Three.

It was an important number, by all accounts.

Especially to the Fair Folk.

Three Altissi, three Benefissi, three Malefissi. Three Orders, in all.

This made three the perfect number of caretakers for the Cursed little prince. "Surround him with life," the Altissimum said. "A Florus, a Faunus, and the Vita Ignis." The ALtissimum's hand ran through the Prince's hair as the Prince lay in their lap, asleep.

The three Altissi sat in a loose formation. A triangle of power, protection, and tense indecision. At the middle of the triangle, as loose in his formation as the three points of the triangle, was the Prince about whom the indecision centered. His hair was somehow more golden, still, in the sunlight.

The Altissima and the Altissimus frowned. "The Vita Ignis," the Altissima said, "was a mistake. He is no proper Vita Ignis."

"Tress," the Altissimus scoffed, "Vita Ignis Defectus."

The Altissimum clicked their tongue disapprovingly and frowned at their companions. Briefly, their hand stilled in its smoothing of the prince's curtain of half-curls. The little suit, just for the celebration of his christening, had slowly found itself lost, along with the tie that had bound his hair back. He was slowly becoming one of the Wood's children. "Tress is my choice. He will be hesitant, but he will come. He will serve. And he will be beloved of the prince. I leave the choices of Florus and Faunus to you, my equal-powered companions."

"The Defectus? Really?" the Altissimus asked, judging. Sneering. Even the great powers were no pictures of perfection, it seemed. It was disappointing in the ranks of the Altissi.

"There are no Defecti among the ranks of Named," the Altissimum rebuked. The Prince stirred under the volume and tone of the assertion. But he did not wake. "The Vita Ignis may be disinterested, hard, and difficult to get along with, but he is our Vita Ignis. We must afford him the respect of his station."

There was a silence where the Wood spoke louder with its leaves than the Altissi did with their collective breathing. Then the woman and man Altissi sighed and inclined their heads to the Altissimum in begrudging agreement.

"Good. Now. The Florus and Faunus I leave to you. Choose wisely. They will have to balance the Vita Ignis and withstand his moods, his shortness of temper, and his lack of empathy or sympathy."

The 'mus and 'ma glanced to one another.

The Altissimum raised an eyebrow and watched the considerations made silently by the 'mus and 'ma. The Prince stirred once. Twice. Three times in the three hours that the 'mus and 'ma spent considering, silently, looking at one another. Three and three.

"Florus Loch," the Altissumus said, finally.

"And Faunus Liddy," the Altissima said.

"The twin Florus and Faunus," the Altissimum noted. "And blood to the Vita Ignis Truss." A third three: three siblings chosen for the three positions as caretakers to the Prince.

Three.

It was an important number, by all accounts.

Especially to the Fair Folk.

--

It had only to be asked of Loch and Liddy to acquire their willing caretaking of the child. Not even an askance in person. Merely a message.

It was the Vita Ignis Truss whose services where harder to acquire. As expected, he wanted nothing to do with the task asked of him. He had wanted nothing to do with the Naming, either. And he had wanted nothing to do with his blood siblings, the Florus and Faunus.

The cajoling had been left primarily to Loch and Liddy, two bright specks in a universe more and more gray with the passing of time. But it was not entirely left to them.

The Altissi, themselves, allowed themselves the luxury of a journey deep into the territory of the pixies, all of which looked to their elven eyes as if they were merely halfling humans. But they were not, of course. Their magic was almost more inherent in them, more intertwined with their bones and hands. Pixies did not necessitate the learning of formal spells to call upon their ingrained magic, after all. And pixies could shift from their halfling human forms to their faerie light forms without so much as a gesture.

It was impressive, not that any right-minded elf would say so. Much less the regal Altissi.

The Altissi went to the ancestral home of the three faerie caregivers they had chosen. They ran into fourth cousins and great uncles aplenty, but finding the nucleus of the family -- those closest to the bloodline of the three Named faeries -- was a herculean task, in and of itself. They were skittish, shy, and close to home.

But their aunt was found. Luxa, who had been the Vita Ignis years previous. Why she was not, anymore, was a mystery known only to the gods who had Named Truss the Vita Ignis, in Luxa's place. Elves were not close enough to the nature gods so as to be able to question them, or to know the workings of their minds, dreams, or plans. For all the Altissi knew, it might well have been that the Naming of Truss really had been a mistake, despite all the vehement words to the contrary.

"Luxa, Lady of the Wood," the Altissi greeted, intoning in one voice.

"Altissi, minds three and minds one," Luxa greeted in return. She smiled wide, cheeks apple-bright and eyes midnight-dark. "What brings you and the faerie-touched human child to the doorstep of me and mine?"

Luxa's eyes travelled from Altus to Altus, settling finally on the Altissimum, in whose arms the child lay.

"What brings you, Altus Altissimum?" Luxa asked.

"The child is Cursed by the Usurper," the Altissimum said.

Luxa's smile faded and died away. "He Who Sews Maws Shut," she said, her voice suddenly dark. There was a childish quality to her, and the childish quality seemed to emphasis, horribly, the darkness that had come onto her features. "The one who lashed out with demon-magic to bind the Benefus Benefissimus's words inside his very throat. He Cursed a poor, innocent child?"

Of course Luxa knew of the Benefissimus's fate.

The Benefissi had been pixies, themselves. Though it seemed to the Altissi that the Benefissi were much taller than the usual pixies.

"To die," the Altissimum said. "Surely you must know. News does not travel slowly among the faeriekind. News does not travel slow among any of the Fair Folk. The Wood itself whispers it to everyone, so that no one would be in the dark."

"You brought a doomed-to-die to us?" Luxa asked. "What do you want of us? To bury him in silks?"

"He was Cursed to die. But he will not," the Altissimum said. "He will Sleep."

"Sleep," Luxa scoffed. "Sleep and Death are kin."

"That is how we Altissi were able to work with the Curse to take the Death and coax it to Sleep," the Altissimum nodded agreeably. The Altissima and Altissimus had yet to speak. Perhaps they would not.

"Then what is it you want, Altus?" Luxa asked.

"Caretakers," the Altissimum said.

"Can you divine which?" the Altissima asked. Her silence was broken for a bit of cheeky back-and-forth, it seemed. Or a chance at it. "Can you divine which of your brethren we wish to claim a caretakers to this faerie-blesst human boy?"

"I don't need divination, and I don't need to guess. I can feel it in all my little hand bones," Luxa raised both hands and splayed her fingers artistically in emphasis. She smiled, sharp and unyielding. "Do you think it wise to take Truss? He does not accept his place here, what make you think that he would accept his place where you want him to be?" She lowered her hands.

"We wish to speak first with the others," the Altissimus broke his own silence to say.

"Ah, three, yes." Luxa looked up to the crowns of the trees, as if the trees might tell her what to do, where to go, and where the three caretakers might be. "It's a very important number. A good one, too, if you wish to safeguard the little prince. Do you know, though, that it is a futile dream you offer? The boy cannot be saved from the Curse. It is inevitable."

"Your knucklebones can tell you what they like, it doesn't mean we will not try," the Altissima sang. The pixies always seemed to bring out the musicality in musical souls, and the Altissima was a musical soul inhabiting a musical body that had been strapped into the body of an Altus. The Altus could not sing or prance, but the magic of the pixies' home allowed even the stiff and noble Orders a place where they could let their voices sing.

"It does not mean that the humans will not try to avert his fate, either," Luxa held out her hands for the child. "What is his name?"

"Aurore," the Altissimum said. They handed the sleeping child over to the pixie, unconcerned by how big he seemed, in comparison with the compact visage of the former Vita Ignis. Pixies were strong. Moreover, pixies were full of a special magic that was all their own.

"I wonder if the humans realize that the attempts to avert the path of fate often lead to the fate," Luxa mused. "Aurore." She hummed and drew her slender, almost childlike fingers through the prince's hair. "It won't do. Call him after something that blooms. Call him after a flower. The Wood will be more likely to take him as Her own, if She knows him as a flower."

"Do you have a suggestion?" the Altissimum asked. It was polite. Moreover, the Altissimum felt the word "Briar-Rose" bloom in their mind, and they did not think that the boy Aurore would be one of briars or thorns.

"Hyacinthe," Luxa said. It was almost too quick to be a spontaneous suggestion. It was almost too sure to be a suggestion, at all.

"Hyacinthe?" the Altissimus asked. He seemed the least friendly toward the pixies. It was a wonder Luxa didn't bear sharper words and glances toward him, or else small and troublesome curses of the playful, puckish variety. Pixies were often pucks and imps in their nature.

"What is his name?" Luxa asked, passing the child back to the Altissimum. It was a wonder that he had not woken.

The Altissimum curled him close, almost protective in the motion. For a long moment, Luxa and the Altissimum looked at one another. "His name," the Altissimum finally said, once it seemed like the frogs had become the only conversationalists anywhere nearby, "is Hyacinthe. He is to be commended to the Wood, and to the care of three faeriekind caretakers."

"Truss," Luxa nodded, "And -- I would think blood bonds would be the ones to suit you best -- the other two must be Loch and Liddy, yes?"

"Loch and Liddy," agreed the Altissimum.

Luxa nodded and turned to walk away. She beckoned over her shoulder.

The Altissimum beckoned, in turn, to the Altissima and the Altissimus behind them. They all walked deeper into the ancestral territory taken up by that family of pixies.

"You should know," Luxa said. Her town begot a warning. "The three you seek are three whose blood is eighth-full of Fey and eighth-full of elf. You are asking for mutts, not purebred pixies with only faerie instinct and magic on their insides. Mottled magic and mottled souls dwell those boys' bodies."

"I knew," the Altissimum said. The other two's sounds of derision said that they did not. "I knew," the Altissimum said, a bit louder. "And I find it only advantageous in this situation. This boy is raised by human-pixies, and blesst of Fair Folk. That the faeries we seek are mutts of Fey and Elf as well will only help them."

"As you say," Luxa said.

She did not appear to think that the Altissimum was acting in wisdom.

--

Liddy was the easiest to find. Liddy was a Faunus, and therefore a keeper of life. And Liddy loved life.

When Liddy heard that new life, young life, bright life was in the Wood, it was Liddy that came to Luxa and the cohort that had been following her. Liddy drew up to Luxa, standing very close. It was easy to see that something less-than-faerie flowed through this pixie's veins, as he was dimminutive in his own way, but head and shoulders taller than Luxa.

He was about the height Nana had been, the Altissimum noted. The thought came unbidden, and warranted a look at the immediate mortality that the Usurper had forced upon one of the Fair Folk's offspring. Namely, Nana herself.

"A baby?" Liddy asked. He was young and effeminate in his appearance. Neither trait threw off the elvish Altissi, however. Elves were long-known for their everlasting youth and their effeminate appearances. "Is it?" Liddy flittered over to the Altissimum, excitement vibrating through his slender wrists as he reached to pat down one of the half-curls that sprouted from the young human's head.

There was a soft silence, punctuated by soft coos and softer scuffs of heel against earth. All these noises came from Liddy, who loved and was beloved by children and young things of many species. If he were fully faerie, he would have looked the part of the perfect Faunus. But he was not.

"He doesn't look very human-like, does he?" Liddy asked. He batted his long eyelashes up at the Altissi. Too long.

The Altissima was vaguely offended by his eyelashes. The other two didn't quite seem to notice.

"He's blesst," the Altissimum said.

"Blessed?" Liddy looked back down at the baby. "Do tell me the baby's name?"

"Hyacinthe," Luxa offered.

Liddy turned around, briefly, to acknowledge her, then found his arms full of infant-toddler. "Oh, I did not think such an important looking human would be..." put in the arms of a faerie. Of a pixie. Of a Fair Folk whose familial relations included many pucks and mischief makers.

"We would be honoured if you would care for this, our fleeting charge," the Altissimum said.

"Oh, I do not think I could--"

"Not alone," the Altissima cut in. "We subscribe the the blessed nature of threes. We are of the Three Orders, after all. And we are three." She wasn't singing, anymore. It didn't seem right, in a place so full of song, to hear a voice so lacking in it. Especially when it was a voice that had been singing only a little while before.

"Then who should I consider my partners?" Liddy asked. His attention was drawn, magnetically, to the angelic infant-toddler in his arms. "Oh, look. He is waking. Is he supposed to? Have I done him a wrong, do you think?"

"He has slept a long while. I am unsurprised that he is waking," the Altissimum said.

"He will probably be hungry," Luxa offered gently.

"Loch," the Altissimus cut in, impatient. "You should consider Loch to be one of your partners in the care of this faerie-raised, faerie-blessed child."

"Oh, marvelous! Loch is a good choice," Liddy said. He hopped, but his grip was secure on the child and no one worried for the Prince's safety, not in that moment. "Loch is, you could say, the key to keeping me on task!" Liddy laughed at himself, then began to flit away. Wingless, of course, as he was in the form of a halfling human pixie.

"Can he turn to a faerie light, even?" the Altissimus asked Luxa.

No one worried for the babe's safety in Liddy's arms. Liddy was too attentive to him, and too intent on his safety and wellbeing. There was nothing to fear from the boy.

"Of course he can," Luxa said, deeply offended at the implication. "He's as faerie as I am! He's just got a bit extra running through him. Galloping, you could even say. He's one of the brightest faerie lights I've ever seen in my life, truly. Talented. The three of them are, in fact. Half-breeds are not inferior as people seem to think. In some ways, they can be superior to their purebred counterparts."

"If I may," the Altissimum broke in. "We must gather all three to the duty we place on them."

"Liddy will fetch Loch. And food for the toddler. Quiet, isn't he? How long's he been awake?" Luxa asked.

"Who knows," the Altissima offered.

"Who knows," the Altissimus agreed.

"Not long," the Altissimum corrected. "He was fast asleep on my shoulder, in my arms. I would have known his waking breaths." He folded his hands together in front of himself, a picture of neatness and civility. "We must find and speak to Truss."

Luxa surprised even the Altissimum when she broke into laughter, wild and a bit feral. It wasn't quite 'angry,' but there was a subtle danger to the way her lips curled around her teeth.

"Boy, you've been talking to Truss all this while."

The Altissimus had just enough time to be offended on behalf of the nongendered Altissimum, for the way Luxa had referred to him as a boy. He had also just enough time to be offended at the implication of youth, inexperience, obliviousness. But then there was a dull thud of two feet hitting the grass-choked path heavily. The Altissimus was the first Altissi to turn, and he drew a blade forth as he did. Where the blade was hidden was a secret known only to himself.

Another of the faerie messes stood before them. He didn't resemble the softness of Liddy, at all, but there was a similarity set deep into those eyes.

"Again, you've been talking to Truss this whole time," Luxa said, a bit quieter. Laughter still coloured her words, the way the sun still dappled the ground all around them, filtering through the leaves. More reddish, then, as the sun had been descending out of the sky for awhile. But still present.

"The Vita Ignis," the Altissimus said, a bit coldly.

"Truss," he corrected.

"Do not aggravate him on purpose," the Altissimum rebuked. "A sorry Altissi you make, leaving behind all your lessons in mediation and etiquette. Employ your demurity, Altissimus."

The Altissimus and the Altissimum faced off for a long while, then -- abashed, as he well should be -- the Altissimus turned away and bowed apologetically to Truss. He had known that Truss would not answer willingly to that title. He had, therefore, known to call him by name instead of title. That he had not was in poor taste.

"Truss," the Altissimum said, as the Altissimus took a spot beside the Altissima, once more. "You have no doubt heard all."

"I don't want it," Truss said.

There was something hanging off his sentence, however. Something waiting. On the tip of his tongue and in the forefront of his eyes.

It was especially apparent in the specific map that his wrinkled nose offered. Disgust. But not with the Altissi, not with his title, not with his aunt, and not with his brothers or the prince. Disgust with self, it had to be.

"You do not want it," echoed the Altissimum, ever careful. "And yet?"

"And yet I will agree," Truss scoffed, then laughed with a sense of bitterness. "It is either agree now, knowing you have Loch and Liddy already on your side, ready to beg me to go with them. Or it is hold out, until Loch and Liddy inevitably convince me that it would be well worth going."

"Someone has to protect them," the Altissimum offered.

"Don't try to soften this on my account," Truss's grin was sharper than Luxa's could ever be. But Luxa must have been a part of the familial line that lead to Truss. The smiles, though at different intensities, were too similar not to be from the very same branch of the family tree.