm’s End, they went, where a wet, grey dawn greeted them. Back to the real world of embroidery lessons and household chores. On the way up the snake staircase, the darkness had not been as frightening. The girls were too busy gushing with what they’d been up to. Cassandra and Ellyn were arguing about who had danced with the most partners, with Maris chipping in at points to bring up the new white wolf that had been at the meadow. Floris followed along with something faintly nagging her mind.
It was only when the magic wore off that anyone questioned Floris's changed demeanour. They were disrobing from their dirty gowns when, rather abruptly, Maris stomped over and grabbed her by the shoulders.
"Why are you so quiet?" she said. "You’re acting… I don’t know. Strange."
"I’m usually quiet," Floris pointed out. Nobody had been speaking to her anyway… Why would she talk to herself?
"Not to this extent. What’s happened?" Maris turned to the others. "Is it just me?"
"Nothing has happened." Floris knitted her brow then and lowered her eyes to her palm. "Well, now that I think about it; Petal did poke me with a splinter before."
"What!" Maris shot back around and looked truly furious. "What does that even mean? A splinter? Oh, trust you Floris to keep this to yourself until now. Why didn’t you tell us when we were in the forest!" To Cassandra, she added, "I knew those Children were up to no good."
"Calm down, Maris," said Cassandra. "And keep your voice down too, half the castle is probably still asleep. We don’t even know the half of it yet. What if it was an accident?" She beckoned Floris over to sit on her bed and asked, "Tell us what happened. Are you all right?"
"I’m fine," Floris said distantly. "There was a splinter in my palm, but it disappeared so quickly I could have imagined it."
"Well…" Ellyn had been silent until now.
"Well what?" Maris questioned.
"I … did catch Floris in the stream, and at one point I thought I heard her cry—"
Maris scoffed in disbelief, and now Cassandra too was looking at Floris with little traces of horror slowly showing on her face. "No, I don’t think this was a part of your imagination," she said eventually. "One of your eyes, Floris… It’s—well, it’s losing its colour. Why would Petal want to hurt you?"
"Because those creatures are unpredictable," Maris answered for her. "Do you not think it strange that we’ve been going to the Other Forest—since we were children, mind you—and never once had to give them anything in return? I knew it! All along. And now Floris is cursed. Look at her. Nobody has eyes that just change colour. It's turning grey."
It should have scared Floris more, the thought that she might be cursed by the Children of the Forest. Indeed, she felt different. She thought another person might even feel a strong inclination to weep at that difference. But it did not seem like a very pressing concern. If anything, she was confused about all the fuss.
"But the Children have never done anything to harm us," Cassandra argued. It made sense that out of all of them, she would be the most reluctant to believe such a thing. She had been visiting the Other Forest longest of all.
"They have now," Maris shot back. "We cannot go there again. Not after tonight."
"How do you feel, Floris?" Ellyn asked hesitantly. "Do you feel cursed, I mean?"
Floris knitted her brow. If she concentrated very hard, she could catch this feeling that lamented inside her, wailing with what she thought must’ve been worry or sorrow. It was at the very edge of her mind: the sound of far-off sobbing. But it was very quiet. In her dream-like state, she could quite easily pay it no attention at all. "I’m not sure what I feel," she said. "I suppose I’ll have a think on it and then decide. After breakfast, perhaps."
Nobody seemed entirely pleased by her answer. They spent what little time they had left of the morning arguing between themselves. It was tradition for them to visit the Other Forest, how could they break that now? What if the Children got angry at them for their sudden absence? Yet it seemed much too dangerous. If Petal really had cursed Floris, what if she was intending to curse them all? Better to forget about the alcove and its secret stairwell. They could not tell Mother and Father what had happened, not after so many years of lies. Better to forget about the Other Forest altogether. Floris would return to normal eventually—she must. It was not unusual for them to be a little dazed after the full moon, and perhaps that was the simple explanation for Floris’s condition. No matter how much they treasured their nights with the Children, it seemed like they had overstayed their welcome.
Thus it was decided. From then on, the wooden chest would stay exactly where it was, concealing the alcove and its hidden mysteries. Each of them promised with locked pinky fingers never to attempt to visit the Other Forest again. It was quite easy for Floris to placidly accept her sisters’ reasoning. The conversation turned to milder things after that, like deciding when would be best to wash their gowns and whether the rain outside would soon come to an end. It seemed everyone was attempting to calm themselves before facing the real world again. Floris made an occasional comment, but she still had that nagging at the back of her mind. She padded over to the mirror and studied her reflection. One dark brown eye, one as grey as a winter storm. It occurred to her eventually; what was so bothersome. Her feet were bare. Left in the Other Forest was a pair of human boots, forgotten somewhere on a stream’s bank. Floris wondered idly to herself whether she had lost anything else along the way.