Within the Court of the Lord of Spring, his Regal Verdance, Rúnlauf the Wise, the gloaming tide of evening presided. The light of stars loomed overhead within the open-aired court, their twinkling imitated by the many fireflies that had emerged for their nocturnal courtship. The zephyr of spring pushed gently between the leaves of trees and the petals of blossoms, whispering soft sonnets and carrying pleasant fragrances. The faerie rings of the wide and expansive court were full of revelers, be they pixies and sprites laughing and gossiping, or gnomes and halflings drinking and sharing merry songs. Spriggans and boggarts tossed and tumbled in the brush as mighty giants and treefolk peered on from the perimeter.
The King himself, the Eldest Ent, dozed lightly. At his age, he was not wont to stay awake into the late hours. As such, he slept lightly on the merriment of his court, on occasion awakening to see that all was still well. The more serious matters of court, over which the elves, dwarves and other imperious fae held proceedings, had concluded by the time that the sun had set. Rúnlauf paid more attention to these discussions, but did not look as deeply into them as his courtly peerage. Rúnlauf's concerns were wider spread and farther afield than the petty complaints and conflicts that his lordling children fussed over. In truth, Rúnlauf vastly preferred the evening revelries over the courts of the sunlight hours. These times reminded him of the great yesteryears, when the Ent cared for little else than to tend the trees and mind the forests, making merry amongst themselves after the sun had set, and falling asleep amongst their ancestors, gone to root. Rúnlauf had not tended a forest in more years than he cared to count, and so the luxury of that nostalgia was beyond him, but even a king could enjoy the festivities following a day of work in the fields and forests.
Even so, business called at all hours. A elf of noble visage, gilt in the dews of early morn, strode gallantly through the court on cloven feet. She stopped at the foot of Rúnlauf's great throne, her form nearly lost among the tangle of the Ent's colossal roots. "Your Grace," she called, kneeling before him, "I have detained an impostor within our court. She shall be brought forth for judgement immediately."
Rúnlauf's eyebrow creaked at the sudden announcement, and he focused his attention to the small girl that came forth following it. Unbound by chains, she was bound by the strange and mysterious magics of the elves, which were more than sufficient to cage such a small bird. Dressed in the colorful robes of the orient, this creature was in human form for the time being, appearing as no more than a petite girl-child, dancing about on bare feet as her long, black hair swung in a silken braid.
Rúnlauf pondered his words before he spoke them, as always. Speaking was not natural to him, as his native tongue was that of profound silence. His time was when that which was had been known by its essence, not by its dubious name. "Proclaim thyself." He rumbled to the "impostor."
"In this life I am Tsukihi, child of the moon," sang the child, "I am Hi no Tori, bird of flame."
"Lies," proclaimed her elven captor, "State your true nature."
"Shide no Tori, bird of death," she corrected herself, still seemingly oblivious to the disdain of the elf, "Pardon, I bit my tongue."
"That was purposeful." Retorted the elf.
The bird of fiery death bit down on her tongue, and spat a wad of blood in the direction of the elf. "I bit my tongue." She asserted.
"Why?" Rúnlauf asked, his words like monoliths.
The elf chose to answer before her captive could. "This creature masquerades as one of the noble phoenixes of our court. It is no such thing; merely a cuckoo in our midst."
"Had I not been fooled into telling you," the alleged cuckoo still sang, though her tone sharpened with annoyance, "You would have been none the wiser."
"She called herself 'Sidhe,'" a pixie whispered to her sister, as they among the many other revellers now watched the spectacle with amusement, "Is she our cousin?"
"An indiscernible fake," sneered the elf, "Is a fake none the less."
"O-Kagachi," the bird now appealed to the King, rather than trying to debate the elf, "Is not an indiscernible fake of greater value than that which is real? My effort in being indiscernible has made me more real than that which I imitate. Do you not agree?"
"Your Grace, listen not to this foul deceiver's tainted logic!" The elf snapped at this.
Even so, Rúnlauf listened, and Rúnlauf understood. The old Ent smiled, and laughed his groaning, wooden laugh. "Well said." He spoke. "This one has a place among our court. Bother her no further." With his proclamation, a single leaf flew from his branches. A rune of dispelling was inscribed upon it, and so the lettered leaf flew on an unnatural wind about the fettered bird, and freed her of her mystic bindings.
The cuckoo phoenix bowed to the King of Trees, before vanishing in a swirl of flame. The elf huffed, dismayed, but also bowed to her lord and trotted from the court to whence she came. And without another beat of a darner's wings, the festivities resumed, as though they had never been interrupted.