Late morning slid smoothly into early afternoon. The drizzling had stopped hours ago, leaving the clearing humid. But the sunshine was worth the humidity. People continued to arrive, and the general air was festive and bright.
We paused under the shade of a tree after the glass-blowing demonstration to reapply sunscreen and hydrate like normal people. I teased Michael, “You and your dermatologist-level paranoia.”
His answer was to put a dollop of sunscreen on my nose. He grinned. “Hydration is chivalry.” He kissed my cheek before helping me apply sunscreen on my face.
Antun beside us nodded his agreement, but of course he would. He was an albino with fair skin that’d burn crispy if he wasn’t careful.
After applying sunscreen, we passed out water bottles. We sat in the shade, munching on leftover almonds and popcorn as we took a well-deserved break.
It was all so normal, so human, so believable. We had completely blended in. I knew we blended in out in the real world as well, but something about it here gave me pause. A thought arose that I quickly squashed down. No, I’d never use my blending in here to take advantage and feed. This was a place of safety, and I would never ruin it with my own selfish desires. I wasn’t even that thirsty right now, why did that thought even come up?
“I think we’re going to go toward the historical displays for a while,” Antun said, bringing my brain back to the conversation. “Syla wants to know how much of the Medieval ages survived to the 1700s when she was born. We’re going to start with a weaving demonstration, I think, unless there’s something specific you’re wanting to see Sy?” he asked.
She shook her head, “I’m following your lead. This is all very fascinating but I am still very much overwhelmed.”
“Drew and I want to go check out the artisan tents. Maybe I can get my Christmas shopping done early,” Michael said.
I snorted at his suggestion. “Expensive way to Christmas shop.”
“Worth it for the reaction,” he reassured. “Keep your phone handy so we can find you later.”
Antun took out his phone and shook it, putting it back into the pocket of his robes. I wondered if monk’s robes usually had pockets or if this wasn’t original like other things had been. We split, Antun and Syla heading to one end, us toward the other.
Michael’s enthusiasm remained infectious. “Thine playlist doth slap most mightily!” he’d said as we passed a minstrel walking around with a lute.
“Great, we’ve created an Elizabethan influencer,” I pretended to grouse, elbowing Michael in the side.
He grabbed my hand with a smile, “Come on!” Pulling me through the crowd, I was oddly able to relax a little. The crowd no longer felt dangerous, only alive. We ended up at a tent full of all kinds of leather goods – belts and bracers and more. The rich smell of sun-warmed oil filled the air.
“Good morrow, master of hides! I seek a girdle stout enough to restrain both sword and ego,” Michael said as he approached the vendor.
The man smiled. “And which is stronger, sir – your belt or your boast?”
Grinning, Michael said, “’Tis a race yet unrun, friend.”
I left Michael to his bantering as I looked around the stall. Everything was well crafted, made to last, and beautiful. The patterns stamped and stained into the leather varied from dragon’s scale to botanical, things both rugged and fine. I recognized some of the patterns from when my dad did leatherwork as a hobby for a while.
I felt the soft, worn leather of the bag that Antun had given me. He must’ve taken very good care of this bag for it to have survived so well over the centuries. I was so lost in thought that I was completely speechless when I saw it. A bag, the flap over the top of it stamped in the corners with small, five-petaled flowers. They looked almost exactly like forget-me-nots. I dared a touch, feeling the bumps and ridges made from the stamping. It was a gorgeous bag beyond just the forget-me-not detailing. The bag had pockets inside and out, making it functional as well as beautiful. The cognac-colored leather was warm from the sun.
Finally, I dared a peak at the price tag. This costs how much?! But when one considered the amount of work that went into making it – the hours and the fine detailing – the exorbitant cost made sense. I told myself before arriving to only buy what I had enough cash on hand for, and I did not have nearly enough to buy it. “Maybe next time,” though I knew this was a once in a lifetime chance to get this exact bag.
Michael came up behind me, putting a hand on my back. “Pretty.”
“Isn’t it? Anyway, ready to check out the clothier?” I didn’t want to stay by the bag that I couldn’t buy, it seemed too cruel. If he was done at the leatherworks, I was too.
He nodded and we headed toward the clothier’s. I didn’t know what to expect but it was a space full of color and texture, all kinds of outfits from simple peasant garb to fine gowns and suits, or whatever men’s clothes were called back then with the puffy pants and tights.
“Zounds! I’ve stumbled into the royal wardrobe and lived to tell the tale,” Michael said, capturing my thoughts more eloquently than I could.
My response had been a simple, “Wow.” My eye immediately caught on the centerpiece, probably something that took a minimum of a year to create. The gown was a rich royal blue, the embroidery a mix of silver and gold thread, creating a gorgeous, glimmering edge along every hem. The bodice laced together at the front, the satin of the ribbon catching the light and making the azure shimmer. The sleeves were puffed at the shoulder and just below, a hint of red peaking through the puffs. The thread shone in a tangle of golden vines and blossoms, tracing through the royal blue delicate as breath. The pattern was too intricate to be random, too indulgent to be practical – which probably made it perfect for royalty.
I have no idea how long I stood there just staring at the gown. At some point, Michael came up to me, “Milady would look splendid in such a gown, but even now you shine as the sun.”
That shook me out of it. “You’re a cheesy goob,” I protested.
“And you love it,” he said, giving me a Cheshire cat smile.
That smile was cloaking. “Did you do something?”
“Mwah?”
“Mm hmm.”
He grinned, “Whatever could you be talking about? I’m not the one drooling over a Renaissance dress for over five minutes straight.”
My eyes widened and I blushed. “Why didn’t you say something?” I even went so far as to wipe my mouth just in case.
He laughed at me, wrapping me in a hug. “I couldn’t help it. I was watching you the entire time, at least as intently as you were studying that dress.” He looked down at me, eyes smiling.
“You still did something.”
He laughed at my tenacity. “You’ll just have to wait and see.”
“How long?” I asked.
He only winked. “Come on, there’s somewhere we have to go.” He grabbed my hand and pulled me away from the clothier, winding between tents until we stopped. Right in front of the booth with the flower crowns.
“What say you, milady Drew?” He put a bright red rose crown atop his head. “Do these petals flatter mine complexion, or make me look newly slain?”
I laughed at him. “I already have a flower crown, you goose.”
“Well, where is it?”
“At home, obviously.”
“Exactly.” He turned to the crowns once more, a hand resting on his chin as if he were deliberating a great decision.
I couldn’t help but chuckle at him, coming up to his side and looking at the crowns as well, knowing that he wasn’t going to let it go so I might as well find something I like. There was one that looked like a clover chain, and honestly that seemed perfect. The small white and pink flowers amongst the clovers that were woven into a thin chain. I picked it up. “This one.”
“Are you sure?” He asked, looking at all the different crowns, most much more full and crown-looking, but this fit me.
I nodded. “And lets find one for Syla. What do you think?”
“Oh, most certainly. We must find something suitable for our beloved apothecary.” Browsing through the selection, we found a crown that looked freshly stolen from an herb garden – sage, lavender, and rosemary woven into something that could ward off headaches and hangovers alike. I held it up, the earthy greens and purple a perfect combo. Michael nodded his head and we purchased the crowns.
Texting the others, we waited near the food booths. Both of us needed something more than snack food and wondered if the others felt the same. We saw them approaching, both wearing bright smiles on their faces.
“Sy! How was it? What all did you see?” I asked.
She beamed, “Oh, it was wonderful, Drew! There was a tent that was all spices! I managed to find everything I needed for my chai recipe, perfect for dreary days when you need something extra warm. And there was a ceramics demonstration with a real kiln! The finished items they’d made were absolutely lovely. And the blacksmith reminded me of my uncle’s shop, it smelled exactly the same. All that said, I am famished. Looks like you two also had the same idea?”
“We might’ve been carrying the snacks but popcorn and almonds only go so far,” I said. Switching topics, I continued, “We got you something.” I opened my satchel and pulled out the crowns, placing hers in front of her. “Michael insisted I needed one, and I was not about to be the only one wearing a crown.”
She gasped, “Drew! This is beautiful! And it fits my current aesthetic so well, too. Thank you!” She wrapped her arms around me, then gave Michael a grateful nod. “And yours is perfect for your outfit. May I?” She lifted my crown.
I bent forward so she could place it on my head, sitting back up to see her smile.
“Perfect indeed,” she proclaimed.
I placed her crown atop her head, and we took a selfie together. “Guys, come on, lets get one together.”
Michael took the phone, holding it out so we could see everyone in the frame. After we took that shot, Antun stopped a passing Viking. “Excuse me, fierce warrior. Would you mind helping a poor priest and his companions with taking a photo?” The burly man happily agreed, my phone looking tiny in his massive hands. The four of us stood together, Michael holding me from behind, and the kind stranger took the photo. He’d even taken a few just in case anyone blinked. We thanked him, Antun paying the kind stranger in jelly beans which earned a booming laugh.
“Fair maid, you look like sin served in a chalice,” a random performer called at Syla, making her blush.
“Pardon?” she asked in her lovely English accent, pointing at herself even though she was the only one he was looking at.
“A maid far from home, I see. Dost thou truly hail from England?” he asked.
I thought Syla was going to pass out from the sudden occurrence. Antun stepped forward, “You’ll have to forgive my sister, good sir. She is most painfully shy.”
“Then let me trouble you no further, beautiful lady. May you enjoy the Faire!” He bowed deep, his big-feathered hat sweeping the floor before he stood and moved on to the next unlucky victim of random performers. He called out to another passerby, “Fetch me another turkey leg, for my hands are already full of mead and mischief.”
“Are you okay, Syla?” I asked, worried with how pale she had gone.
“Fine,” she said in the least convincing, shaky voice I’d ever heard. “Just… I haven’t talked to hardly anyone outside of you three, and he came out of nowhere…I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Dear. Why don’t you and Drew hold a spot for us at the table while Michael and I grab something?” Antun offered. She and I sat down at a long table, holding the two spots across from us for the men.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Sy?” I tried once more, now that it was just the two of us.
She looked at me, trying to mask her discomfort. “I’m okay. Or, I will be, just…” She let out a sigh. “I was caught off guard, and his loud voice…”
Loud voice. Nikola.
I put a hand on top of hers. “I understand. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to tolerate someone calling me “Miss Nelson” ever again because of him. But he’s gone. Gone -gone.”
“Yeah, yeah…”
We did some calming breaths and helped her ground herself in the present. We took a look at the food options available – meat pies and pasties, sausages on skewers, soft pretzels – wondering what the guys were going to pick for lunch. Half the menu was technically from the Renaissance, and the other half was from the county fair. Grease didn’t care about accuracy.
“Wouldst thou liketh fries with thy feast?” Michael asked me as he came up to us, meat pies in hand.
“Good god, Michael. Stop conjugating like a bad Google Translate,” I laughed.
“Never!” he declared, winking at me.
“If I recall,” Antun joked, “the last time I had food this greasy, the plague came next.”
“We just got past all that pandemic crap, don’t jinx us with another one already,” I whined.
I tried some of the mead from Michael’s mug, unsure of what I was expecting but it wasn’t that. Everyone made fun of the face that I pulled after my first sip, howling with laughter. Seeing Syla laugh so freely, being so animated, filled me with a quiet pride. She was slowly opening up.
“There’s a minstrel performance coming up, a classic lutist playing bardic tunes. What say you, merry companions?” Antun asked. We all agreed that it sounded great and walked over toward the stage they had set up. The bard had already begun and the only seats available were at the very back, but it was still fun to listen to him and watch him interact with the audience.
The bard began a more romantic tune about a boy who loved a girl, so he went off to find his fortune so he could marry her one day. I leaned against Michael, his hand brushing mine. I flipped my hand over, expecting he’d hold it, but he only traced the lines of my palm. His face turned down toward me, his head resting gently on mine, careful not to disturb my crown. He whispered, “If I seem the fool, know it is only because your smile makes scholars of jesters.”
I thought about his words, turning them over in my mind. “Don’t you mean jesters of scholars?”
He smiled into my hair. “I know what I said. And I meant it. Being around you elevates me, elevates everyone. Who yes, while I might be a fool in love, you make me better.”
I pulled back to see his face, and he smiled softly down at me. He tilted my chin up and kissed me. Pulling away, he wrapped an arm around me, pulling me into his side. I sat there comfortably, listening to the lute and tenor voice as I breathed in citrus and musk. It fit here, in this place, and it felt like home.
The song ended and he carried into a brighter, faster tune. “What do you think, gentlefriends? Should we continue on. There’s much to see yet,” Antun said quietly, not wanting to disturb everyone else around us. We all nodded and quietly made our way out to continue.
We passed a dunk tank, the man inside it wearing a jester’s hat. Water dripped from the bells, and he kept making faces at everyone passing by. The button got pressed and with a surprised look he dropped into the tank, water splashing high up the sides. He stood, gave a helpless shrug, and climbed back up, resuming his face-making and general shenanigans.
A bagpiper played a highland tune outside a stall selling tartans, the classic sound heard throughout the Faire. A juggler passed by us and I couldn’t help but stare. Then I heard Syla gasp and I turned. Two acrobats – a man and a woman – had performed a flip that had my eyes flying wide open. Was there anything that wasn’t at the Ren Faire?
“Oh! Syla, you have to take a look at the dress the clothier made for the display. It is beautiful, you’ll love it.” The men rolled their eyes as we women hurried on, giggling like little girls as we rushed off to look at clothes. They eventually caught up, but not before Syla saw the masterpiece of a dress and froze in awe of it, same as me.
We’d just left the clothier when Syla stopped, looking down. A little girl had tugged on the edge of her vest. “Excuse me. I’ve seen you a couple of times today.” She pulled something out of her tunic pocket. “I want you to have my last trinket.”
Shocked but honored, Syla bent down and extended her hand. But instead of the little girl placing something there, she began to tie it around Syla’s wrist. Her tongue stuck out as she concentrated on tying the knot just right. She pulled back, revealing a knotted purple and blue thread bracelet. “You looked like you needed one. I hope the luck wish I put in it works for you,” the little angel said before she scurried back to her parents.
Syla stared, then smiled – a true, genuine smile. Surprised, she let out a brief laugh. It was one of the purest sounds I’d ever heard. Michael stood next to me watching on like a proud older brother.
For a second I wondered if I’d need to locate some tissues for Antun, he’d been so moved, but he cleared his throat. “Sunlight suits you better than shadow, my dear,” Antun said, a hand landing on her shoulder.
Tears shone in her own eyes as she placed her hand on top of his, saying nothing for a moment. When she had composed herself a little, she asked, “Antun, would you mind tying this a little tighter. That sweet thing did her best but I don’t want it to fall off.” He nodded with a smile, retying the bracelet to insure that it would stay where it was meant to.
The sun began to sink, turning the sky gold over the fairgrounds. We watched it in silence, content to be still while others moved on by. Was this what it was like, to be a friend, to have friends? It hit me all over again just how lucky I was to have met all of them. Hell, we were even all sharing a house at this point. My chest felt fuller than it had since my heart had stopped beating.
As we started to leave, I felt a rare stillness – peace without guilt. When was the last time I felt like this? Had I ever felt quite like this before? I reflected on it, deciding that it didn’t matter, because I felt it now and that was enough.
