CHAPTER 125: CHAPTER 125: THE TESTIMONY OF THE PILLOW.

Zazu’s question lingered in the chamber, soft but defiant, like steam curling upward against the cold weight of stone.

"Would you care for a cup?"

The Adjudicator of Law, Valerius, looked at the offered tea as though Zazu had placed a vial of molten poison beneath his nose. His eye twitched violently, his mouth pressed into a bloodless line of pure, law-bound fury. The Adjudicator of Procedure, Scribonia, was already moving, her quill scratching one last, decisive line beneath the heading ’Proposed Amendment 77-C’. And the Adjudicator of Heart, Lyra, simply watched Zazu with her sad, unfathomable eyes. For the barest heartbeat, something flickered there—something that might have been pity, or perhaps respect—but it passed too quickly to name.

It was Scribonia who finally shattered the silence. With a flick of her finger, the teacup vanished from before Valerius as neatly as if it had never existed. The rejection was clear, final, and bureaucratically merciless.

"The testimony of the elf," she said, her voice flat as cold iron, "has been... noted. Filed under miscellaneous hospitality ethics." Her gaze shifted past Zazu, to the last remaining member of the group. "There is one witness left."

Her words fell like a summons, and as every eye in the chamber turned, But Sir Crumplebuns did not shrink as Pip had, nor did he stand with Gilda’s weary stoicism. No—he swelled, his button chest straining against his plush frame, his Spoonblade catching the sterile light. In his mind, this was not a trial, this was a stage for him. Like at long last, destiny itself was calling his name for his duty.

Answering the call, he hopped down from Gilda’s pack, landing on the polished stone floor with a soft, dignified flump. He drew his Spoonblade and held it in a perfect, two-handed salute.

"FEAR NOT, MY LORDS AND LADY!" he announced, his voice had a loud, booming whisper that carried to every corner of the quiet chamber. "FOR I SHALL NOW DELIVER THE TESTIMONY OF TRUTH! THE TESTIMONY OF JUSTICE! THE TESTIMONY... OF COMFORT!"

FaeLina put her tiny face in her tiny hands. ’Pillows, you adorable little fool’, she thought desperately. ’Just talk about the pillows!’

Oblivious to her silent, frantic plea, Sir Crumplebuns marched to the center of the room, his plush feet making soft, shuffling sounds. He came to a halt, planted his feet, and took a deep, heroic breath.

"I HAVE BEEN INSTRUCTED," he began, his voice ringing with the sincerity of a thousand epic poems, "TO SPEAK ON A SUBJECT OF GREAT IMPORTANCE. A SUBJECT OFTEN OVERLOOKED IN THE GRAND TAPESTRY OF HEROISM, BUT ONE THAT IS, I ASSURE YOU, THE VERY BEDROCK OF A NOBLE SOUL!"

He paused, letting the weight of his words settle over the baffled Adjudicators before declaring, his voice full of pride, "I SPEAK, OF COURSE, OF THE PILLOW!"

The words echoed in the stunned silence of the chamber. Pip’s jaw went slack. He leaned towards Zazu. "He’s really doing it," he whispered, a note of pure, dumbfounded awe in his voice. "He’s actually going to give a serious speech about pillows."

Zazu, however, had a faint, appreciative smile on his lips. "It is a surprisingly robust philosophical argument," he murmured back.

His quiet approval seemed to fuel Sir Crumplebuns, who continued his speech with rising passion. "FOR A PILLOW IS NOT MERE FLUFF! IT IS THE BASTION OF DREAMS! THE FORTRESS AGAINST NIGHTMARES! A HERO CANNOT BE A HERO WITHOUT A PROPER EIGHT HOURS OF REST, WHICH," he declared, pointing his Spoonblade directly at the Adjudicator of Law, "IS IMPOSSIBLE WITHOUT ADEQUATE NECK SUPPORT!"

The declaration seemed to completely break the Adjudicators’ composure. Valerius’s eye began to twitch again, this time with a new, deeply confused rhythm. Scribonia’s quill of white light hovered over her clipboard, trembling, as she struggled to find a single bylaw that pertained to ’adequate neck support.’ Finally, with a small noise of frustration, she gave up, and the quill vanished.

Sir Crumplebuns, completely undeterred by their baffled silence, took it as a sign of encouragement. He launched into the most passionate, heroic, and completely unhelpful speech the Fairy Realm had ever witnessed. He spoke of the moral superiority of goose-down filling over enchanted cotton, delivered a stirring monologue on the tactical importance of a well-placed lumbar pillow during long stakeouts, and even gave a tearful, heartfelt tribute to the forgotten art of pillow-fluffing, a skill he declared to be as noble and necessary as swordsmanship.

As he spoke, Gilda listened, her expression completely unreadable. Privately, she made a mental note to check the stuffing in her own bedroll when they got back. The little knight, against all odds, had a point.

FaeLina, meanwhile, was having a very different reaction. ’I told him to talk about pillows’, she thought, her mind a swirling vortex of horror and pride. ’I didn’t tell him to start a pillow-based religion’.

Their internal commentary was drowned out as Sir Crumplebuns’s voice boomed, now pacing back and forth with passion. "SOME SAY A HERO IS MADE OF COURAGE! SOME SAY A HERO IS MADE OF STRENGTH! I SAY A HERO IS MADE OF A GOOD, FIRM MATTRESS AND A DEEP, UNINTERRUPTED NAP! FOR HOW CAN ONE FACE A DRAGON IF ONE IS SUFFERING FROM A CRICK IN THE NECK?!"

He spun to face the Adjudicator of Heart, his button eyes shining with pure, earnest sincerity. "I ASK YOU, MY LADY! IS IT JUSTICE TO ASK A KNIGHT TO DEFEND A KINGDOM ON A LUMPY MATTRESS?! IS IT?!"

Lyra, the Adjudicator of Heart, did not answer. But for the first time, a genuine, undeniable smile touched her lips. It was a small, sad, and beautiful thing, like a winter flower blooming in the snow.

Sir Crumplebuns saw it. Taking this as a clear sign of victory, he brought his speech to a heroic conclusion. He raised his Spoonblade high. "THEREFORE, MY TESTIMONY IS THIS!" he declared. "A COMFORTABLE REALM IS A JUST REALM! AND A JUST REALM IS A COMFORTABLE REALM! AND THAT IS THE TRUTH OF A HERO’S COMFORT!"

He finished with a deep, dramatic bow, leaving the chamber in a silence even more profound and baffled than the one that had followed Gilda’s testimony. The three Adjudicators could only look at each other, completely speechless.

It was Valerius who finally found his voice, which was strained with an almost heroic level of self-control. "The testimonies are complete," he said, the words sounding like they were causing him physical pain. "We were here to rule on an unauthorized signature and the use of unsanctioned ink." he continued, his voice rising with every word, "Instead, we have received a lecture on axe maintenance, a safety report on our own chairs, a tea ceremony, and... a sermon on the strategic importance of pillows! This is a court of law, not a tavern show!"

He pointed a trembling finger at the group. "The charge remains. I find the defendants guilty of—"

"However," Lyra said, her voice quiet but clear, cutting through his anger. "The sincerity of the witnesses is not in question."

"Sincerity is not a recognized legal defense!" Valerius snapped.

"Perhaps it should be," Lyra replied softly.

As Valerius and Lyra locked gazes, it was Scribonia, the Adjudicator of Procedure, who delivered the final judgment. She looked up from her now-useless clipboard, her expression as flat as ever, and announced her ruling in a single, continuous, and final declaration.

"The data is insufficient for a final ruling. The core of the issue—the nature of the unsanctioned magical entity known as ’The Comfy Corner’—remains unaddressed. The testimonies provided, while sincere, are not pertinent to the original charge. A preliminary hearing is insufficient. A full audit is required."

She then looked down at FaeLina. "You and your associates are hereby ordered to prepare a complete, seven-hundred-part report on the emotional, procedural, and philosophical purpose of your dungeon. It will be due in one business cycle."

The words landed, and FaeLina’s heart sank. One week. It was impossible. "But... my lady," she stammered, her voice a tiny, desperate plea, "my resources, my archives... they are all back at the dungeon. I cannot possibly complete such a report here."

Scribonia’s expression did not change. "An excellent point of procedure," she stated, her tone as flat as if FaeLina had just correctly cited an obscure bylaw. "To facilitate the completion of this report, you are granted a temporary, seven-day visa to the Capital, with provisional access to the Great Library of Procedure and its archives. The Bureau will then schedule a formal, on-site inspection upon receipt of the completed document."

Before FaeLina could even process the new terms, with a sound like a thousand books snapping shut, the three Adjudicators vanished, leaving the team alone in the vast, silent chamber.

FaeLina just hovered, her wings limp. They had survived. They hadn’t been banished. But now they were official, temporary residents of the most infuriatingly perfect city in the universe, with a seven-hundred-part homework assignment hanging over their heads.

___________

Author’s Note:

And the testimonies are complete! I don’t know about you, but my favorite was Sir Crumplebuns’s sermon on the heroic virtue of a good night’s sleep. It was the most absurd and heartfelt testimony imaginable, and it actually made the Adjudicator of Heart smile!

But what is the Bureau’s response to four sessions of pure, sincere, and completely irrelevant nonsense? Naturally, it’s to demand even more paperwork. FaeLina’s reward for her brilliant "stall" tactic is a seven-hundred-part homework assignment. It’s a perfect bureaucratic victory, which is to say, it feels an awful lot like a defeat.

So, the team is now temporarily "free" to explore the most infuriatingly perfect city in the universe... as long as they can figure out how to write a report on the ’philosophical purpose’ of a nap. What could possibly go wrong?

Thanks for reading!