Some time later….
"Mary, I'm going off to the market with the children," Nan spoke, wrapping a babushka around her head as she took a woven basket from the kitchen table. "We should be back by the evening. If I haven't returned by then, there's bread and jam for you to eat. Don't eat all of it. The children need it in the morning. And don't touch anything else." Nan waved her hands, urging the children to come close to her, "Where are your cloaks?"
Charlotte smacked Brody, "You didn't get them!"
"Since when was I supposed to?!" Brody fussed before he turned around and ran up the stairs, his feet thudding loudly on each step as he went.
"You're slow!" Charlotte fussed, taking off up the stairs after her twin brother. The sound of the children squabbling filled the small tree-like house. Nan let out a deep, exhausted sigh, though Mary could only laugh.
"Are they always like this?" Mary asked.
"They have been misbehaving more as of late…" Nan muttered, "I am sure they can't help it. Even though it hurts my old bones, I want to do my best for them." Nan, still hunched over as always, put her basket back on the kitchen table. She hobbled over to china cabinet, filled with various colorful plates of all sorts of patterns and designs from all over the different surrounding regions. Then, she opened up a drawer, retrieving a small box.
"What's that?" Mary asked curiously.
"Tristan will be in a snit if his cloak isn't mended, dearie," Nan responded, bringing the box over to Mary. She placed it on a small table that was next to the sofa. Inside the box, there was convinetly several needles and threads of just about every color Mary could have imagined. Nan pulled out a black one and threaded one of the needles, handing it to Mary. "Do you know how to mend?"
"I'll find out rather soon," Mary laughed uneasily, "But don't worry! I'll figure it out. Will he…be angry if it isn't perfect?"
"Tristan might seem demanding on the outside, but really, he's just trying to protect us all," Nan responded, avoiding Mary's question, "He knew I would be out this afternoon, so he asked you to help out with this as well, as a means of lessening my load."
Mary nodded, "But if it isn't perfect?"
Nan huffed and turned away, just as Charlotte and Brody came barreling down the stairs with their cloaks on. Charlotte had pulled the hood of her black cloak over her head, while Brody wore his brown one normally.
"Well, we will see you later, Miss Mary," Nan said, nodding her head stiffly as she headed out the door with the two children.
~~~
Mary, in fact, was rather good at mending clothing. Even without her actual memories, it seemed that her muscle memory remained, and she was able to stitch up Tristan's cloak seamlessly in no time at all. Feeling rather accomplished, Mary rose to her feet, holding up the cloak, examining it for any other tears or places that could at least use some sort of reinforcement with thread. Alas, there were no more places. Mary was almost disappointed, especially with how quickly she was able to get things done. She had time on her hands. Too much time.
"Mary," a voice sounded suddenly, frightening Mary so much that she stumbled back down onto the sofa, the cloak falling on her lap as if she were still working on it. It was Tristan. He exited the room he had locked himself in. For once, his hair wasn't wet. Though, this was Mary's third time seeing him. Perhaps the wet hair was uncommon. She didn't know.
"Oh- uhm…" Mary's heart began to beat faster, realizing she was all alone in this strange tree house with a man she did not know at all. "I-I finished mending your cloak, sir!" She stumbled back to her feet, holding it up to show him.
With a sort of gracefulness, Tristan approached Mary. His expression twisted. He yanked the cloak from Mary's hands, scrutinizing every inch of the fabric. He ran his fingers over where the initial tear had been, and let out a satisfied sort of grunt. Or sigh. Whatever one wanted to call it. From what it seemed, in the very least, Mary had produced some sort level of satisfaction for the mysterious man.
"Well then…" Tristan muttered, narrowing his eyes. He threw the cloak onto the floor, taking a seat next to Mary on the sofa. He turned his head, making direct eye contact with Mary. His eyes seemed to relax a bit, shifting from scrutinizing to now understanding. His hands were on his knees as he continued to stare. Mary felt a faint blush rise to her cheeks, averting her eyes to break the contact.
"Wh-What are you-"
Tristan gently brushed Mary's cheek, just enough to get her to turn back towards him, though he recoiled his hand, returning it to his knee. "Don't look away."
Mary nodded her head, though her cheeks were still flushed. She didn't quite understand why she felt so embarrassed, but she found herself almost entranced by Tristan's deep, dark blue eyes. It was hard to continue to stare. It felt wrong.
"This isn't working," Tristan muttered bitterly, rising to his feet.
"What isn't working?" Mary asked, still confused, though she let out it a sigh of relief, feeling her heart rate gradually settling back to normal.
"It doesn't matter," he huffed, then grabbed Mary by the wrist, yanking her, though not too hard, to her feet, "Come with me."
And like a lamb to the slaughter, Mary followed as Tristan led her towards the room he loved to coop himself up in. Once through the doors, Mary found herself in what felt like an entirely new world. Amidst twisting tree trunks and branches all around, there were books- glowing books on every wall, climbing up at least four stories high. Between each shelf, there was a stained glass window, depicting either image of a tree, a sun, or a book. There was a large, wooden desk in the middle of the room, tendrils of ivy curling around the legs of both the desk and two desk chairs. Then, in a shadowed corner, there was a small bed shoved up against the wall. It was neatly made, and it appeared to never be used, or at least, not often. Though the desk, in comparison, was a nightmare (or a dream come true, depending on one's perspective…) to behold, with volumes of books stacked up on it, and pages upon pages of documents and other writings strewn about, some even on the floor around it.
"What…is this place…" Mary's mouth hung open in away.
"This, Mary, is the library. The Library of Tristan," the man responded. Briefly, a small smile curled at the corners of his mouth, then quickly faded away. "Sit down." He pointed at one of the chairs at the desk. "There is much for us to discuss."