"Well, if that's going to be your attitude (Patreon)

then I'm not giving it back," I sneered.

"Sure an oi'm sorry, boyo," Estvan whimpered.  "But oi NEED me stick.  Please give it back."

"It's a nice stick," I mused.  "I'm starting to like it.  I think I might just keep it for myself."

"NO!  Ye can't do that at all, at all," Estvan gekkered feebly.  "Please oh please boyo, give it back.  Oi'll waste away an doie without it.  Come on now, sure an if ye give it back oi'll teach ye the Saint Reynard Course o' Dynamic Japes!"

"Self defense, already I am teaching him," Sam interjected.

"The Saint Reynard Course is boy no means self-defense," Estvan protested.  "But sure it's cram packed with all the voital skills an elf o' distinction would need!  Are ye toired o' lettin' lowfolk boss ye around?  Oi can show ye -"

"If you want your shillelagh back, you have to promise not to hit me," I demanded.

"Sure lad, sure, oi won't hit ye," Estvan groveled.  "Just give me back me wee shillelagh."

"You have to SWEAR it," I insisted.

"Oi just told ye oi wouldn't hit ye," Estvan growled, giving me a dark look.  "Elves do not loye, boyo, or would ye be afther doubtin' me word?"

"You have to SWEAR that you won't hit me or otherwise harm me," I persisted.  "Or you'll never touch this stick again."

"Swearin o' the oaths is un-elfly," he protested.

"Guess I just got me a fine new shillelagh then," I scoffed.

He glared at me for a long, uncomfortable minute.  I could see anger and resentment in his eyes .. and behind them, something else .. pain?  Fear??  I had never noticed how OLD Estvan was.  I guess I had never really looked that closely at him before.  The realization began to disturb me, a little.  I crossed my arms and turned away, trying to play it cool.

"Foine," Estvan sighed.  "You win.  Oi swear before Fuma, by oak an' by thorn, that oi won't harm a hair on yer head -"

"That you won't harm ME in any way," I corrected.

"That oi won't harm ye in any way," he concluded with an even darker glower.  "Are ye satisfoid?"

"That's binding," I said, as I handed Estvan's shillelagh back to him.

As soon as he touched it, his eyes brightened and his ears perked up.  He grasped it with both hands and hauled himself to his feet.

"Everything that's happened," I said, cautiously.  "It wasn't my fault."

"Sure, oi'm willin to believe twas all just a horrible accident," he shrugged wryly.  "But me next question is, what is it yer plannin' to DO about it?  How is it yer gonna make amends, boyo?"

"I haven't been idle since the disaster at Albric Tor," I stated proudly.  "Remember how you saw the Duchess fleeing in such a panic that she didn't even notice you?  Well, that was entirely due to my efforts.  You see, what she was running from was a Shrub army which was coming for me, but I tricked them into attacking her and disrupting her operations in Percysthorpe."

"Sure an' would that be the same verdant army that surrounds yer prison roight now?" Estvan quipped, looking around.  "A fleein' Duchess isn't exactly a defeated Duchess.  Meanwhoile you, me lad, are trapped.  Oi can't say as that's a foine job at all, at all."

"Look," I sighed.  "Things were going well.  I had some lowfolk lackeys and an almost foolproof strategy, but it all fell apart when I nipped back to Faerie to make some explosives, and experienced a teporal discrepancy which had me returning here a year after the battle was over!  If I had been here to supervise, things would have gone a lot better!  But as it was, no sooner had I turned around than my minions had gotten married and the forest had surrounded me!  These time jumps are a problem!  Is there any way to avoid them?"

"Sure, boyo," Estvan explained.  "Just don't travel between worlds an' ye'll have no problem with 'em at all, at all."

I looked crestfallen at him while he snickered.  "Seriously?"

"Aye, that's the foolproof method," he chuckled.  "Sure there's another way, but it involves a bit o' math, an oi never had a head fer figures.  An oye fer figures, sure, but that's an entoirely different subject." he added with a wink.  "If ye must travel twixt worlds, it helps if ye Pook rather than usin' the Gates."

"Gentlemen," Sam interrupted as he held two steaming cups of tea out to Estvan and myself.  "Glad to see I am that your disagreement you can overcome.  Some tea, please have.  Mend your wounds, it will."

I sipped the tea and almost gagged.  "UGH!  What is this?"

"Ham, all is," Sam intoned mystically.

"Soup, is what oi would have called it," Estvan opined as he savored the brew's salty, meaty taste.

"Drink up," Sam insisted.  "All better, your boo-boos it will make.  When healed you are, then time it will be to move past your past mistakes, and upon defeating your mutual enemies, your efforts focus."

"Have we a mutual enemy?" Estvan mused aloud.

"The Duchess, maybe," I suggested.  "You seem to have an old grudge with her, and she's the one who gave me the Plague of Battles in the first place."

"Aye, but twasn't the Duchess that put me sweet Sofie up to the task o' trappin her dear old Papa in a tree at all, at all," Estvan muttered with a scowl.

"And it wasn't the Duchess who actually showed up to distract me and make me toss the vial of Plague onto the battlefield," I said, with a glare at my Ixies.

"It wasn't the Duchess who paid most of our contracts," Typantronn explained nervously.  "The majority of our work at that time was from ..."

"VULPITANIANS," we all declared simultaneously.

"Enemies did I say?" Sam waffled.  "Goals I meant!  On achieving your mutual goals, time it is to focus!"

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