The Witch’s Conundrum

1 | Gretchen had a problem. A big problem. She killed Gruber -- NOT on purpose mind you, but not exactly on accident. This was all his fault really. If he hadn’t told her (challenged her more like it) that she wasn’t skilled enough to make a potion that makes an old hag look young, then she would never have blasted him to pieces with her failed 53rd attempt. Let’s not discuss the fact that he was right and that it did not work; that’s beside the point.

How was she going to explain this to the High Council? Those damn elves were prejudice against witches and warlocks and everyone knew it. She could face banishment, or worse, magical extinguishment.

Believe what you will, but she knew she was talented, she just hadn’t found her passion to apply it yet. Gruber wasn’t exactly cheering her on, but, well… that wasn’t a problem anymore… She looked at the Gruber-mess everywhere tapping her foot on the ground impatiently, and tapping her lip with the tip of her crooked, sharp fingernail as she thought of what to do.

“Whatca doin’?” came a spritely little voice that just about made Gretchen jump out of her skin.

“Who was that? Show yourself!”

“It’s just me Gretch,” came the reply from Wren, the Pixie, as she fluttered down from her tree. “Pear? My tree is finally fruiting, they’re delicious, probably none for Gruber on account that he’s all over the ground, hey are you going to clean him off my tree, that can’t be good for the bark, I was thinking maybe of having some people over, maybe not today since you seem worried about the mess, so maybe tomorrow, if you can get it cleaned up by then, do you think you can? You don’t want me to help, right? Because I’m not so great with all the goo and being as I’m only 3 inches tall I don’t think I’d be much help anyway, but I think maybe you need some help, hey Nero may help, if he can fit back her in all these trees, I’d say ask the triplet trolls but they just argue about what to do and who’s controlling the hands and--”

“ENOUGH!” Gretchen was rubbing her temples. “I can’t even think with you blabbing away in that high pitch, get on with you. Don’t say nothing to nobody til I can figure this out. It wasn’t my faultcha know. He did this himself, he just used me to do it, he did.”

“I’ll have you know I have quite a low register for a female of my kind. It’s not my fault your giganto ears have such bad reception for something so big. Though… Maybe clean them out once in a while, what is that? Bleche.” Wren flitted around Gretchen’s ear til she started swiping and flapping her arms around. “I’ll be at the market, but try to get my tree de-Grubered. It’s really starting to leave a smell.”

Wren flitted off through the trees and Gretchen was left in silence to ponder what to do. First things first though, she got her mop and bucket out and got some water from the nearby creek and started cleaning Gruber off everything, and cleaned out her ears, damn pixie. And maybe she can potion up something for the headache that little twit gave her.

2 | As Wren approached the market, she took a break in a flowy willow tree. She was making a mental list of all the stuff she needed for a party when she was accosted by the Dryads: Aspen, Rowan and Laurel. “Hey!” cried Wren. “The least you could do is make some sort of noise so I know you aren’t just a tree before you turn all human.”

“Well,” retorted Laurel, “the least you could do is ask permission before you take a seat in someone’s hair.”

Wren blinked a couple times until reality dawned on her and she slowly looked down into the eyes of their sister Willow. “Oh! Sorry Willow, didn’t see you there, was just taking a break before going to the store, hey did you do something different with your hair? I like it, it’s very natural looking -- not that it wasn’t before…” as Wren chatted on Willow transformed into her human self and pulled Wren out of her hair and into her hands while the little pixie kept on and on. “...and so I was going to have this party today, I was thinking, hadn’t really planned it, but then Gretchen made a mess of a potion and is cleaning it up so my party will be tomorrow instead as long as she can get my tree cleaned up, and”

“So Gretchen is at it again with the potions? Hahaha,” this coming from Rowan, “I’m surprised Gruber hasn’t but the kibosh on all her potion making attempts.”

“Sure, sure,” Wren replied, “unless her potions put the kibosh on Gruber. Not that anyone kiboshed anything but I’m just saying you know some people can give as good as they can take and stuff. You know how it goes, people doing things and things happening because of those things.” Wren’s brain felt like it was about to implode. She just wanted a way out of this conversation. The dryads just stared blankly at her, clearly not following a word of it anyway, had Wren taken a breath to notice. “Well alls well that end’s well. Not that anyone--anyTHING ended, just a saying you know, I better get going!” And off she fluttered in her own kind of panic. It was nothing out of the ordinary to the dryads. Pixies were all a little hyper and strange to them. They were constantly moving from place to place, no peace. With that, they decidedly moved in the opposite direction that Wren was going to and from in hopes of not crossing her path again this day.

3 | As Gretchen finished cleaning up, she walked back toward the creek to rinse Gruber out of her mop and bucket and wondered how she was ever going to explain this to anyone. “He wasn’t exactly a favorite of anyone. Probably the least favorite of most,” she thought out loud, “maybe no one will be that angry.”

“Angry why?” came a bellow from behind a tree to Gretchen’s right side. She was so taken aback, she dropped her bucket and mop and had to start sopping up the remains all over again.

“Nero! We’ve been over this. You can’t just stand still as a rock and scare people like that.”

“Sorry, Gretchen,” he replied. Ogres weren’t much for talking unless it’s about food, and Ogres didn’t exactly eat the same as the rest of the Fae. “Mmmmm, that smell good. Can I have?”

Gretchen stood with her mop and bucket staring back at Nero. They stood in silence just looking at each other for what had to be 5 minutes. No one talking. No one moving. Just staring and blinking. Gretchen looking from side to side trying to think of how to reply and what to do, Nero patiently waiting for her reply.

“I, uhhhh, sure?” Before she could even lift the bucket, Nero was already gulping down it’s contents and she hadn’t even seen him move.

“Mmmmmm very good. Smell like Gruber though.” If Gretchen’s face could melt off in shock, it would; her wide-eyed gape-mouthed expression hanging in the silence between them.

“I, uhhh, it--it was his bucket. Gruber’s bucket. He gave it to me so I used it, that’s why…”

Nero stared at her expressionless for another minute. “Thanks Gretchen,” he said and he turned and walked away. Gretchen let out a deep breath. She picked the bucket up where Nero had left it and realized she now had to clean out all the Ogre mucus left in her bucket. “Seems a suitable punishment,” she muttered as she kept on toward the creek, snot dragging off the back of the bucket all the way down the trail.

4 | Wren approached the market flitting from stall to stall checking out all the goods that ranged from pottery and ceramics from Gunther and Karl, the local gnomes, to snacks and goodies from the Brownies (Rory, Blair, Fiona and Duncan, Angus, and Brodie), who also offered cooking and cleaning services, Aymer/Dagan/Eggert the troll --or trolls, he/they had one body and three heads, no one knew what to make of them, but they made great pizza; Thalia, Zoe, Eros, and Ajax, the Harpies, had a stall, but it mostly looked like they were selling stolen goods from everyone else. She flew up to her friend Martin, a fellow pixie to see what spices he was selling today. “Hey Martin! What’ve you got today? It smells so good, I bet the triplets would love those for their pizzas, or is it pizza like the plural of sheep is still sheep, not sheeps or shoop,” there was no stopping Wren once she started.

“Hey Wren, yep I’ve got dried basil, rosemary, dill, but I’ve also got cinnamon and vanilla that the Rory bought for their Brownie’s brownies stand!” Martin was very proud of the spices he made that all of the Fae enjoyed. Wren’s excitement always made him feel boastful, he was usually quiet and shy, but that never seemed to be an issue with their friendship since she spoke enough for the both of them.

“I should probably get a little of everything, maybe the baking can cover up the smell at my tree since Gretchen got Gruber on everything when she blew him up with her potion this morning, no everything smells like burnt Gruber and Gruber didn’t smell particularly nice in the first place, I would call him ‘aromatic’ in a musky way probably, but anyways, I’ll take one of everything if you can pack it up quick, but OH! Don’t tell anyone I told you that, I told Gretchen I wouldn’t say anything until she figured out what she was going to do so I said okay and then came here, but you won’t tell anyone right?”

“I won’t say a word,” Martin assured her, but it was already too late. Fiona, a notorious gossip, had overheard the whole conversation and not only was Fiona a busybody, but she was a busy body - she worked small jobs for almost everyone and wherever she went, she talked about all the things she’d heard.

5 | As Gretchen was on her trek back home from the creek, she decided to take a different route to avoid running into Nero again. As she came around a small copse of trees and was startled by a sudden screeching from ahead. She realized that she was on the path to walking past Brigid’s cave. Brigid was the local banshee who felt that she was above scaring people and that her talents could be used toward her passion - the opera. Unfortunately she couldn’t hit a key to save anyone’s life. She sounded like a monkey choking on a recorder, but louder. So, so much louder. She tip-toed past to avoid being pulled in closer as a private audience, feeling like the conversation with Wren earlier was pleasant by comparison.

6 | Once the rumor that Fiona heard and spread enough that the harpies got a hold of the story, there was no doubt that the elves soon found out. As Gretchen was walking up the trail after Brigid’s cave, she came face to face with Haldir and Turool, the Elven High Council’s Guard. Gretchen stood wide-eyed in front of the tall, slender and almost ethereal soldiers.

“Gretchen Witch of Pear Tree Cottage, you are charged with the demise of Gruber Warlock of Pear Tree Cottage and are to report to the High Council for immediate trial.” Gretchen wasn’t sure if that was Haldir or Turool. They were twin brothers so it really didn’t matter to her. Much as elves hated witches and warlocks, the witches and warlocks were mesmerized by the elves when confronted in person. Gretchen could only stare and follow. She would have stared and followed if they walked right into a volcano without so much as a word of concern.

As they reached the arena where High Council trials were held (and Brigid’s operas, and the plays put on by the pixies, brownies and gnomes, and sometimes wrestling matches between the trolls and ogres; it was really an all-purpose arena), Gretchen was led to a stand and faced a podium behind which there were three large thrones where the three elven elders Tormund, Luna-Mae, and Morlandra sat. The rest of the area was filled with everyone who funneled in from the market. Morlandra stood and walked to the podium. More like floated. Wow, the elves really were angelic, and so lovely. Their hair was immaculate, they must spend hours just brush--- I’m sorry, where was I? Oh yes, Morlandra was at the podium.

“Gretchen Witch of Pear Tree Cottage,” Gretchen hated her full name, “you are charged with the demise of Gruber Warlock of Pear Tree Cottage.” So I’ve been told, and I was there, thought Gretchen. “How do you plead before the High Council of Elven Elders?”.

Gretchen cleared her throat. “I--” her voice croaked out. She really sounded awful in the presence of and in comparison of the elves. “I, umm. I… am a VICTIM… yes, a victim, of a heinous misunderstanding, and by, ummmm, very unfortunate circumstances, was unbeknownst to me at the time, part of what could be considered Gruber’s demise, but I personally, wouldn’t characterize myself as a ‘guilty’ person, so much an unwilling participant in the demise of Gruber of Pear Tree by his own challenge.” A small flurry of voices started up across the arena. Morlandra held up her hands to silence the room. “In summary, your elven...ness, ma’am--miss? I do believe that I am… not… guilty.”

“With that plea,” said Morlandra, “we shall proceed to hear your story.” Haldir and Luna-Mae nodded their assent. Gretchen recounted the early morning’s events leading up to the incident to the High Council and everyone present. She told them how she had big plans for her future to which Gruber had laughed and told her it would never happen and that while that sounds like motive, it was only motivation for her to try her hand at becoming a legendary potion maker that the entire Fae kingdom would seek out. She also pointed out that while the fifty-third potion attempt had ultimately ended Gruber’s existence, the previous fifty-two had not and had she planned to hurt Gruber, she could have easily done so on the first potion, and she only hadn’t gotten to her fifty-fourth try because, well, there was a lot of Gruber to clean up, so her stopping at fifty-three was not an acknowledgement of guilt in any way that she accomplished what she had planned because she had not planned that. Then she stopped talking because she was sure if they hadn’t thought her guilty, she had probably just done a good job of convincing them that she was herself, and she was starting to sound a lot like Wren. After her testimony, and no other witnesses except Wren who only was present for the aftermath, the council adjourned to deliberate, and Gretchen was to wait with Haldir and Turool guarding her until their return. One by one, each one of the spectators left the arena, even Wren, leaving Gretchen alone with the Elven Guard.

7 | As the High Council returned, after what they called “just 9 short hours” of deliberation, they were ready to deliver their verdict. Tormund, the most senior of the elder elves, took the podium. Gretchen held her breath. She was the only one left in the arena, everyone had left. Even Wren. Gretchen didn’t hold out much hope for a positive verdict and closed her eyes.

“Gretchen Witch of Pear Tree Cottage, you are here charged with the untimely demise of one Gruber Warlock of Pear Tree Cottage, and it is of this High Council’s decision that you, Gretchen…” She held her breath, here it comes, one bad outcome or an even worse one. “are found not guilty of demise, but are charged guilty of negligent potion-making by an inexperienced novice.” As Gretchen was mid-cringe, she opened her eyes in disbelief of what she was hearing. “And being that Gruber Warlock of Pear Tree Cottage was advanced in potion-making and therefore your superior and mentor in this art, this High Council has decided that the ultimate party at fault is Gruber Warlock of Pear Tree Cottage himself. And seeing as Gruber is already gone, we have determined that his sentence has been served. Gretchen Witch of Pear Tree Cottage, you are free to leave the arena. Please exist in the back-left, around the Pixie Popcorn stand, and past the Brownie’s Brownies stand.” Gretchen left without having to be asked twice in silent shock, wondering if she had heard right.

8 | “Well isn’t it great?” Wren was suddenly just….there. “I mean not what happened to Gruber obviously, but yay you aren’t being banished! So now you can come to my party!” Wren flitted about Gretchen excitedly.

“I’m not much in the mood for a party Wren,” Gretchen mumbled as she slumped walking home. “I’m relieved that I’m not in trouble, but now that all the worrying about what will happen to me is over, I realized that Gruber was all I had, as grumpy and bossy as he was.”

“You’re not alone. My pear tree is right in your yard, you’ll never get rid of me. You’ll have me around forever and ever --pixies live a very long time you know, so you’ll almost never be alone because I’ll probably outlive you but that’s sad to talk about so let’s not talk about you dying and talk about how for the rest of your life you’ll always have ME, isn’t that great?” Gretchen was already regretting saying anything at all. As they approached her home and Wren’s tree, Gretchen saw lights up ahead. As she came upon her home, she saw everyone from town, except the elves of the High Council, because, well, you know. “Surprise!” came the shout from everyone as she came over the hill up to her cottage. A large banner proclaiming “Yay Gretchen! Awww Gruber…” was hung between Wren’s pear tree and Gretchen’s roof.

“I make sign and hang,” said Nero as he pointed to the banner, with what one could only assume was a toothy grin, but I’ll spare you the details.

“It’s a celebration of your not being sent away and a memorial for Gruber,” boasted Wren, “do you love it? I knew you’d love it, I thought to myself ‘what would Gretchen love?’ and I answered myself ‘a party in her and Gruber’s honor so we don’t gotta pick just one’ and so I planned it -- well me and Nero, he helped with big stuff. And the brownies got all the food and refreshments setup after Gunther and Karl brought all the dishes--”

“It’s very nice, Wren, thank you.” Gretchen looked around and realized she may not be alone after all, and maybe one of these days she’d get her potion working and name it Degruber, on account of, well, you know...