On a nice sunny day, many cottages lay spread out on the big hillside where the sun shines above them all, and have enough space for farming, but one house in particular appeared to be like some kind of hut underneath the roots of a dark oak tree. This was the village of Wildebrook. And inside the house of Golden Oaks, was an old man with gray-white hair, brown eyes, and wearing a white shirt with a green scarf and a brown vest, and matching pants writing his book.
His house was stocked full of books, a telescope and a globe, a small kitchen, a dining table, three bedrooms, and a big door.
“To Where, Therefore and Back Again: A Traveler’s Tale. By Bertram-Patrick Pendragon.” Bertram then stopped writing for a moment, and with a puff from his pipe, he began puzzling about what to write next. “Now where to begin? Ah, yes.” He then picked his quill and after one quick drop of black ink, he began writing, “‘Concerning Oneself with the World of the Unexpected: Differences between the good people and the mysterious creatures.’”
Bertram then continued writing his novel. “Hmm, let’s see…”
For starters, many people in our village have been living and farming in the four farthings of these hills for many hundreds of years, like how normal villagers help out in society through the lands. Quite content to mostly ignore and be ignored by the outside world of adventurous or magical folk. The world being, after all, full of many strange creatures beyond count, but for most folks however, they must seem of little importance being neither renowned as great warriors nor counted among the very wise.
Bertram then chuckled before suddenly, there was a knock on the door.
“Spike! Someone at the door.” Bertram hollered as he continued writing.
In fact, it has been remarked by some that mostly everyone have other important interests in life, such as a hobbit’s passion for food, but some have dreams of poetry, adventure, and other valuable skills or talented traits. But where our hearts truly lie is in peace and quiet and good, tilled earth. For all creatures and peoples of the mystical world share a love of things that grow, no matter what or how things attempt to change. And, yes, no doubt to others, our ways seem very quaint. But today of all days, it is brought home to me: It is no bad thing to celebrate a simple life.
There was suddenly another knock at the door, as Bertram grew impatient, “Spike, the door!” There was more knocking at the door again. “Sticklebacks. Where is that boy? Spike!”
Near an apple tree in a enclosed area, a young boy with green hair, green eyes and wearing a white shirt with grey sleeves, and a pair of dark bluish gray trousers, and brown shoes. His name was Spike Pendragon, Bertram’s nephew. He lived with his uncle ever since the day his parents died. But he was happy that his uncle took him in and gave him a proper place to live in. Today, he was laying by the tree reading a book, before he began to hear the sound of someone humming, and another sound of hooves and wagon wheels on the ground. Spike suddenly smiled as he knew what that sound was, so he got up and went to go check it out.
The one that was humming was a man with a light gray beard and long hair and dark violetish gray eyes wearing a few light gray robes underneath a light grayish blue cloak and a matching pointed hat decorated with yellow stars and moons, dark gray pants, and purplish blue shoes. He was riding his wagon full of fireworks and other objects while humming and singing a song as his horse pulled it. This old man was none other than the Grand Wizard, Star Swirl the Bearded.
Down from the door where it began
And I must follow if I can
The road goes ever on and on
Down from the door where it began
Now far ahead the road has gone
And I must follow if I can
Spike then stopped as he could see the old man riding by, and crossed his arms. “You’re late,” Spike said.
The old man looked towards Spike and spoke, “A wizard is never late, Spike Pendragon. Nor is he early. He arrives precisely when he means to.”
Spike and Star Swirl then stared at each other for a few seconds, before breaking into laughter of joy.
“It’s wonderful to see you, Star Swirl!” Spike then jumped towards Star Swirl for a hug, as the wizard hugged him back.
“You didn’t think I’d miss your Uncle Bertram’s birthday?“ he asked, before he chuckled.
Later on, as Spike joined Star Swirl’s ride to the village, they just sat down and talked.
“So, how is the old rascal? I hear it’s going to be a party of special magnificence.” Star Swirl asked.
“You know Uncle Bertram. He’s already got the whole place in an uproar,” Spike said.
Star Swirl then chuckled, “Well, that should please him.”
“You said it,” Spike said. “Besides that, half the entire town’s been invited. And the rest of them are turning up anyway.“
They both laughed as they saw a few ladies mowing the fields of wheat.
“And so life in Wildebrook goes on very as it has this past Age full of its own comings and goings, with change coming slowly. If it comes at all. For things are made to endure in the passing from one generation to the next. There’s always been any one of the family living here in the Golden Oaks Library.” Bertram paused momentarily looking up and muttered to himself. “And there always will be.”
“To tell you the truth, Uncle Bertram’s been a bit odd lately. I mean, more than usual,” Spike said, as Star Swirl listened intensively, his face looking concerned and full of thought. “He’s mostly taken to locking himself in his study. He like spends hours and hours pouring over old maps whenever he thinks I’m not looking.”
Bertram set the map down and sighed. He tensed all of the sudden and started to check his pockets looking for something. His breathing started to get shallow as he turned out empty pockets. His eyes then searched the room frantically.
“Where’s it gone?” Bertram asked himself.
He started to search everything in the room in a panic frenzy, picking things up to just through them down when he found out they are not holding what he was seeking. He started to get angrier and angrier when his hand brushed his vest pocket. He felt them and placed his hand in it and pulled something out. Sighing deeply, he opened his hand slightly and reveals that he was holding the Ring in his hand. He closed his eyes in relief, having a silent moment.
“He’s up to something,” Spike said, until he suspiciously turned his head to look at Star Swirl. “All right, then. Keep your secrets.”
“What?” Star Swirl asked.
“But I know you have something to do with it,” Spike said.
“Good gracious me,” Star Swirl said.
“Before you came along, we the family of Pendragon were very well thought of,” Spike said,
“Indeed,” Star Swirl replied.
“Never had any adventures or did anything unexpected,” Spike said.
“If you’re referring to the incident with the dragon in that smoking mountain, I believe you should know that I was barely involved. All I ever did was give your uncle a little nudge out of the door,” Star Swirl replied.
“Whatever it was you did, you’ve been officially labeled a disturber of the peace,” Spike said.
“Oh, really?” Star Swirl asked.
They drove past a cottage with a grumpy man working in the garden. He looked at Star Swirl, turning even more grumpier. Suddenly, a group of little children ran after the carriage as soon as they spotted it.
“Star Swirl! Star Swirl!” they exclaimed happily, giggling.
Some more children ran down the grassy hills towards the carriage.
“Fireworks, Star Swirl! Star Swirl! Fireworks, Star Swirl!”
They looked at him in disappointment as he drove along, pretending not to notice them.
“Awwwww…”
Suddenly, a blast of fireworks went off from the carriage. The children clapped their hands and cheer. The grumpy man man laughed, until a grumpy woman came out and gave him a disapproving look and he got the sour look on his face again. Star Swirl chuckled.
“Star Swirl? I’m really glad you’re back,” Spike said.
“So am I, dear boy!” the bearded wizard said, before he thoughtfully said to himself, “So am I.”
Spike jumped off the carriage and waved at Star Swirl.
He then drove up to the Golden Oaks Library and stopped in front of the gate which had a sign that says ‘No Admittance. Exception Party Business’. He walked up to the door and knocked it with his staff.
A voice is heard from inside, “No thank you! We don’t want any more visitors, well-wishers or distant relations!”
“And what about very old friends?” Star Swirl asked.
The door opened and Bertram stared at Star Swirl in disbelief. “Star Swirl?”
“Bertram-Patrick Pendragon!” the old wizard said.
“My dear Star Swirl!” Bertram said happily, as they gave each other a big hug.
“Good to see you, my old friend. Already 88 years old! Who would believe it?” Star Swirl said, as he took a closer look at Bertram. “You almost look like that you haven’t aged a day.”
Bertram ran inside, beckoning Star Swirl in and holding the door open for him, “Come on, come in! Welcome, welcome! Oh, here we are.”
He then closed the door behind Star Swirl and took his hat and staff.
“Tea? Or maybe something a little stronger? I’ve got a few bottles of the Old Winyard left. 1296. Very good year. Almost as old as I am! Hahaha! It was laid down by my father. What say we open one, eh?”
“Just tea, thank you,” Star Swirl said.
Bertram ran around the entire library, as Star Swirl walked into Bertram’s study. He looked at the papers on the desk, a map of The Lonely Mountain among them. Bertram then continued to talk to him about what there was to eat, “I was honestly expecting you sometime last week. Not that it matters. You come and go as you please. Always have done and always will. You caught me a bit unprepared, I’m afraid. We’ve got cold chicken and a bit of pickle… there’s some cheese here. Oh no, it won’t do. We’ve got raspberry jam, an apple tart… But not much for afters – Oh, no, we’re all right. I’ve just found some sponge cake.” He entered the study, looking for Star Swirl, who has already left. “I could make you some eggs if you’d like- Oh. Star Swirl?”
Star Swirl peered into the study from the kitchen behind Bertram.
“Just tea, thank you.”
“Oh, right. You don’t mind if I eat, do you?” Bertram asked, stuffing some food into his mouth.
Star Swirl then replied, sitting down at the table, “No, not at all.”
A sharp knock was then heard on the door and a woman’s voice is heard, as Bertram threw himself towards the wall, choking on his food, in a desperate attempt to hide.
“Bertram! Bertram Pendragon!”
Then he turned to Star Swirl, whispering, “I’m not at home!”
He tiptoed over to the window in the study, taking a peek at who is outside.
“Oh, confound it! It’s those pompous Sackville-Pendragon relatives!”
“I know you’re in there!”
“They’re after the house,” Bertram said, turning around and quietly entering the kitchen again, still whispering. “They’ve never forgiven me for living this long.” He went over to the little round window in the kitchen and looks out. “I’ve got to get away from these confounded relatives of mine hanging on the bell all day. They never give me a moment’s peace! I want to see mountains again. Mountains, Star Swirl! And then find somewhere to have peace and quiet and where I can finish my book. Oh, tea!”
Bertram took the tea off the fire with a towel, as he heard it whistling.
“So you mean to go through with your plan, then,” Star Swirl said.
“Yes, yes. It’s all in hand. All the arrangements are made,” Bertram said, as Star Swirl opened the lid on the pot. “Oh, thank you.”
“Your nephew, Spike suspects something of you,” Star Swirl said.
“Of course he does. He’s a Pendragon! Not some block-headed Beauregarde from Haven,” Bertram said.
“You will tell him, won’t you?” Star Swirl asked.
“Yes, yes,” Bertram replied.
“He’s very fond of you,” Star Swirl said.
Bertram sighed, “I know. He’d probably come with me if I asked him. I think in his heart, that boy’s still in love with the environment of our village. The woods, the fields. Little rivers. I am old, Star Swirl. I know I don’t look it that much, but I’m beginning to feel it in my heart.” He then started to finger the Ring in his pocket. Star Swirl noticed this but keeps silent. Bertram then sat down and joined Star Swirl at the table. “I feel thin. Sort of stretched like butter scraped over too much bread. I need a holiday. A very long holiday. And I don’t expect I shall return. In fact, I mean not to.”