Preparations for a Royal Pain

The decision to go to the capital sent a ripple of anxiety through Ren's peaceful ecosystem. The villagers of Oakhaven, upon hearing the news from a grim-faced Borin, were terrified. To them, the capital was a distant, dangerous place of scheming nobles and political intrigue. They feared their benevolent patron would be swallowed up by it.

"He must not go alone!" Elara declared at an impromptu village meeting. "They will try to trick him or trap him! He is too good for that place!"

A small delegation of villagers, led by Borin, marched up to the farm that evening. "Ren," Borin said, his face etched with worry. "We will go with you. A few of us. We can stand guard, watch your back. We may be simple folk, but we are loyal."

Ren was deeply touched by the offer, but he shook his head. "Thank you, Borin, but no. The capital is no place for you. And besides," he said, nodding towards Lyra, who was observing from the porch, "I have the best guard in the world right here. You are all needed here to look after the village... and to water my plants while I'm gone."

He gave them a detailed, hand-drawn chart he'd made in his journal, explaining the watering schedule for each type of plant. Entrusting them with this task was a greater show of faith than any words, and it made the villagers feel both proud and essential. They reluctantly agreed, vowing to protect his farm as if it were the most sacred temple.

The next problem was transportation. The journey to the capital was a week on horseback. Ren had never ridden a horse.

"The Crown has sent a royal carriage for you," Ser Kaelen explained, gesturing to the main path where a large, opulent but sturdy carriage, drawn by four powerful white horses, now waited. "It will be more comfortable."

Ren looked at the carriage. It was very fancy, with plush velvet seats and gilded trim. It looked... stuffy.

"Can we just walk?" Ren asked hopefully.

"Ren," Kaelen said, pinching the bridge of his nose. "It is a seven-day journey."

"Oh."

The final and most dreadful preparation was clothing. Ser Kaelen, anticipating this, had brought a chest from the carriage. Inside was a set of clothes deemed 'suitable' for a meeting with royalty: a fine silk tunic of deep forest green, well-tailored black trousers, and soft leather boots.

Ren looked at the outfit with deep suspicion. "It looks... itchy."

"It is the pinnacle of comfort and style," Kaelen assured him, though he knew it was a lost cause. "It is a sign of respect to the King."

"Can't I just show respect by not tracking mud on his floors?" Ren grumbled. He reluctantly agreed to wear the 'fancy' clothes, but only when they actually arrived at the castle. For the journey, he was sticking to his comfortable farmer's attire.

Before they left, Ren was a whirlwind of activity. He harvested a small, perfect 'King's Melon,' which he packed carefully in moss and straw. He ground a sack of his 'Sunstone' wheat into glittering flour. He filled a basket with his best 'Sun's Fury' tomatoes and 'Energized Blue-Leaf' carrots. He was not going to a diplomatic meeting; he was going to a potluck, and he was determined to bring the best dishes.

"What are you doing?" Lyra asked as she watched him kneading a large batch of dough, the 'Sunstone' flour making it sparkle under his hands.

"I'm preparing," Ren said seriously. "If I have to talk to a king, I want to do it on a full stomach. And bringing a gift of fresh bread is just good manners."

Lyra simply shook her head, a fond smile on her face. His priorities were so fundamentally different from everyone else's that it was almost a superpower in itself.

The morning of their departure arrived. Ren, Lyra, and Ser Kaelen stood ready to board the carriage. The entire village of Oakhaven had turned out to see them off, their faces a mixture of pride and worry. Lily gave Ren a small, clumsily-carved wooden bird for good luck. Old Man Hemlock, now a full-blown convert, pressed a pouch of "purified calming herbs" into his hand.

Ren, laden with his basket of produce and a sack of freshly baked, still-warm, glittering bread, looked more like a baker on a delivery run than a dignitary on his way to a royal summit.

"Are we ready?" Kaelen asked, eager to get this unprecedented diplomatic mission underway.

"Almost," Ren said. He looked at his farm, his domain. He felt its vibrant life energy, and the quiet, steady flow of faith from the villagers. He was going to be gone for weeks. He needed to ensure his 'immune system' was still active.

He knelt down one last time and placed his palm on the ground. He didn't create a wall this time. He imbued the land with a simple, standing instruction. Protect. Nurture. Let friends pass, but deter those with ill intent. And don't let the carrots wilt.

A gentle, invisible pulse of energy radiated outwards, settling over the entire farm and the village like a warm, protective blanket. The villagers felt a sudden sense of peace and security wash over them. The plants seemed to stand a little straighter, their colors a little brighter.

"Okay," Ren said, satisfied. "Now I'm ready."

He climbed into the opulent carriage, followed by Lyra and Ser Kaelen. With a crack of the driver's whip, the carriage lurched forward, beginning its long journey to the heart of the kingdom.

As they rode, Ser Kaelen attempted to brief Ren on royal etiquette. "When you meet the king, you must bow. Address him as 'Your Majesty.' Do not speak unless spoken to..."

Ren wasn't listening. He had just broken off a piece of his warm, sparkly bread and was holding it out. "Kaelen, you have to try this. The crust is perfect."

The knight sighed, accepting the bread. He took a bite. The taste was heavenly, and a wave of calm, happy energy washed over him, melting away his stress about the upcoming political ordeal. He looked at Ren, who was happily munching on his own piece, and then at Lyra, who was stoically staring out the window but subtly enjoying a piece of her own.

Kaelen realized with dawning certainty that he was not escorting a diplomat to a summit. He was escorting a force of nature on a field trip. And his primary job was not to advise, but to simply manage the inevitable, wonderful, terrifying chaos that would follow. The capital was in for a rude, and likely delicious, awakening.