A Questionable Quest

Chapter 33... in which three years pass and the seer returns

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Three Years Later...

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"I shouldn't comb my hair." I stared at my reflection in the mirror, and spoke to the empty space of my room. My head tilted to one side, then the next. "Or should I?"

My dress was beautiful -- a flowing, soft white material that shimmered like moonlight on open water. Its lace trim was a deep bronze which, depending on the way the light reflected against it, either looked like Van's eyes or apple cider.

I was happy with either.

The best part about the dress, though, wasn't how it hugged my hips just right, nor the trim, nor the fact that I looked downright amazing in it. The best part about it was... wait for it...

...the pockets.

None of my sisters had pockets in their wedding dresses. Of course, theirs had been a whole lot more... floofy. Mine was simple, light, and easily fit underneath leather armour.

I met my indigo gaze in the mirror, the same color as the (unmagical) tanzanite charm dangling from my neck. My hair was shorter than it had been three years ago -- I'd found that the longer my hair, the more likely it was to catch on fire in the vicinity of a certain dragon.

I ran a finger through my shoulder-length locks. They caught on tangle after tangle after tangle.

"I really should comb my hair," I told my reflection. It was my wedding day, after all.

Then again, Van had said he didn't want me to comb it. He'd fallen in love with me, tangled-hair and all, he proclaimed after one particularly derisive comment from Harrietta, and he would marry me as I was. Tangled-hair and all.

How romantic, my sisters had sighed.

"How cheesy," I snorted, though my heart flipped as if he'd only just kissed me for the first time.

Now, however, I couldn't help doubting my choice to leave my hair unstyled. I took one last, long look at the mirror, then glanced down at the dragon curled against my bed. He was big -- about as big as a small horse -- and watching me through one slitted yellow eye.

"Do you think I should comb my hair?"

Dero flipped his tail nocomittedly.

"Thanks."

I looked at the mirror again. The hair didn't look... messy. It fell in neat waves around my face. Still, I couldn't help but think that this was my wedding day, and if there were any time to brush it-

Knock. Knock. Knock.

-it would be too late.

I sighed. My stomach flipped, for the third time that minute.

Knock. Knock. "Highness?" called a voice.

I cast one last, long look at the mirror on my vanity. Then at Dero. Then, finally, at the talking door. What did one say to a talking door? "Hi" didn't seem to cover it.

Knock! Knock! Knock! "Your highness?"

I sighed, and moved to the offending slab of wood. Then pulled it open.

A young-looking knight stood on the other side, in full armour, hand raised to knock again. Apparently, the doors in this palace were just that -- doors. Normal, mute, inanimate doors.

"Yes?"

"The ceremony is to start in fifteen minutes," said the knight, not looking at me, but at some point over my shoulder.

"Is it really?" I started, and lifted my wrist. Two watches sat there -- one brown and boasting the time at Harvenmor palace. The second was silver, newer, and read 3:58.

The ceremony began at 4:13. It had been my only request for today.

"Well then." I stepped into the hallway, and pulled the door closed behind me. Then I took a deep breath. And another. And another. The knight waited patiently, until I told him aloud, "I'm ready."

What I didn't say aloud was the incredibly cliche, overly-romantic, and horribly sweet vow that echoed through my head, followed by visions of amber eyes and perfectly-tamed hair.

I'm ready for my happily ever after.

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Some unknown amount of time later. Don't ask me how long -- I said unknown.

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"You see?" said the seer, her raspy voice returning to normal. She looked around at her companions. The fire had long-since died, leaving nothing but a few patches of moonlight-dappled ground, and the glowing eyes of the campers.

They looked at each other, then at the seer.

The seer looked at them. "Well?" she demanded.

"Errrrrmhg..." said one of the campers, uncertainly. The other released a loud snooore!

The seer pursed her lips. "I see."

"You do?" said the camper. "What do you see?"

The seer said nothing. She raised her arm, and stared at her several watches. One of them was ringing loudly. It was time to move onto her next appointment. There was a knight in Portsburring -- a royal knight with amber eyes and tangled hair -- who would soon set out on a quest.

If all went well (and the seer knew it would), the knight would stumble across two campers, and then travel in search of her own knighthood. And, if all went well, she would return to her worried parents, a medallion around her neck, and a magical sword in her hand.

If all went well... The seer grinned. (The camper, oblivious to the seer's innermost thoughts, squirmed uncomfortably.) All would go well. She was, after all, a seer.

She was, after all, the seer.

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THE END.

Or, rather, a story for another day.