Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter 1. No hay mal que por bien no venga.

“Where am I? Hello? Is anyone here?”

Séptima stood up, huffed and brushed her dirty pants, old joints protesting the movement. Looking around her, she only saw trees, some shrubs and, squinting hard, the odd forest creature running away from her loud voice.

She had no idea where she was or how she got there. She sighed, ‘one morning you go to sleep after celebrating your sister’s sixtieth birthday and the next you wake up in the middle of nowhere’. She grunted as her hip gave a loid click.

‘I’m to old for this’, she thought, ‘and to young to start forgetting things’. She shuddered, closing her cardigan tighter to prevent the blasted air currents from entering.

‘Well, nothing for it’. The old woman began walking through the forest, trying to see if she could recognize something, or at least see if there was a source of water nearby. ‘Where there is water, there is civilization’, she halfway remembered from long forgotten survival videos she watched with her oldest grandchild and beloved husband when the child’s parents needed a break.

Séptima scowled, she knew she should have paid more attention to them. Or, at least, convinced her husband (when they were younger and less prone to suffer a broken bone by a careless step) to go to less urban-oriented trips. But no, internet connection is essential, he said; think of the bugs, he said. But now, look at her! Curse him for being so convincing and curse her younger self for accepting! Watch her die then from the heavens for possessing such poor knowledge of the wilds!

She continue to grumble as she trampled along her chosen path, getting more and more annoyed by the hour. Until she saw a light; not The Light, goodness gracious, but thankfully just a light … or so she thinks, she let herself doubt a little bit, just a little. After a moment of blinking and scrubbing her eyes, she squinted and tried to guess if it was the good or the bad light. After having decided that following the light won’t guide her directly to heaven, she renewed her way and power-walked towards it.

And so, old Séptima entered a clearing. In there, she saw the most beautiful beings she had ever seen. And Fernando, her poor husband, bless his soul, won’t even be able to deny it; just look at them! But now the problem was, what kind of beings they were? Were they like the fair folk?, she ruminated, squinting her eyes to force her poor eyesight to collaborate for once in its life. Was she doomed to die today? Or were they like the high fantasy elves, a little snobbish, maybe racist, but harmless overall.

Pondering her choices, she decided that between the wilds and the elves, the latter had lesser possibilities of killing her. Or, at least, a much more quicker death than an animal attack or starvation. Plus, her rusty joints and her poor patience couldn’t stand much more of trampling through the forest.

Choice made, she walked nearer to where the elves were gathered. On a closer look, Séptima noticed they were circling a small fire, some eating while others were inspecting their weapons. She shuddered, if they had weapons that looked like they were recently used, maybe she got quite lucky while walking through the forest. God knows what types of danger she could have encountered. She quickly crossed herself and leisurely went closer.

They spoke rather pleasantly, she thought, while watching the cozy gathering. She watched as one red-haired elf laugh. So pretty, she sighed, shaking her head and sitting near the fire. A metal pot was bubbling over it, just a few paces before her. Tutting a little, she reached for the spoon, stirring the stew and taking a small sample to taste.

“Needs more salt, and the bottom is somewhat burned, but edible. Better than little Tina’s staple stew, at least. Heaven knows the poor dear couldn’t cook to save her life”.

As soon as she spoke, the elves jumped, startled, and pointed their weapons to the shriveled being they hadn’t noticed before standing to close to their food. And so, they stood, perplexed and confused as the unknown woman critiqued their culinary skills.

“Well,” she grumbled, “are you as deaf as you are pretty? Where are the condiments! The spices! This poor soup won’t be improved by wishes alone!”

“We don’t have condiments,” an unamused tall red-haired said “or spices”.

“The travesty” Séptima exclaimed “no wonder you are as thin as these young trees! No condiments, no spices, one as well better don’t eat! “ She tutted, mixing more vigorously the soup, as if the mere action would give it some more flavor. “Well, it is as good as it will get, so pass me the bowls; yes, yes, you, darling, the one with the red hair”.

And so, the old woman began to serve the group the almost flavorless soup, chattering nonstop to the elves, the soup, the tress, as well as herself, or anyone at all really, she had such a hard time today and, finally, she has someone to talk to about it!