An Errand of Peace
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Being a tale of the Healer Caladwen,
and of the influencing of the Fae
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Dramatis Personae------------------------------------

Caladwen, a healer, from the Serenwilde
Albion, the First of the Crones
Maeve, Queen of the Fae
Laeroc, the Queen's Consort
A Sprite
A Nymph
A Fae Knight
A Lady of the Argent Light

Costumes---------------------------------------------

Caladwen: Dressed in green, this elfen has an air of kindness around her, and
concern shines from her hazel eyes. Her long golden hair flows down to her
ankles, and her neck is encircled by a shining silver torc. Her hands are very
delicate, with the gentleness of a healer. A pale healing aura surrounds her,
and faint silver light sparkles around her at times.

A Sprite (Act II, Scene 2): This sprite's halo seems dimmer than that of most
sprites, and her fine wings droop in dejection. Her gaze is somber, as if
pondering some dark doom, and she wears no clothing, relying only on her long
white hair to cover her body. A small pouch is tied to her waist, filled with
fine dust.

A Sprite (Act II, Scene 3 and after) is costumed according to the manner of
most sprites.

A Nymph: This wood nymph looks sickly and distraught. Her normally rosy skin is
pale, and the hair that tumbles down her back is straggly like dried grass. She
wears a faded wreath of ivy on her head, and is clothed in a woebegone outfit
of crumbling leaves.

All characters whose costumes have not been specified are to be dressed
according to the manner of their respective denizens.

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Act I: The Quest
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SCENE: Snow dusted forest giving way to spring.

Albion, the First of the Crones stands here, surrounded by several Ladies of
the Argent Light.

Snowflakes drift around, and the air is silvery with the chill sparkle of
winter.

Albion mutters softly to herself. She looks into her cauldron from time to
time, and a frown creases her wrinkled face further.

Albion (softly): This is not well. Too many upheavals have there been in years
past, and now all is changed.

A Lady of the Argent Light: What troubles you, Wise One? What do you foresee?

Albion: Faethorn troubles me. For the Fae once served the three Spirits, Moon
and Night and Lake, since Ellindel's time when first they woke. But the Taint
has thrown that into confusion. Those who serve Moon now mill about without
guidance, and those who serve Lake stay instead in Faethorn, idle day after
day. If they do not come forth, the forests will ail once more--

A Lady of the Argent Light: Wait! One comes near! It is one of the forest folk.

A young elfen girl enters from the east. For a moment she looks uncertain, but
then she walks forward, drawing herself up tall. She stops before Albion, and
curtsies gracefully before the Crone.

A Lady of the Argent Light: Who are you, child of the forests?

Caladwen: I am Caladwen, of the Seren. I come to seek the guidance of the
Crone, for my heart is heavy.

Albion: Speak, then. What troubles have you? Has the forest commune sent you as
emissary?

Caladwen: I am no envoy of the forest, merely one of its dwellers; I come on my
own behalf alone, though the matter I speak of has troubled many. Once, in my
mother's day, the Serenwilde was alive with the laughter of Fae; yet now we can
seldom see a pixie or sprite in the greenwood. What ailment has stricken the Fae
of Faethorn? For the Serenwilde is silent now.

Albion (as if to herself): It has begun, then.

Albion (to Caladwen): I fear that it is a greater ill than the silence of the
forest. For there is darkness in Faethorn, as I was saying but moments ago.

Caladwen: What ails the Fae? I am a healer by profession, and perhaps I can
help them.

Albion: Some of the Fae once swore an oath to serve Night. That is their
tah'vrai. They are unwilling to break it, for among the Fae oaths sacred. And
so Night takes them and binds them in shadows. And the other Fae are frightened
and disoriented, and remain in Faethorn instead of going forth to their
respective forests, and they too are bound. That is what ails them.

Caladwen: Is there nothing to be done then?

Albion: There is, but not by us: myself and my sisters are bound to this
Ethereal forest. We cannot go into Faethorn.

Caladwen: I can go into Faethorn-- tell me what I must do, and I shall do it.

Albion: Very well. You must go into Faethorn and capture the Fae. Bring them
back with you, and they shall be bound to Moon's service.

Caladwen opens her mouth, but says nothing.

(After a moment)

Caladwen (stammering): I can't do that!

Albion: Oh? Why not? It is for Moon's service.

Caladwen (with eyes blazing): I would seek to free them, not to enslave them
further! Not even for Moon.

Albion smiles softly.

Albion: Indeed you chose well-- such compelled bondage is no true service, and
compassion was ever at the heart of Moon's teachings. There is a second way,
but know that it is risky and uncertain.

Caladwen (resolutely): Tell me of this second way.

Albion: You must go into Faethorn, and convince the Fae to come with you of
their own free will. It will be difficult-- the Fae are very fickle creatures.
You must go in peace and unarmed, but this will put you at risk from those who
would seek to do you violence. Do you accept this path?

Caladwen: Yes. I do.

Albion: raises a hand, and a glowing flower materializes from the ether. She
hands the moonflower to Caladwen, and nods once, slowly.

Albion: Go with Moon's blessing.

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Act II: Faethorn.
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SCENE 1:
The Queen's Throneroom.

Enter Maeve, trailed by Laeroc.

Maeve (irritably): I do not like this. And do not even -try- to calm me down.

Laeroc (soothingly): I'm sure it isn't as bad as you seem to think.

Maeve (narrowing her eyes): Of course it is. It is not enough that Night must
bind my subjects and take them away from my realm, never to be seen again, but
Moon must do it also! And what's more, I must needs serve both of them! It is
making me irritable, Laeroc. And the Avatars of Moon sending some slip of a
girl to do the task does not help.

Laeroc: She looks harmless enough. Rather sweet in her own way.

Maeve (wryly): One of these days all these elfen women running around in
Faethorn will get you in trouble, Laeroc.

Laeroc makes a noncommittal noise and says nothing.

Maeve walks over to the window and leans on the sill, looking out at the scene
below her. Caladwen is there, talking earnestly with a sprite, while a knight
of Faethorn, clad in shining armour, looks on warily.

Maeve (thoughtfully, speaking to herself): Do I allow her to do what she does,
or should I forbid her? Faethorn has come through battles enough-- one girl
certainly will not be difficult to chase away.

Laeroc: What can she do? She is no warrior with shining helm and sharp blades.
No threat at all.

Maeve ponders the situation.

Maeve (decisively): Very well. She may stay for three days-- that is the
traditional time, is it not? After that, she must go.

SCENE 2----------------------------------------------
A delightful raised terrace.

Caladwen is here, looking upwards at a pale sprite that flits in the air above
her.

Caladwen: Will you not tell me what ails you?

The sprite lands on a nearby branch, her halo dimming slightly with sorrow.

Sprite: You cannot help me. My tah'vrai wakens, and I must go to serve Mother
Night. I fear her, yet I have no choice, for my fate was wrought long ago when
I pledged myself to gentle Gloriana. Soon I must leave Faethorn for the dark
forest.

The sprite shudders, and darts off into the sky. Caladwen runs after her,
calling a wiccan broom as she goes.

Caladwen: Wait!

Caladwen mounts her broom, and spurs it skywards, chasing after the sprite. The
sprite stops, and hovers in the air before Caladwen.

Caladwen (calling out): It does not have to be thus. Why not come with me?

The sprite beats her wings in agitation.

Sprite: I cannot! I am bound to Night, by an oath I dare not break. Better that
I should serve in shadow.

Caladwen (softly): No. It is not well for you to say this. For you are bright
and beautiful, and I cannot think that the shadow is your fate. Will you not
dare to seek freedom in Moon's protection?

The sprite looks longingly to the north, at the archway to the Ethereal
Serenwilde, her halo growing brighter.

Sprite (with a wild hope in her gaze): Can I trust you?

Caladwen (pauses): I will not say that I have power against a Nature Spirit
such as Night, but by this token that the Avatar of Moon has given me, I shall
do all I can to protect you. I will take the harm upon myself before I let it
fall on you. Let Moon be my witness.

Caladwen holds out the moonflower.

Sprite: Then I trust you.

The sprite lights gently on Caladwen's shoulder, and a silvery light glows
around them both, as if in blessing.

Caladwen smiles.

SCENE 3----------------------------------------------
A putrescent garden.

A foul odour drifts around briefly in the air, and the twisted trees loom
ominously. Shadows fall across the path, as if lying in wait for passers-by.

Enter Caladwen, surrounded by Fae: a brownie, a sylph, a pigwidgeon, a pooka, a
banshee, a willowisp, a leprechaun, a pixie, and the sprite. They all follow
her, making it obvious that she has influenced all of them to come with her.

Sprite: We should be going soon, lady.

Caladwen: Why? It is not two days since I first came here-- why such haste?

Sprite: The Queen has issued an edict. Upon nightfall today you must leave
Faethorn, or the Knights shall be against you.

Caladwen frowns.

Caladwen: But I have done no harm. It is not logical.

Sprite: It is of no matter. The Queen's word is law, and all of us follow it.
Logic is not necessary-- she is our queen, and what she says, is.

Caladwen: Very well, then, we shall be--

A rustling in the trees overhead makes Caladwen stop short. She performs a
quick search of her surroundings, and spots a wood-nymph in the tree nearest
her. The wood-nymph looks sickly: her normally glowing skin is pale, and her
hair is like dry grass.

Sprite (in a hushed voice): She has been unwell for a long time. Her dryad-tree
is too close to tainted ground. It hurts her.

Caladwen: Poor thing.

Caladwen (to the nymph, gently): Will you not come with us, to a place of
safety?

Nymph (in a rasping voice): I may not leave my tree; but even if I could-- who
shall serve our queen, if all of you leave?

The nymph coughs, her voice like crackling leaves. The other Fae shuffle
uneasily, looking down at the ground.

Nymph: And even without all these considerations, I am too unwell to travel.

Caladwen: That at least I can remedy, even if you do not come with me.

Caladwen reaches up and lifts the nymph from her branch, cradling her gently as
she sits down cross-legged upon the ground. She closes her eyes and bows her
head, and a sparkling silver glow surrounds the nymph.

Time passes, and the sun falls ever closer to the horizon. The sprite flits
around in worry.

Sprite: We must go -now-, or we shall be too late! Hurry, please hurry.

Caladwen, too deep in her reverie, does not notice. The silver light around the
nymph grows brighter, and the Fae looks heartier even as Caladwen pales, as if
her energy is somehow draining into the nymph.

Sprite (speaking to herself): I fear for her.

-----------------------------------------------------
Act III. Peace.
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Scene: Unchanged. Caladwen is still sitting beneath the tree, with her head
bowed over the nymph, oblivious to all that happens around her. The sprite
hovers nearby, darting around nervously, and the numerous other Fae look
doubtful.

As the sun passes below the horizon's edge, Mother Night unveils her terrible,
shadowy beauty, spreading darkness across the land.

Sprite: Woe! It is time!

The jingling of mail precedes the arrival of a knight of Faethorn.

The knight looks around, and his eyes rest on Caladwen. An expression of
righteous anger crosses his face, and he raises his shining sword.

Knight: You are an enemy of my Queen!

In a swift fell move, the knight stabs his sword into Caladwen, leaving a
gaping wound. Blood stains her white robes.

Caladwen gasps and cries out in pain. She makes a feeble movement with her
hand, seeking to heal herself, but apparently has not the energy. She topples
against the tree, and the nymph scrambles to her feet.

The knight raises his sword again, preparing to deliver the final blow.

The nymph darts forward. She looks healthy and strong now, and she places
herself between the knight and Caladwen.

Nymph: Peace! Peace! Do not harm the woman!

The knight, momentarily confused, takes a step backward. The sprite flies up
and places a hand on Caladwen's head, channeling energy to her.

With every last spark of willpower, Caladwen calls upon the spirit of the Moon,
and is bathed in a soft lunar light which heals her wounds.

Caladwen (to knight): I came in peace, to heal and not to hurt. Wherefore comes
this violence?

Knight (to Caladwen): I know not who you are, to have tricked the Fae into
helping you, but you are an enemy of my Queen. Why should I not slay you?

The knight raises his sword again.

Spreading her arms wide, Caladwen spins clockwise and a shimmering white orb
springs up around her.

There is a long silence, and the Knight and Caladwen look at each other,
neither bending.

A melodious voice rings through the air, "You shall not harm her."

The knight drops to one knee in reverence, and all the Fae bow as Queen Maeve
enters from the north, with her Honour Guard behind her.

Nymph: My queen.

Maeve walks over to the nymph, and rests a gentle hand upon her brow.

Maeve (with unexpected tenderness): We had thought you beyond our skill to
help.

Maeve (to Caladwen): And I thank you for healing her. She is dear to me, and
her ailment has pained me for many a month now. I had thought you a
troublemaker at the first, seeking to draw my subjects away from my realm, but
you seem to have done more good than harm.

Caladwen bows and says nothing.

Maeve (to Caladwen): It seems I judged wrongly. Will you not ask a boon of me?
What you ask, within reason, I shall give, for you have done me a great
service.

Caladwen (with dignity): Only this, your majesty: that we may go unhindered.
And all others that journey here on the same errand in years to come, let them
come and go in peace. This alone I ask.

Maeve: It is well spoken, though the departure of so many of my subjects
saddens me.

Nymph: I shall stay, my lady.

Maeve (shaking her head): No, little one. You will fall ill again if you stay
here. Go, and your dryad-tree also, with my blessing! I do but ask of all of
you--

Maeve glances at each of the Fae in turn.

Maeve: Return to Faethorn when you may, if only for a moment. For you who serve
Moon of your own will may depart freely, and I would not that we were parted
forever.

Maeve (to Caladwen): And it is because of this, perhaps, that I do not begrudge
you as much as I did. Though I am vassal to both Moon and Night, it is better
that my people should serve of their own will than be bound unwilling, if leave
me they must.

Caladwen: They will come to no harm.

Maeve nods her head emphatically.

(pause)

Maeve (wistfully): You remind me of another elfen who came here, long ago.

Caladwen says nothing, but her question glimmers in her gaze as she looks at
Maeve.

Maeve: Her name was Ellindel. And you too are a persuader, and a Healer of the
Fae...

Maeve smiles softly.

Maeve: Go well.

Caladwen bows and walks away, with an entourage of Fae trailing behind her,
until they are lost to sight in the shifting mists of Faethorn. The night grows
deeper, and the stars wink brightly between the leaves as a crescent moon rises.
All is still.

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The voice of Albion, the First of the Crones drifts down from an unseen place.

Albion: And so it was, that even as Caladwen did those many generations ago, so
the men and women of the Serenwilde today still go to empower the Fae, and carry
with them the moonflower as token of trust-- a tradition so old that the start
of it has been forgotten by many. And in the Ancestral Glade of Moonharts,
Caladwen's spirit yet lives on as she teaches the children of the forest to
heal the Fae.

The scene shimmers and shifts, until it becomes a vision of the Serenwilde
forest, brilliant under the life-giving sun. The silvery laughter of Fae drifts
down from the high branches, and pixies dart among the leaves.

Albion: And, for a time at least, there was peace.