After going back to bed, I wound up at the cafe where R.G. seems to be holding court. He seems to be carving out a little Wise Man of the City (of Ook) action for himself. Delightfully, as I approached him, I had a little side-eye thrown my way by some petitioners. And by petitioners, I mean socialites. And by socialites, I mean wanna-bes that are doing their best to attach themselves to him, and are failing miserably, because they keep getting kicked out of the cafe by the staff so real petitioners (and customers) can come in.
For someone that’s supposed to be keeping a low profile, R.G. is enjoying himself thoroughly.
The server recognized me as a friend of R.G. and offered to dismiss the few folk listening to him. I didn’t want to rain on his parade, and after what I’ve been through, it’s nice not to be the center of attention for a while.
Totally eavesdropping, and without any hint of shame, I just sat at an empty chair and listened. The folk was having a family problem. The elder son had been promised the freedom to live his life as he pleased, and began to do so. The younger felt that was unfair, because now he was indebted to take up a certain station. Cue drama. R.G. was finishing up explaining to both sides what the repercussions of what they each were asking would be. I found it interesting, he wasn’t making a final decision. Just providing clarity to a muddy situation. He told them the brothers would have to sit down and decide for themselves what should be done. They thanked him and left.
There were no more petitioners, and the wanna-bes were chased out again. R.G. smiled at me and motioned for me to sit with him. Before I could tease him about his audience, a plate of eggs, bacon, and grits was placed before me, along with a cup of coffee.
“Eat, Weaver. I know where you’ve been. I asked the staff to begin cooking breakfast for you, the moment they saw you.” Oh, that smug smirk!
I poked at the eggs. Sunny-side up, my favorite. “You’re not in Helheim, Weaver! You can eat with abandon!” He laughed as I shot him a dirty look.
“How do you know where I’ve been?”
“I could feel the tug on me.” Oh. Yea. I keep forgetting about that. “That, and I’ve had no less than five people stop by and ask if you had made it back from the Underworlds yet.” I looked up at him questioningly. He laughed at the sight of my face. “You’re starting to get a following, you know.”
I gulped down some coffee. Strong and bitter. Needs milk. “You shouldn’t talk, Wise Man! I thought you were going to keep a low profile! You have flies gathering at the door. It’s a wonder you haven’t been chased out!” We both laugh.
“Well? How was your audience with Lady Hel?” I didn’t answer right away. I was too busy devouring the plate of food before me. I knew I was in the Dreaming, but dammit, if this didn’t taste so good. “Normally, I’d tease you about your eating habits, but I know you’re drained, and my own presentation wasn’t exactly the best either.”
At the mention of his ‘banquet’, I almost choked from sudden laughter. I finished off the coffee, and the server immediately refilled the mug. “You had an excuse. You were putting yourself back together. I’m just strangely ravenous.”
As I drank more coffee to clear my throat, I suddenly realized, most of my memory of the event was gone. Not muddied, not scrambled, just… gone. I spent nearly the entire night in Helheim. I remember receiving the cloth bound written invitation. I remember Snake tucking the still unopened bundle in my satchel. I remember Stormhoof bringing me to the gates, while Snake transformed himself into a tattoo on my shoulder. I remember the gates opening.
After that, is bits and pieces. A long walk from the gate to Hel’s throne, escorted on either side by two large wolves. Lady Hel, staring at me with one eye clear and one eye withered. I remember the sound of my voice, but what I said eludes me. I talked a long time. I must have told stories. For one thing, when I was presented to Hel, the child that announced me called me “Weaver Storyteller”. I talked a very long time. Sometime during my talking, the second bundle was given to… someone. I don’t remember. Then the long walk back to the gates, again escorted by the wolves. Along with the admonition to make it to the gates solely from my own efforts. If I fall from exhaustion, I will not leave Helheim. If I require assistance to leave, my life will be shortened. It was a very long walk.
Stormhoof was there, waiting. He could not enter, but he came as close to the gates as he could. I remember hearing him almost dance from nervousness. I was so tired. I passed the gates and fell over at once. When they closed behind me, the gates were inches from my feet, but I was clear of them. I was outside. I remember Snake quitting the tattoo and taking on an anthropomorphic form to place me on Stormhoof’s back. He mounted the wight, still humanoid, to hold me and keep me from falling.
We left Helheim.
I woke up. I was so tired, I couldn’t move the sheet off of me. It took some time before I was able to sit up. I considered trying to leave notes, but of what? I remembered nothing. I laid back down, got two hours sleep. Woke up again, left the official notes, and laid back down again. And now I’m here in the City (of Ook) with R.G., finishing off a very good breakfast, and finding myself without a story to tell.
“I… don’t remember.” He nods knowingly.
“I am not surprised, my friend. Not all the stories you acquire are for your benefit. Nor will this be the last story you find yourself unable to tell. Don’t try to suss out details. It would not surprise me if what you do remember is false and intentionally misleading.”
I finish off my breakfast while we both sit in silence. A storyteller without a story to tell. How shameful! Ah well, I was allowed to leave. So I must have done something right.
“I’ve decided on a name for you. Rather, a name to refer to you by when I write of you.” A glance of mistrust crossed his face. I giggled at the sight and brought mirth back to the table.
“Such as…”
“You’ll love it. It’s incredibly droll and non-binding. Because it’s a pronunciation of the initials of the non-name I write of you already. Since you started out as ‘Resting Guy’, and I still refer to you as ‘R.G.’, I’m going to start referring to you as ‘Roger’.” I couldn’t help but giggle into my coffee.
He groaned. Painfully and audibly. He covered his face with his hand and shook his head. “Seriously?”
I nodded.
“Well, you are certainly correct about it being a non-name.” He tried not to, but a smile twisted his lips. Soon he was chuckling himself. “Okay, I guess. Sure I can’t talk you into something more… refined?”
“Careful, Roger. The last person to get a refined something from me now smells of sandalwood.” Evil smile, I’m wearing one.
He winced and chuckled at the threat. “Touché.” The server removed the now empty plate, and placed a new serving. “Now, eat. I won’t let you leave until you do. I know this will do nothing for your physical exhaustion, but it will at least shore up your internal reserves until you do.”
Roger and I sat in peace with each other. I finished my second serving of breakfast, and spent the last remaining minutes in quiet repose.
Make of that, what you may.