Somewhere in England 1172...
"Thou can be a real lout when intoxicated," Welby grumbled.
He was a little flushed from his friend's teasing.
"Are not we all louts when true to our nature?" Tristan argued with a chuckle and a rude gesture with his pelvis.
"Aye, I can't argue that," Welby replied with a little grin, "but thou takes matters too far even for me at times, old friend."
"Ah, Welby, thou chaff too easily at my provocations! 'Tis as if the voluptuous Elnora hath whipped thy heart into submission, causing it to cower and simper at her heel," Tristan teased mercilessly before taking yet another mouthful from his flagon.
Welby looked peeved at the inference – or perhaps it was a response to the somewhat crass description of his betrothed. It was hard to tell at that point. They'd both had one too many quite a few drinks ago. Tristan was characteristically boorish and merry by that point, and he'd lost the ability to discern when his words cheered and when they injured. The truth was that usually around that point in a night of merry-making, Tristan really didn't much care. The world seemed a jolly place full of foibles and harmless delinquencies, and he, for one, intended to enjoy it to the full. If he were a little more honest with himself, he might admit that he was just the tiniest bit annoyed at his friend's decision to get betrothed. He was annoyed, because although he was almost eight years his junior, Welby was his best friend and comrade in social deviance. Their entire courtship had been a woefully placid time in Tristan's life, one which he was trying to compensate for somewhat during this one last night of revelry. Deep down inside he knew that it was the end of an era for them both. They would no longer be bosom buddies deep in... well... bosoms!
Tristan threw the flagon on the ground as they walked. He didn't even remember carrying it out of the inn. The innkeeper would be annoyed to find it missing. Did he care? He stumbled a little and caught himself against a tree on the side of the road. Then nature called and he started unlacing his trousers to relieve himself.
"Shouldst thou be doing that here?" Welby noted with a hint of concern.
"Is there a better place that thou know of, old friend?" Tristan replied with a stupid grin of enjoyment as a thin wisp of steam rose from the ground while his bladder emptied itself.
"'Tis just... tis just that this be very near Mod Hollow. Tis said to be a gateway to the faerie realm. T'would not be wise to anger the spirits," Welby replied, sobering up somewhat on realizing where they were.
Mod Hollow was surrounded by more superstition and folklore than left any normal man at ease. Welby noted with some discomfort that a drunk Tristan was anything but normal. As a pair they'd come so close to the noose on several occasions that it was a miracle that their necks had not yet been stretched.
"A faerie lady – that doth sound like the perfect end to a merry evening," Tristan mused with a grin.
"Tristan, thou cannot be in earnest!" Welby hissed as Tristan veered off the path and started stumbling along through the thin undergrowth.
Tristan's eyes sparkled with mischief – another bad sign.
"Can thou just imagine the depraved deviances a faerie lady might concoct for the bed-furs?" he mused as he pushed on.
"They say a faerie woman would render a man insensible and mute if ere she were to bed him," Welby cautioned.
Tristan paused and turned to his friend with a hint of glee.
"Ah, can you imagine the depth of pleasure? What a way to end this life!" he smiled. "Thou shall go on to thy new life with thy wife, and I shall end mine early in the arms of a love goddess. 'Tis perfect."
He turned and started half running, half fumbling along until he stumbled out into the hollow, sending a cloud of fireflies scattering daintily into the sky.
"Tristan, 'tis suicide!" Welby hissed, visibly irked at the sight of the glowing insects. He held back a little.
Tristan laughed at his friend as he approached the old ring of stones at the center of the hollow.
"Thou wouldst give the fables too much sooth," he teased his old friend. "'Tis just a circle of stones put here by men long ago."
"'Tis a circle carved by druids – a gateway to otherworldly things," Welby spat out in reply.
"Bah! Herb growers and healers, not enchanters," Tristan chuckled as he carelessly kicked at one of the flat little stones that formed the raised circle which surrounded the larger center stone. "Hath thee ever really seen anything magical happen even once in thy life? Something that cannot be explained through some simple means?"
"Tristan, I admit things may become somewhat... different between us after Elnora and I consummate our vows..."
Tristan sniggered to himself: "As if that liberty had not already been taken," he muttered under his breath.
Welby scowled. The coolness of the air in the hollow combined with his apprehension of the situation had cleared up his mind somewhat, making the slight just that much harder to bear.
"My lady may not be from a very wealthy family, but she is a pure woman," he growled.
"Thou wouldst bind thyself to another without first sampling the goods?" Tristan quipped with a something between a smirk and a leer.
Welby fisted his hand and clenched his jaw in an attempt not to strike his friend.
"One day thou shall meet a lady who captivates more than just thy trousers, and then thou shall understand that the world has greater things to offer than fornication and tomfoolery!" he snarled.
"What a droll day that would be," Tristan shot back dryly as he returned to his cursory inspection of the ruins.
"We both know that there is no such lady for me," he grumbled half under his breath. "Useless, spiritless creatures, the lot of them."
Welby scowled. His friend was annoying him now. "Well they say that the middle stone is the Mod Stone – that if two people were to touch it at the same time on different days, their fates would become bound together," he reasoned, "Perhaps thou should test the fates and see if they would agree with thee."
Welby crossed his hands over his chest tauntingly. There was no way that even Tristan was foolish enough to take that dare. They'd laugh it off and go home to a nice warm bed. He was wrong. Tristan smiled at his friend with a level look of determination, and then spun around mounted the step that circled the central boulder.
"Nay, Tristan, I was only speaking in jest," Welby cautioned as he started after his friend.
He stopped two steps later. Those creepy little insects that shone light out of their rumps were circling his friend eerily now. They seemed to have started swarming around the Mod Stone, creating a magical wall of light. The sight made the blood in his veins cool with fear.
"Tristan let us leave this place at once!" Welby begged.
Tristan laughed at his friend, seemingly oblivious of the peculiar sight around him.
"'Tis nothing more than some silly old stones, Welby - I shall prove it," he replied as he reached towards the stone. "Besides, for this to work someone else would have to touch the stone at exactly the same time some other day – what is the likelihood of that ever happening?"
With that Tristan chuckled and brazenly let his hand fall onto the stone.
The fireflies seemed to go into a frenzy, and the spot lit up like it was day as they spiraled faster and faster, rising higher and higher. Their number seemed to swell until Welby could no longer see anything except a bright swirling light before him, the breeze generated from a myriad swarming insects tugging gently at his clothes and hair. Then suddenly they were gone – and so was his friend. Welby blinked. He took a step back, felt the leaden feeling in his legs, and fell to his rear on the soft leaf-littered earth.
"Tristan?" he called softly with anxiety.
It was quite possible that his old friend had simply hidden away in the strange cloud of insects and was now painting him the fool.
But there was nothing. No sound, no movement – nothing at all.
"The forest is never this quiet," Welby told himself as the hairs stood up on his arms.
He crawled backwards a few, uncertain steps, then got to his feet and started running. He cared deeply for his older friend. They'd known each other neigh on seven years, and had been through the muck together. However, Tristan had left him in the lurch plenty of times – and played his fair share of practical jokes on Welby. If this was one of those times, he'd be laughing about it for days. If it was... something else, then Welby could do nothing to save his foolhardy friend. The faeries were spirit tricksters with otherworldly powers – no mortal man could hope to oppose their will and live.
"Go with God's grace, old friend," Welby whispered back anxiously as he fought the growth to find his way back to the safety of the village.