A certain ox-drawn cart moved steadily along the muddy road, escorted by a contingent of heavily armed Muggle infantry. Aside from the driver, three figures rode on the wooden cart. Two were teenagers— one male, one female— both bound in irons and further restrained with ropes and chains. The third was a tall, bearded man with a bear skin draped over his back, his watchful gaze fixed on his prisoners.
"Let me go, or you'll regret it," snarled Wanderer, rattling his chains. "My father is the most powerful Wizard in Scandinavia, and when he hears about this, he'll raze your pathetic excuse for a country to the ground!"
"Is that a threat?" said the Druid, sounding amused. "What's your father's name, little man?"
Wanderer's mouth remained firmly shut. He had sworn an Unbreakable Vow to his Wizarding clan: never to reveal his name, never to speak of his quest, and never to return home until he had accomplished what he had set off to do.
"And what about you, little girl?" said the Druid, turning to Oleandra. "Is your mummy someone important too?"
Oleandra remained silent.
"Well, no matter," said the Druid nonchalantly. "If you don't want to talk, then that's your prerogative— but if you won't tell us anything, you might be left to rot in a cell for the rest of your life or hanged as an accomplice."
Wanderer cocked his head, staring at the Druid as if he had gone mad.
Was this supposed to be a trick of some kind? Was talking to thin air supposed to be intimidating? If he was trying to appear threatening by pretending to be a madman, then it wasn't working— it simply made him look like a fool.
"Whom are you talking to?" asked Wanderer suspiciously.
From his point of view, the second set of chains wrapped around the guardrail was hanging loosely next to him, and there was a pile of ropes on the bench right under the chains. The bindings had doubtlessly been meant for his female companion, but she had obviously eluded capture, since she wasn't there.
"Your lovely companion," said the Druid cluelessly. "Who else would I be talking to?"
And as he spoke, the Druid reached out to place a hand on Oleandra's shoulder— only for his arm to pass straight through her, as if she were made of nothing but air. At the very same moment, the cart jolted over a large rock, throwing him further off balance. Arms flailing wildly, the Druid fell face first into the wooden guardrail, causing blood to spurt out of his nose.
"Trickery!" roared the Druid, pushing himself to his feet unsteadily. "Where is your companion!?"
…
To be fair, the Druid and the king's men had very briefly managed to capture Oleandra. By tricking her captors into believing that the airborne vapours of the Draught of Living Death had rendered her unconscious, she had earned the chance to steal any one thing from each of them. She had waited until every soldier had seen her 'unconscious' body before activating her Fairy magic— ensuring none of them would interfere with her escape.
And in the instant before the Druid could clasp the irons around her wrists, she had stolen from the Druid and the soldiers the very concept of the word 'escape!'
In other words, when Oleandra subsequently hopped off the cart and waltzed off with her freedom, her captors didn't even bat an eye— it simply couldn't occur to them that she could leave without permission, and so, she had remained there in their minds.
The Druid's brain could no longer piece together the concept of 'escape,' so he had gone through the motions, tying up a figment of his imagination— though not to prevent her from running away. (Even though there was an 'escape'-shaped void in the Druid's consciousness, there was still a purpose to restraining prisoners, since the concept of 'resisting arrest' still existed his mind).
Unfortunately, by the time Oleandra's magic had taken effect, it had already been too late to free Wanderer. He had clearly been seen as the greater threat between the two of them, and their captors had already rushed to chain him up first.
Before leaving him, Oleandra had observed that each link of the iron chains binding Wanderer was engraved with Ogham— the Celtic runes of the Earth. Though she specialised in the Norse and Saxon runes of the stars, and knew precious little about Ogham, she did understand one crucial thing: all runic spells, no matter their origin, were continuous by nature.
This permanency was the magical discipline's chief advantage against ephemeral wand magic, whose spells were fleeting at best. That being the case, the Unlocking Charm, Alohomora, obviously wouldn't have worked— the chains would simply re-lock themselves the instant the spell ended.
Of course, Oleandra could have blasted the chains apart, but since she had merely stolen the concept of 'escape' from her captors' minds and nothing else, performing flashy spells would have instantly broken the illusion. As such, she had been forced to leave Wanderer behind and follow the ox-drawn cart from a distance…
…
"Where is your companion!?" the Druid repeated furiously, sending spittle flying into Wanderer's face. "She was right there! I chained her up myself!"
Since the Druid had figured out the deception, the Fairy spell was forcefully ended, and the concept of 'escape,' was returned to his mind.
If the trickery had been a matter of life or death, or if Oleandra had tricked her foes with something much more elaborate than just, 'Ha-ha, I was just pretending to be asleep,' then she would have permanently stolen that concept from them.
By nature, conceptual, abstract and intangible things were much harder to steal than actual physical objects, so it took that much more effort to completely steal…
"Sorry, mate," said Wanderer cheerily. "Haven't the foggiest."
The Druid took a deep breath to calm his anger. He needed to think, and his bloody nose wasn't helping…
"I know this type of magic, I've seen it before," said the Druid slowly. "That girl is a Greater Faerie— or at the very least, she's got Fae blood coursing through her veins…"
"What did you say?" asked Wanderer, stunned. "Viviane is a Fairy?"
Wanderer's breathing accelerated imperceptibly. The first thing he had noticed about Oleandra was her inhuman grace and beauty, so he had simply assumed she was half Dusk-Elf, but to think she had actually been a Fairy! He'd never seen one before, so he hadn't known what to look out for!
All this time, he'd been travelling alongside one! No wonder she knew about Fairyland! No wonder she knew the location of the Isle of Apples! No wonder…!
"So, you weren't even aware that your travelling companion was a monster in disguise? You must not have their kind, where you came from," the Druid chuckled condescendingly. "Fairies are unable to lie, so you'd have to be pretty dense not to figure it out eventually! That Fairy must've had a good laugh at your expense! HA, HA, HA!"
Wanderer originated from the northern reaches of Europe, where the climate was too cold for Fairies. All they had in Scandinavia were the rare Dusk-Elves and Dwarfs who seemed to pop out of nowhere from time to time, and the Frost Giants who would occasionally wander out through that great big Archway made of indestructible stones…
"Well, that's weight off my mind," said the Druid in relief. "At least now I know she won't be coming back for you…"
"Who knows what fate has in store for us all?" said Wanderer, an enigmatic smile drawing itself on his lips. "Who knows…"