Mistress Greta, Quite Upset-a

[andhiswife]

The garden's changed.

Greta surveys it, her hands on her hips and her lower lip caught between her teeth. It's a subtle difference, and not one that even ought to bother her. In fact, complaining about it feels absurd, because it's... well, it's lovely. Everything looks beautiful. Her modest efforts to control pests have worked better here than they ever did back home. Stems and leaves are all green and lush, and she catches an exquisite, ripening tomato on her fingers so she can frown dubiously at it.

It should delight her. Except that it's Darrow, which makes it impossible to brush off any irregularity as innocent.

She draws back her hand, then unthinkingly wipes it on her skirt, as if all this loveliness might be coated in a nasty residue. Then, after giving it a few moments of consideration, she pulls out her phone and invites Amalthea over for tea. If anyone could tell if something was wrong, it's her, surely.

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[on_mans_road]

Amalthea arrived not terribly long after Greta called. She liked Greta and Saorise, the little selkie child more like her than most others in Darrow, though now Saoirse had control over her changing. She was happy for the girl, yet after the strange wish she carried a quiet bitterness toward Darrow itself. This place toyed with her, and she ached to be free of it.

She tucked her hair back as she knocked on Greta's door. The day saw her in a loose lavender-colored dress that made her eyes even more vividly violet.

A small smile flickered across her face when she saw the woman. "Hello, Greta."

[andhiswife]

It's a bit sadder than usual to see Amalthea in her human shape, though Greta endeavors not to let it show. Darrow had given her a gift and then revoked it, as abruptly as it does anything else, and no one could feel that sting as keenly as Amalthea does, herself. Feeling sorry for her won't help matters.

But it's also good to see her, and Greta guides her into the house with an arm around her shoulders. "Hello. I'm glad you could make it." She has a pot of green tea already steeping, its floral scent spilling out of the kitchen. "I actually have something I hoped you could... take a look at. But it can wait until the tea's ready, at least."

[on_mans_road]

"Look at?" she echoed, curious as she followed Greta into the house. The floral scent of the tea diverted her into the kitchen, whether Greta was going there or not. Amalthea stroked her fingers through her own hair and absently started plaiting it. Elsa showed her how to braid, and she was still getting the hang of it.

She paused and looked around the kitchen, then peered back into one of the other rooms.

"There's more things here."

[andhiswife]

"Something like that," Greta hedges, if only because she doesn't think looking will have much to do with it. Not that she knows how unicorn magic works, especially when the unicorn isn't entirely a unicorn. For all she knows, Amalthea won't be able to sense a thing unless they take a trimming to Cabeswater.

But she said it could wait, and she means it, even though the worry still plucks at her like a child tugging on her apron strings.

Amalthea's observation makes for an excellent distraction. "Oh!" She wouldn't know, would she? Greta's been telling her friends as she sees them, but having Thomas move in isn't the sort of thing for which one sends out announcements. "Yes, we--well. Thomas has moved in." It's still fresh enough that an irrepressible smile lights her face whenever she talks about it. "It's been, oh... nearly two weeks, now. Officially."

[on_mans_road]

"Oh, that's good." It felt like something she should say, anyway - Greta seemed so happy and she felt she should comment on it. She remembered Thomas, and she remembered that he felt strange to her: a man like Lir, touched by something that brought him back from the dead. He was alive now, but had not always been.

She also knew that, like Greta, a sad fate of some kind had touched him once.

Amalthea drifted toward a window that looked outside. "What happened to the garden?"

[andhiswife]

That's about as much enthusiasm as she expects from Amalthea. More than that might be a bit alarming, actually; as if she was forgetting to be inscrutable and several steps removed from human matters. As if she was forgetting to be a unicorn.

And a unicorn is what she needs right now. Greta looks up from pouring the tea, first pleasantly surprised and then a little apprehensive to have such quick confirmation that something has happened. It had only taken Amalthea a glance to notice. Is that a good thing, or a bad thing?

"I was hoping you might tell me," she admits. "I can tell something is... different... but I don't know if it's a good sort or a bad sort."

[on_mans_road]

"Old magic," she said, which didn't really answer Greta's question regarding good or bad, but Amalthea felt that this magic, like her own, was beyond such easy division. It was too old, too deep, too slow.

She accepted her cup of tea from Greta when it came to her, but then she drifted out toward the back door so she could step into the garden and get a better look.

"Who has been here?" she asked, turning to peer at the woman with unfathomable eyes.

[andhiswife]

That's not much of an answer, and Greta's brow furrows. Does Darrow's magic qualify as 'old'? She doesn't know much of the city's history -- the museum's local history exhibit was closed the last time she was there with Saoirse -- but obviously the place has existed for some time.

She follows Amalthea out the back door, her own cup of tea warming her fingers. "Besides the three of us? Sam's been by, and Biffy's seen it." But Sam has no magic she knows of, and Biffy wouldn't presume to meddle with her garden without a by-your-leave.

Then, belatedly, old magic and plant meddling collide with the memory of another visitor. "Galadriel," she says, and she could just about kick herself for not guessing right away. "It could be hers. She actually put me in mind of you, a little."

[on_mans_road]

"Did she?" Amalthea did not know the name or the woman it belonged to, but she drifted closer to the garden to get a closer look. She held her tea cup carefully and reached out with her free hand to touch some of the flowers. Magic shivered up her arm and made the hair on the back of her neck stand up; she felt the mark on her forehead burn, but it didn't feel unpleasant.

"It is old magic," she said, as if it needed confirming to her or anyone else. This was a magic that knew itself well. "It's helping the plants grow, it's bringing out the best in them, the most potential they could possibly have, and perhaps a little more. It isn't so different than what happened in my forest, once I was living there long enough."

[andhiswife]

The mark on Amalthea's forehead glows for a moment, and Greta lifts a hand, an aborted, anxious syllable escaping her. She doesn't know that she's ever seen that happen before, and in this context, she hasn't a clue what it means. But Amalthea doesn't seem distressed -- surprised, if anything.

And her informal diagnosis is so unalarming that Greta's left feeling rather silly. "Harmless, then. It's all, er... safe to eat?" A silly question, maybe, but Greta's not the only one who will be eating this produce, and she has good reason to be wary of the intermingling of food and magic.

[on_mans_road]

"Oh, yes." As if to prove it, Amalthea reached out and plucked a petal from a flower, and promptly ate it. Greta was probably referencing her vegetables, but Amalthea liked flowers. Then she sipped her tea, humming happily. "Yes, it's very safe. Her magic has not done anything but make it more of itself. This is sort of what happened in my forest, when I lived there."

She frowned at the thought and looked down at her mug. "I wonder if it's started to fade."

Amalthea made it a point to try not to think too much about the life behind her, about her forest or the people she knew, even if Molly's voice sometimes echoed through her mind and the absence of Lir lived in her heart. She took another sip of tea and cradled the mug close to her, wanting the warmth even though the day was warm already.

"The magic here will not hurt you or your family, or Sadie and Cu."

[andhiswife]

Greta's eyebrows make a creditable attempt to reach her hairline when Amalthea plucks a flower petal and then eats it. She knew Amalthea liked flowers, of course, but this is the first time she's seen her casually snack on one.

Then again, that's about as ringing an endorsement as she could hope for, as far as Galadriel's magic is concerned, and the last vestiges of tension drain out of her. She makes her way over to stand beside Amalthea, giving the garden a more appreciative and less nervous once-over. A small part of her still mutters that it would have been nice if Galadriel had asked before magicking her garden, but she doesn't truly expect it to have occurred to her. It might not even have been on purpose. Maybe, like Amalthea, an elf's presence just does this.

She glances over at Amalthea, brow furrowing in concern at the sad look on her face. "You were there for a very long time," she points out, curling an arm around the unicorn's shoulders. "I'm sure it's still as lovely as it's ever been."

[on_mans_road]

"For time out of mind," she answered. Amalthea had no notion of how long she'd been in her forest - a unicorn had no need to count hours or days or years. They meant nothing to an immortal, and her magic ceased the changing of seasons in the forest. The only thing that marked time at all were the animals that were born and grew and lived and died. She never tired of watching them.

She wondered if they were alright.

"Perhaps you're right. It would take some time for it to fade, I suppose. But I still worry." She leaned into Greta and rested her head against the woman's shoulder. "What if they are waiting for me?"

[andhiswife]

The question awakens an old ache, dulled by time but too deeply rooted to vanish entirely. No one is waiting for her, and there's no comfort to be taken from that. But that doesn't mean she can't offer Amalthea something, or at least try to.

"I've heard people say we return to the very moment we left." And Amalthea had been on her way home, hadn't she? Barring further misadventure, there's no reason to think she wouldn't have made it. "If that's true, and they are waiting... it hasn't been for long, and it won't be for much longer. They'll hardly have time to miss you."