Note: Same old song and dance. I'm here and may the Lord forgive me for I know not what I do.

Like the summary says, this is a sequel to In the Valley of the Shadow of Death.

"He lives in a tree?" the princess asked incredulously.

"I don't think it's a typical tree," Jellal muttered, poking around in the clutter that looked to be the remains of a garden. The entire forest felt off to him. Needles of trees that stayed green all year long – even in the deep winter – pointed toward the clouded sky. They towered over the mountainside higher than even the furthest reaches of Foss. While the flora remained lively and diverse, Jellal hadn't seen one hint of fauna. Not even a hoof or paw print in the snow for miles.

"I don't think there's anything typical about this area at all," Erza whispered under her breath.

"I'm glad you've noticed." He regretted the words the instant he said them and felt her glare. Instead of a retort she grabbed his hand and pushed an apple into it.

"You aren't yourself when you're hungry, Jellal." Erza moved past him and further up the nearly overgrown path that led to the tree's body. Her fur-lined hood slid from her head and revealed the neatly braided and coiled scarlet hair that had driven him to the edge of madness more than once. He loved all of her, of course, but her hair seemed to glow against the wooded backdrop – or maybe it just struck him as more vibrant when she was irritated.

Jellal's eyes fell to the apple. It was green but also not. His stomach rumbled.

"I wouldn't eat that one if I were you," a voice from above said amusedly. Jellal glanced up and spotted a cloaked figure perched in the branches. "If the fairy tales are true, apples found on quests can be somewhat problematic."

Erza's form rippled and Jellal tossed aside the apple to grab her arm. In the last two weeks he'd learned that the princess was quick to draw her swords when she felt threatened.

"And you are?" he called back. The man's face was covered but Jellal could feel the grin beneath his mask.

"It might be more fair for me to ask you that question." The masked man gracefully leapt from the tree onto the snow dusted ground below. "But I already know the answer. I think a better question would be why."

"Why what?" Erza demanded, still pulsing with magic.

"Why do I have a royal tail? It's rather odd, yes? I do try to mind my own business but it seems as though I've drawn the attentions of both the Princess of Fiore and her throneless companion."

"It's me who sought you out," Jellal said, still grasping Erza's arm. He glanced at the roll of staves peaking over the man's shoulder. "I've heard you're somewhat of an expert in magical artifacts."

"If an expert in such things exists, I suppose one could call me that."

"Could we perhaps discuss it somewhere less exposed?"

The man clapped his chest in feigned offense. "You don't trust my barriers?"

"We approached your tree here with no resistance whatsoever," Jellal said flatly.

"How do you know that wasn't my intention all along?"

"Was it?"

"Maybe I was curious what the lost Prince of Stella was doing in my forest."

Jellal pursed his lips and waited. The man finally laughed softly and stepped over the chicken wire that surrounded his shabby garden.

"Follow me," he said with a swooping bow. "It's a little too cold for my liking anyway." The man turned to lead them inside and Jellal studied the staves as best he could. There were ten, at least, and each was unique. Erza pried his hand from her arm and pressed herself against his side. Jellal didn't react when he felt her lips brush his ear.

"I don't like him," she hissed.

"Just stay close and keep your eyes open." He could feel her aggravation but he couldn't walk away. Not until he was satisfied.

Inside the tree was a room he thought larger than the actual trunk but didn't question it. Circular walls and floors were all covered in planked wood. The man crouched near a fireplace and brought a flame forth from a lacrima ball. He shrugged off his cloak. The edges, torn and wet with snow, left trails of moisture on the floor. Jellal thought the entire room much too feminine and old for the man with the staves. His hat and mask joined the cloak on a rack and when he turned around, Erza bristled and a familiar blade appeared in her hand.

"What kind of illusion magic is this?" she growled in a low, dangerous voice.

"I assure you it's not a trick of the eye, Your Highness. I do not possess such magic." He gestured to his roll staves. "What you see here in my pack and the items in this tree are all the magic I'm capable of commanding. Illusions are quite beyond my skill."

"But –" Erza's words sputtered until she pressed her lips together in frustration.

"You might want to get into an explanation before the princess runs you through," Jellal said softly. "I can't guarantee she won't anyway nor will I stop her."

The man seemingly identical to Jellal eyed the princess thoughtfully. "In truth, Your Highness, I don't think you could stop her." He grinned. "To cut a very long story short, I am you. Or rather, I am you in another place."

"That's not an explanation," Jellal said evenly.

"The universe is a mess of strings." The man waved his hand dismissively. "I don't pretend to understand it all nor is that my concern. I crossed from my home into yours when I was a small child. The anima is fickle. It opens and closes at its leisure."

"I've heard of these string theories," Jellal mused. "I never considered them much, though."

"There's a handful of us in your world and probably countless others from strings unknown."

"How big a handful?"

"Bigger than anyone wants to know," the man said with a grin. He leaned against the hearth and stared into the fire. "So tell me why you've sought me out. I like to think I exist in a certain measure of ambiguity."

"I heard you commanded magic that is not your own. Magic that flows in reverse. From an object to you. I'm interested."

"Such things aren't uncommon. Your pack is full of spelled items, yes?"

Jellal sighed. The man was evasive. "I'm not talking about spelled paper or potions."

"What of the magic on your face?"

"And what of the magic on yours?" Erza cut in. The man laughed softly. Fondly.

"I wasn't born with it, that much I don't mind admitting."

"Come on, Jellal," Erza said haughtily. "This man is a fool. He only wants to play word games. He can't or won't help you." She pulled on Jellal's arm and he had half a mind to let her tug him all the way back to Foss. If they hurried they might make it to the mountain pass before the clouds on the horizon covered the routes in heavy snow.

"I never said I wouldn't help." He sighed. "Forgive me, I don't have many visitors and I'm cautious." The man stood in front of the fire and folded his hands behind his back. "You can call me Mystogan in this realm but where I come from, I am also a Prince Jellal."

"Is there a Stella where you come from?" Jellal asked.

"No but my world is very different than Earthland. My father is… not a very good king. I was banished and hidden away when I was very young. Not unlike yourself, Your Highness, my life was in danger. I, however, have no impulse to seek out my homeland." Mystogan's eyes fell to the planked floor. "This mark on my face was a gift from the woman who used to reside in this tree. She took me with her to the royal city and procured a witch's services to keep me safe from any wandering eyes. Apparently," he tacked on with a grin. "I have a famous face here, as well."

"Madame Belladonna?"

"Perhaps. I'm not so good at remembering the names of everyone I meet." Jellal understood Mystogan's hesitance. Madame Belladonna wouldn't like her name to be whispered in vain.

"Who was this woman?" Jellal asked, his mind itching. He felt like he knew the answer before Mystogan even opened his mouth to say –

"I believe you know her? She has an absolutely horrific reputation." He laughed. "And quite an ugly cloak."

"Porlyusica was always a strange woman."

"Strange but kind. She has a soft spot for lost things."

"That she does. When I saw her last she said she was returning home."

"Did she now?" Mystogan's expression twisted into something that might've been disappointment. "I'm offended she didn't stop to say goodbye. I doubt the anima would have the nerve to deny her passage."

"Please," Jellal whispered, suddenly tired of nostalgia and desperate for help. "Teach me what I need to know. Without my magic I feel empty and without purpose. I want to go home. I need to see what's become of my country."

"Stella is a place brimming with the magic of the gods. Magic that has been given by the stars themselves, they say. I'm not sure you could ever replace what's been lost."

"It wasn't lost," Jellal blurted. "I gave it willingly."

"Hm." Mystogan's gaze was piercing. "I might be able to help you learn to wield magical items but it'll take some time."

"How much time?" Erza demanded. "We have a mountain pass to worry about."

"Magical theory and application is a lifelong study –"

"Come on, Jellal," she snapped. "We'll find someone else."

Mystogan sighed. "I only meant that I can teach him whatever he has the time to learn. I understand your haste but the magic doesn't care if you have five minutes or fifty years. You drive a hard bargain, Your Highness."

"I'm protecting him from himself," Erza said, her feathers ruffling. Jellal might've flushed… if he didn't know her to be speaking the truth. "Jellal has an understanding of magic that I never will. He's brilliant."

"Erza –"

"Don't interrupt," she cut him off. "You are." Erza turned back to Mystogan, still gripping the hilt of her sword. "But he's also tangential and prone to whims and self depreciation. I won't allow you to drag him under your wheels for your own amusement. I've seen enough of his suffering for two lifetimes."

Mystogan's grin widened. "You've earned the protection of a fierce princess, Your Highness."

"Don't call me that," Jellal muttered. "I'm not a prince."

"That much remains to be seen," Mystogan said, his shoulders loosening. "I'll teach you the basics of what I do." He bowed to Erza in a show of dramatic capitulation. "I won't lead him down a stray path, you have my word."

"I still don't like you," Erza whispered even as her sword fizzled back into her pocket realm. "But he needs this to move forward."

"When do we start?" Jellal asked, grateful for the ease of tension in the room, however slight.

"At sunrise."

"But that's –"

Mystogan crossed the room and pulled back the curtains covering a window. Beyond was the sort of blinding darkness only found in the forest after midnight. Jellal felt a chill creep up his spine.

"We have a room in Foss," Erza stated, wrapping her hand around Jellal's arm again.

"No need. I've appropriate accommodations here."

"In this tree?" Erza deadpanned.

"I think you'll find, Your Highness, this tree is but a vessel that isn't at all what it appears to be. Some things are much larger on the inside." He laughed softly. "A strange man with a strange tool once said that to me and I've always wanted to say it to someone else."

Mystogan opened a wood paneled door and revealed a narrow hallway with a staircase that appeared to circle around the trunk of the tree. To the naked eye it looked as though the staircase existed, impossibly, between the outer trunk of the tree and the room they were standing in. He disappeared into the hallway and called back for them to follow.

Erza's hand slid down Jellal's arm and she threaded her fingers through his.

"I really, really don't like him," she whispered. Jellal pressed a kiss to the apple of her cheek and pulled her behind him and into the staircase closet.