And just as she thought, he was already summoning a delicate, steaming pot of tea and a set of ornate cups out of thin air, a small, smug smile playing on his lips.
"Shall we?" he asked, his smile widening, as he strolled, bold as brass, into her private abode, the heart of Brokilon.
She followed him in, with a sigh of weary resignation, only because she knew, from past experience, that indulging him for a short while would be the quickest, and least destructive, way to eventually get him to leave.
Hopefully, he wasn't in one of his foul, unpredictable moods like the last time he'd visited. Something to do with having to save some unfortunate elven woman from a particularly nasty group of humans, if she remembered correctly.
She sat cross-legged on the mossy floor opposite him as he began to pour the tea. The tea, she had to admit, begrudgingly, was actually always very tasty, fragrant and uniquely calming. It was, perhaps, the only genuinely good thing about his unwelcome visits.
"Why have you decided, once again, to disturb the sacred peace of my forest, dh'oine?" she asked, trying to get straight to the point, hoping to expedite his departure.
"Oh, you know," Harry said airily, handing her a steaming cup. "I haven't seen you for a little while, and I just thought I would pop in, say hello. How's everything been? Kill any interesting trespassers lately?" he asked, his tone far too casual for such a question.
She took the cup and took a nice, long sip of the pleasant, aromatic beverage. "Interesting? No," she responded, her voice as cool as the forest stream. "Troublesome? Yes."
Harry nodded in understanding, taking a sip from his own cup. "What, did you end up killing some important noble or something like that?" he asked, his curiosity piqued.
"I do not know if they were noble," Eithné replied, her silver eyes clouding over with a hint of concern. "I do know that the humans of Verden keep trying to send armed men into Brokilon, to find and kill my people. Their incursions have become more frequent, more aggressive, recently."
Harry looked at her, his cheerful demeanor fading slightly. "That doesn't sound good at all," he said, his voice taking on a more serious tone.
"Want me to pop over there after this, pay them a little visit, and… 'give them the business,' as they say?" he asked her, his meaning clear despite the colloquialism.
Eithné just paused for a second, her brow furrowing slightly as she tried to puzzle out the exact meaning of his rather crude human expression.
"I do not require your assistance, dh'oine, if that is what you are asking," she finally responded, a hint of her usual proud, offended tone creeping into her voice.
"Ah, yes. Of course," Harry said, a look of realization dawning on his face. "You don't like outside help. My apologies. Forgive me, I still sometimes forget how… particular you can be about these things. I meant no offense, truly." He bowed his head slightly in a gesture of apology.
Eithné just frowned at the motion. She still had no idea how this man could, one moment, have the sheer audacity to treat her, the ancient Queen of Brokilon, like she was just some old, slightly crotchety friend, and then the very next moment, display such impeccable, almost courtly manners and courtesies.
It was just another confusing, contradictory thing about the powerful, infuriating mage that she suspected she might never truly figure out.
"If you truly seek my forgiveness, dh'oine," she commented, her voice dry, "you would have the common decency to leave my forest, and never return."
He immediately dropped his polite, apologetic manners and went right back to his normal, insufferable form, his cheerful, teasing smile reappearing as if it had never left.
"Ahh, Eithné, Eithné," he said, clicking his tongue disapprovingly. "You're breaking my poor heart, you know. I take precious time out of my very busy day to come all this way, just to talk with you over some absolutely delicious tea, and this is how you treat me? I'm hurt. Truly, I am." He clutched his chest dramatically, his green eyes sparkling with amusement.
This time, Eithné did glare at him, a full, undiluted glare that would have made lesser men tremble. "If I could," she said, her voice dangerously low, "I would have filled you with arrows and cut off your impudent head as a gruesome message to other would-be trespassers, years and years ago. It is only due to the unfortunate, and rather frustrating, fact that I physically cannot seem to pull off such a feat against you that I have not already done so."
"That's true," Harry commented lightly, completely unfazed by her threat. "You never really were a particularly hospitable host, were you? Unless, of course, you saw some potential use in your guest. How devious of you, Lady Eithné."
"Then why do you continue to return, dh'oine," Eithné asked, her voice finally betraying a hint of genuine anger, her usually serene composure starting to crack, "if you know how much your very presence bothers me, how much it disrupts my peace?"
"Tsk, tsk, tsk, Lady Eithné," Harry said, wagging a finger at her playfully. "Patience, patience. All in good time, as they say. You see, almost all the things I have done, every seemingly random visit, every cup of tea, since the day I first stumbled into your lovely forest… they have all been for one singular, very important reason."
"And what reason is that, dh'oine?" she asked, her voice almost a rhetorical sigh, though a flicker of undeniable curiosity now warred with the annoyance in her silver eyes.