[Status(P)quo(d)]

The evening dances amidst the returning stars did not interest the second of the four. As Moth watched her companion walk hand in hand with the Star Prince, she was too busy spending her time in the gardens of Her Majesty's castle. The Gardener crawled around in the dirt, her knees and elbows as dirtied as her black dress. Glittering gold eyes peered through the shadow of the splendidly tall flowers, looking for the little bugs that were so often overlooked by the other Fairies. Under the morning sun, the buzz of the bumblebees would be her daydream lullaby, and during the night, the creak of the crickets would sing her to sleep.

She had no time for true love, nor did true love ever have time for her - and so while she adored her fellow Fairy, she could never truly understand what brought her to the edge of the Weald every evening. One morning, while Peaseblossom helped tie the ribbons in Moth's hair, she questioned her companion about the whys and wherefores of those evening strolls.

"Dearest Peaseblossom, every evening you come back from the edge of Gleann na Gaoithe Àrd you are ever so tired, but with such a brilliant smile that could rival the stars themselves!" She buzzed. "You must tell me what it is you see. You have not shared anything of what the stars might have told you. What am I to assume?"

"O, dearest Moth," Peaseblossom spoke with the wisdom that came with being born first as she combed out the twigs and leaves from the other day's adventures. "It would all make sense if you were to see for yourself- What I have felt, and what I have learned you would never believe."

Such answers did annoy the Second of the Fairies, but knew there was some truth- No matter what Peaseblossom might tell Moth, she would never believe her. And so her resolve quietly built as the days turned to nights and days once more, until she herself marched to the Edge of the Weald.

Yet Moth did not wait for Her Majesty- Nor did she wait for Peaseblossom. Nor did she wait for the Stars to come down, nor did she wait to show them Gleann na Gaoithe Àrd. Instead, as the city bustled, she beelined to the edge of the Weald, where the woods grew poised to overtake the rivers, the valleys, and maybe even the kingdom itself.

For who better to show her the secrets of the Weald than the Weald King?

Her golden eyes scanned the trees and little Moth pouted in dismay. "The Weald King has not even arrived- What does he have to do all day that requires him to be elsewhere? Should he not be waiting for Her Majesty?" And struck with a spark of courage and impatience that she did not know she had, Moth marched her way into the depths of the Weald.

The canopy woven by the branches above her head grew tighter and thicker. And with every step further, the forest grew darker, and deeper. And the little spark of courage that lit the Moth's heart grew dimmer and quieter. The world she knew disappeared into the shadows of the Weald, and the gnarled wood reached out towards her, as if to close in.

Just as she could not bear to move any further, a sound snapped across the darkness, sending Moth fluttering in a panic into a low-hanging branch that was not there before. She tumbled and twirled, falling out of the air and landing in the soft and loamy soil that fed these ancient, wild trees. Tears began to well up in her eyes. Such secrets perhaps, were better kept a mystery indeed!

The sound of a song was what brought her back to her senses. There in the dirt, staining her elbows and legs and messing up her dress, she saw a familiar sight: Weevils! The long-snouted bugs that she so often helped sneak into the pantry of the Castle was here. And there were so many of them here, much larger than she had ever seen before.

Their song could be heard whispering through the leaves that littered the ground. A rousing song that had no words in the Wylden tongue nor any tongue spoken by humans, but one that Moth knew well. The song followed the band of weevils as they march towards the distant darkness. Her eyes, like a pair of shiny coins, followed these insects, and she too crawled after them. When she could finally work up the courage, she buzzed in her quietest voice to ask (as was respectful when speaking to the insects),

"Noble Weevils of the Wood, where are you marching to?"

The largest of these Weevils turned its snout towards Moth and chirruped in delight.

"Oh! So large a fellow bug to be joining us on our merry way! Though I do not know what to call you! What is your name?" It asked.

"My companions call me Moth, and I serve--" But before she could finish, the Weevils cricked and creeked as if to laugh at a joke she told.

"No no, I have seen Moth before," The weevil with the longest snout said. "And you are no Moth. Though you bear wings, you do not have their eyes, and you do not have her antennae." It stated proudly and matter-of-factly.

"Yes yes, Moth is already a name!" The smallest but loudest Weevil said. "If such a name was when you bore before, you may need a new one while you travel with us!"

"But," the Gardener began, "I have never known another name. What would I call myself, if not Moth?"

"Follow us," Said the largest. "And perhaps such a name may reveal itself to you."

The Gardener was confused, but the Weevils were the first kindness that the Weald had offered her. So she continued to crawl alongside them, keeping her head low as they made their way deeper and deeper into the Weald. She trained her eyes on the leaves that dampened her palms, and the roots that scraped her knuckles. She still felt lost and confused.

"How do you see through such darkness?" She asked them. "I can barely find what's right in front of me in these woods, and I am ever so frightened."

"Then let us lend you a spark of light, so you may have it carry you through this darkness."

And once again did the weevils sing their song. The tune was soft and barely audible through the gloom, but the Gardener did listen. The tune reminded her of the sweetest songs the bumblebees had ever hummed for her, and felt as bright as the stars that shone upon the crickets as they performed. The words still left little meaning in her head, but in her heart she felt a sensation she had only ever had described to her by the Handmaid.

Once the Gardener opened her eyes, she could see the glimmering lights that hung in the ancient trees that spread across the forest. She could see the way the other bugs and insects did flutter through the forest, all of them congregating at a distant, darkened glade. She could see the movement of monstrously large creatures with great big horns, whose feet stepped softly through the tangled growth despite their immense size. It seemed the curiosity that brought her here in the first place that she had lost in the dark had finally been found again.

"Do you see now?" Asked the smallest weevil. "The King of the Weald is holding Court. And we have all been invited."

"I do." Said the Gardener. "And I shall hold Court with him."

Then the Gardener stood up, scooping her little Weevil friends up in her palms. She let them rest on the collar of her dress as she clambered her way towards the light. The other Beasts and Bugs did part for her arrival, as the gloom-lit glade did open up to a most wondrous of sights.

Creatures from the Weald stood and sat and fluttered in a circle with all of them facing a most imposing figure. He did not wear the suit of black spidersilk and moonsilver. Instead, draped across his shoulders was a thick, moss-begotten cloak stained in crimson. Massive antlers rose above his head like a crown of ivory, and in his hand he held a lantern unlit hanging from a gnarled branch of an elder oak. His eyes fell upon the interloper, the Gardener with no name and so did he call to her.

"Little Fairy." His voice shook the leaves despite their soft and dulcet tones. "You have the honor of being in the presence of the King of the Weald. Many of my subjects have warned me of your arrival, yet I see no danger present in you, save for the curiosity that you now stand to satisfy. What is your name?"

"She hasn't got one!" Said the loudest of the weevils. "She said it was Moth, but she doesn't look like her. Too pokey!"
"Her eyes are not silver and blue!" Said the largest.

"And she has no antennae!" Said the one with the longest snout.

And though she stood ready to refute these claims, she found herself unable to argue.

The Weald King did not move. His eyes fell upon the Gardener expectantly.

"Is this true?" He asked. "Do you go by a name that is not yours?"

"... I fear this may be the truth, your Majesty." The Gardener dipped her head in deference. "But I have no other name to give you."

His Majesty did approach at this, his head held high. Each step shook the Glade, and the beasts and bugs did part to make way for his arrival. The Gardener stood fixed at the entrance, but could not flee nor turn away for fear of what would come next. The Weevils did not leave her however, and did point their snouts towards their Liege.

"But, but but!" Said the Largest Weevil. "She did not know of Moth, no no!"

"'Tis true! She does not act in defiance to your ruling, your Majesty!" Said the loudest.

"Her heart did join our song as we made our approach as well- Surely she means no malice if she can hear our call?" Said the one with the longest snout.

At first it seemed this call to stay the King's Justice held no sway on him. He stood now before the little Fairy. He smelled like the valley after a long rain in autumn, and his glorious mane fell about in wild tangles. His eyes were of a deep and dark crimson that stood out even amidst the shadows cast by the tree branches above them.

"To steal a name is a serious offence," He declared. "Accident or no, this must be brought up to the victim."

Was this it? Was she to lose her name forever? The first gift ever given to her by the Queen, taken away over a misunderstanding? Would she no longer be called 'Moth'? But who else could I be but me? She wondered to herself.

In a final act of fear and defiance, she rebuked the charges: "But it's the only name that the Queen has ever called me!" She blurted out, silencing the entire Glade.

A quiet voice fluttered from behind her, settling on her shoulder next to the Weevils.

"Who did you say gave you that name?" Asked the one known as Moth. Her voice was gentle and sweet like honey, her silver-blue eyes turning towards the Gardener. His Majesty went silent, as if expecting more. But one could see that powerful gaze soften under even the mention of the Queen.

Clutching the spark of confidence that the Weevils had shared with her, the Gardener continued.

"The Queen of Gleann na Gaoithe Àrd." She said. "When I was wrought from silk and gold and honey, she had called me Moth."

"Well glad I am she called you this, for I owe her a great deal of gratitude for helping me." She murmured.

At this, his Majesty let out a most powerful laugh. It shook the trees so hard the leaves fluttered like streamers from their branches. He knelt down to offer his hand to the Gardener.

"You, little Fairy, trespasser in my Weald, and borrower of Names. Tell me again what brought you into my domain?" He asked.

"... I wished to see the secrets of the Weald for myself." She meekly replied as she climbed into his hand. "To hear the stories of your home with my own ears. To hear the truths of your Kingdom, so that I may know what is hidden in your domain."

"You who share the name of Moth, chosen by the Queen of Gleann na Gaoithe Àrd," the Weald King rumbled. "I would share with you anything you desire."

His lips spread into a wide and magnanimous smile.

"You need only have asked."

"I grant thee amnesty. And with Moth's blessing you may use your name in my Kingdom." And so too did Moth acquiesce. "Let us return you to your home."

Accompanied by the Beasts and the Bugs of the Weald, the King did escort Moth back to the edges of his Forests. He invited Moth, and the Weevils, and the Elk, and Moose, and Bear, and Wolves, and Centipedes and Butterflies and Worms and Bees a chance to share tales of their own with their guest. And while she did not believe all the stories they told, she did make them promise that they would show her such fantastical places within the Weald when next she came to visit.

It certainly came as a shock when Her Majesty, and Peaseblossom, and Caol - And even Cobweb and Mustardseed did await by the edge of the Wood for the Weald King to arrive, only to find that the person they were looking for was already there. Dressed in black spidersilk and deepest moonsilver, his crown of ivory replaced by a circlet of flowers, the King returned Moth to her Companions before taking the Queen's hand in his own and dancing the Stars back into the sky.

The Fairies embraced and wept with joy to see Moth come home safely.

"Don't go running off on your own again, Moth!" Chirped Peaseblossom, before leaving to dance with Caol.

"What did you see in there?" Asked Cobweb curiously, far more concerned about the dangers in the dark.

"...!" Said Mustardseed in obvious distress- Clearly pleased just to see the Gardener in one piece.

"I can't say," Said Moth with a frown. "But once I find out, I'll let you know and tell you everything."

Yet...

She never did tell them. For she knew in her heart that they would never believe it without seeing it for themselves.