And I'm back... Light and Dark update
Aug. 24th, 2003 11:55 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparkindarknessThere are a thousand things I should be doing, so why have I spent half the day in front of the computer typing? At very least I shoudl try and stick with Rick and Darren rather than letting interlopers take over.
Anyway, an update, and I WILL give Rick and Darren some undivided attention soon, once they stop dithering.
“So,” his voice is a quiet hiss that cuts through the sibilant breezes, “that farce is over and we’re stuck with each other. So, I ask myself, who are you, Sitharensor?”
I blink dumbly for several seconds, my shield of empty ritual falls with a nearly palpable crash.
“I beg your pardon?” He rolls his eyes mockingly, his grin widening.
“’I beg your pardon?’ Ah, at least he remembers his training. Is that who you are Sitharensor? A pretty Seelie doll, constipating himself with the illusion of nobility and so determined to do what’s proper you never pause to think whether it’s right? Another slave to tradition and form, after all, it’s appearances that matter right? Gods help us if we should ever have to look at actual meaning!” His voice is thick with scorn and bitterness. His anger emanates from him in waves, almost terrifying to look at. I bite back on sudden, unseemly rage and meet his eyes with an expressionless face.
“I think you misunderstand us, but I would be happy to correct you, Ilatheril.”
“HAH! You would be happy to spout the same party line your people have been crying for the past thousand years, the same lies, the same pretty words you’ve used to justify your outmoded systems and draconian actions for generations. I suppose it stops you ever having to think, something you haven’t done for an age or so, right?” How could he make such a spectacle of himself?
“Again, your judgement is harsh and inaccurate. Fear not, I am more than willing to correct these holes in your education. We are revolutionary when we need to be, as I think our own marriage is good evidence.”
He spat viciously, “oh, you are too kind. Is that a trace of emotion I detect there, my Seelie Ice Prince? Oh! How unseemly!” He snorted in pure disgust. “Is this as hot as you get Sithy? Is this your passion? Gah, some faerie! I tell you this for free, relic, I’m not staying wed to some cold statue who is incapable of a thought without consulting 3 books of history and tradition!”
He threw up his hands dramatically and made to stalk out of the vault.
“You will remain wed to me, because your lord father has ordered it, and you have sworn to it, as have I. Cease these childish theatrics, or do you truly intend to brand yourself and your House oath breakers?” He turned, his face dark with fury.
“No, I thought not. Perhaps you could stop riling against the destiny unsympathetic fate has landed on you, and actually make a mature effort not to make the situation worse than it already is.”
“Seelie,” he spat the word, “Seelie with weapons of words and armour of contempt. Oh yes, I think I know who you are Sitharensor.”
He leapt, crossing half the room in one bound, magick burning through his muscles, the power that made sidhe far stronger than they looked. He crashed into me as I was still gaping in shock. I landed heavily over the stone sarcophagus of my grandfather, felled by an Unseelie Giant while he battled a Redcap battalion. Shock paralyses my limbs as his fist balls in my clothes and he jerks me into the air again. My vision blurs as he slams me against the marble tomb of Tetheril. I can’t gain my balance as he repeatedly smashes me against the bust of kneeling Trolls that artfully decorated the ancient monument.
Again he slams my head against the tomb, and I hear the marble crack. He throws me against a life size statue of a satyr, and ancient bard of a noble force. He spits words of power and anger, and his magick smashes into me, forcing me through the statue that shatters to dust by the force of the blow. I lie in the ruins, unable to disentangle myself before a dark blur reaches me, and the shadows themselves detach themselves from the wall to imprison me in onyx bindings. The pressure is too great to breath, I can feel my ribs give under the strain. I stand helpless to stop the brutal blur of his hands and feet in a crippling assault.
“Pathetic.” Again, I am airborne. Again I land heavily on an ancestral tomb. I am surrounded by the holy light at the heart of the crypt, laid groggily on the carving of the very first of our line. Power dances in the air as the Unseelie’s darkness stretches towards me, half seen shadows of animate malevolence caper in the corners. Fire licks the ground sending more flickering shadows dancing near the roof, and the earth itself trembles slightly as he approaches, bathed in magick.
My eyes snap open, I take a deep, futile breath to try and hold down the deep welling of rage within me. I cannot. I will not! It fountains to the surface in a scalding wave that bathes my skin in soft white light. My power rises in answer to his, my wounds closing in the sweet rush of pure light.
I stand on the pedestal of my dead and stare down with aeons of contempt for the interloper in this most sacred of places. With a flick of my fingers and a surge of power ribbons of light sear outwards and slice the darkness. The capering shadows are driven back by angelic figures of shining power. The fires dim, the earth stills. Ilatheril stops in mid step, eyes wide and uncertain, his power damped, hammered into submission by my own.
He hisses, his face feral and primal, a look I never expected to see on a noble sidhe. He leapt, trying to slip his skin and form mid-leap. He failed, I refused him the power to shift, held back his birthright of magick, it was terrifyingly easy.
He landed awkwardly inches from me, only preternatural reflexes stopped him breaking his neck when he failed to shift. He started to rise. I stepped forwards and placed one heavy foot on his back, forcing him down, not with strength, but power, pure magick. He flared in short lived defiance, before being forced to submit. Pathetically easy.
“That was inexcusable.” His eyes flicked up at the steel in my voice, undisguised fear held his face, but he was a sidhe. He was proud.
“So, looks like you do have fire, Ice Prince, even if it is well buried. Why, what will your family say, loosing your temper like that?” He was trying to mock, but the tremor in his words gave the lie to his words.
“I have not lost my temper, if I had, you would be in no condition to mock me. Besides, unlike your kind, I have will enough to ride my anger, not be ridden by it.” I jerked him to his feet, using magick alone, even though the strain of so much power was beginning to make my head ache and eyes blur. “Your childish temper tantrum was bad enough, but another time I may have forgiven it. But not here, not in the halls of my ancestors. You have defiled this holy place with your silly games.” He flinched and tried to avoid my eyes. But I was unyielding, the power wouldn’t let him move his head. He started to shake.
“You will make amends for this.” My voice had the power of command and prophecy, words that could not be disobeyed. He dropped to the floor, as I forced him down again, off the central tomb. Still shaking, eyes still wide, he knelt before that holy light to stammer words of atonement in the ancient tongue. His accent was strange, his words garbled. Was fear controlling him so much that he couldn’t remember this so important rite? But he was sidhe! And an Unseelie! He has surely faced viler things than I.
He rose, jerkily, watching me warily without meeting my unwavering gaze. Slowly he stepped back, edging slowly out of the room, whole body tense. Tensing to run, or against a blow he is sure will fall? Or to send some dark Unseelie power against me?
“Why?” He froze. Eyes flickering to mine, briefly.
“Why?”
He took a deep breath, pretending to examine a sarcophagus to his left.
“Because... Because I was - am afraid.”
Anyway, an update, and I WILL give Rick and Darren some undivided attention soon, once they stop dithering.
“So,” his voice is a quiet hiss that cuts through the sibilant breezes, “that farce is over and we’re stuck with each other. So, I ask myself, who are you, Sitharensor?”
I blink dumbly for several seconds, my shield of empty ritual falls with a nearly palpable crash.
“I beg your pardon?” He rolls his eyes mockingly, his grin widening.
“’I beg your pardon?’ Ah, at least he remembers his training. Is that who you are Sitharensor? A pretty Seelie doll, constipating himself with the illusion of nobility and so determined to do what’s proper you never pause to think whether it’s right? Another slave to tradition and form, after all, it’s appearances that matter right? Gods help us if we should ever have to look at actual meaning!” His voice is thick with scorn and bitterness. His anger emanates from him in waves, almost terrifying to look at. I bite back on sudden, unseemly rage and meet his eyes with an expressionless face.
“I think you misunderstand us, but I would be happy to correct you, Ilatheril.”
“HAH! You would be happy to spout the same party line your people have been crying for the past thousand years, the same lies, the same pretty words you’ve used to justify your outmoded systems and draconian actions for generations. I suppose it stops you ever having to think, something you haven’t done for an age or so, right?” How could he make such a spectacle of himself?
“Again, your judgement is harsh and inaccurate. Fear not, I am more than willing to correct these holes in your education. We are revolutionary when we need to be, as I think our own marriage is good evidence.”
He spat viciously, “oh, you are too kind. Is that a trace of emotion I detect there, my Seelie Ice Prince? Oh! How unseemly!” He snorted in pure disgust. “Is this as hot as you get Sithy? Is this your passion? Gah, some faerie! I tell you this for free, relic, I’m not staying wed to some cold statue who is incapable of a thought without consulting 3 books of history and tradition!”
He threw up his hands dramatically and made to stalk out of the vault.
“You will remain wed to me, because your lord father has ordered it, and you have sworn to it, as have I. Cease these childish theatrics, or do you truly intend to brand yourself and your House oath breakers?” He turned, his face dark with fury.
“No, I thought not. Perhaps you could stop riling against the destiny unsympathetic fate has landed on you, and actually make a mature effort not to make the situation worse than it already is.”
“Seelie,” he spat the word, “Seelie with weapons of words and armour of contempt. Oh yes, I think I know who you are Sitharensor.”
He leapt, crossing half the room in one bound, magick burning through his muscles, the power that made sidhe far stronger than they looked. He crashed into me as I was still gaping in shock. I landed heavily over the stone sarcophagus of my grandfather, felled by an Unseelie Giant while he battled a Redcap battalion. Shock paralyses my limbs as his fist balls in my clothes and he jerks me into the air again. My vision blurs as he slams me against the marble tomb of Tetheril. I can’t gain my balance as he repeatedly smashes me against the bust of kneeling Trolls that artfully decorated the ancient monument.
Again he slams my head against the tomb, and I hear the marble crack. He throws me against a life size statue of a satyr, and ancient bard of a noble force. He spits words of power and anger, and his magick smashes into me, forcing me through the statue that shatters to dust by the force of the blow. I lie in the ruins, unable to disentangle myself before a dark blur reaches me, and the shadows themselves detach themselves from the wall to imprison me in onyx bindings. The pressure is too great to breath, I can feel my ribs give under the strain. I stand helpless to stop the brutal blur of his hands and feet in a crippling assault.
“Pathetic.” Again, I am airborne. Again I land heavily on an ancestral tomb. I am surrounded by the holy light at the heart of the crypt, laid groggily on the carving of the very first of our line. Power dances in the air as the Unseelie’s darkness stretches towards me, half seen shadows of animate malevolence caper in the corners. Fire licks the ground sending more flickering shadows dancing near the roof, and the earth itself trembles slightly as he approaches, bathed in magick.
My eyes snap open, I take a deep, futile breath to try and hold down the deep welling of rage within me. I cannot. I will not! It fountains to the surface in a scalding wave that bathes my skin in soft white light. My power rises in answer to his, my wounds closing in the sweet rush of pure light.
I stand on the pedestal of my dead and stare down with aeons of contempt for the interloper in this most sacred of places. With a flick of my fingers and a surge of power ribbons of light sear outwards and slice the darkness. The capering shadows are driven back by angelic figures of shining power. The fires dim, the earth stills. Ilatheril stops in mid step, eyes wide and uncertain, his power damped, hammered into submission by my own.
He hisses, his face feral and primal, a look I never expected to see on a noble sidhe. He leapt, trying to slip his skin and form mid-leap. He failed, I refused him the power to shift, held back his birthright of magick, it was terrifyingly easy.
He landed awkwardly inches from me, only preternatural reflexes stopped him breaking his neck when he failed to shift. He started to rise. I stepped forwards and placed one heavy foot on his back, forcing him down, not with strength, but power, pure magick. He flared in short lived defiance, before being forced to submit. Pathetically easy.
“That was inexcusable.” His eyes flicked up at the steel in my voice, undisguised fear held his face, but he was a sidhe. He was proud.
“So, looks like you do have fire, Ice Prince, even if it is well buried. Why, what will your family say, loosing your temper like that?” He was trying to mock, but the tremor in his words gave the lie to his words.
“I have not lost my temper, if I had, you would be in no condition to mock me. Besides, unlike your kind, I have will enough to ride my anger, not be ridden by it.” I jerked him to his feet, using magick alone, even though the strain of so much power was beginning to make my head ache and eyes blur. “Your childish temper tantrum was bad enough, but another time I may have forgiven it. But not here, not in the halls of my ancestors. You have defiled this holy place with your silly games.” He flinched and tried to avoid my eyes. But I was unyielding, the power wouldn’t let him move his head. He started to shake.
“You will make amends for this.” My voice had the power of command and prophecy, words that could not be disobeyed. He dropped to the floor, as I forced him down again, off the central tomb. Still shaking, eyes still wide, he knelt before that holy light to stammer words of atonement in the ancient tongue. His accent was strange, his words garbled. Was fear controlling him so much that he couldn’t remember this so important rite? But he was sidhe! And an Unseelie! He has surely faced viler things than I.
He rose, jerkily, watching me warily without meeting my unwavering gaze. Slowly he stepped back, edging slowly out of the room, whole body tense. Tensing to run, or against a blow he is sure will fall? Or to send some dark Unseelie power against me?
“Why?” He froze. Eyes flickering to mine, briefly.
“Why?”
He took a deep breath, pretending to examine a sarcophagus to his left.
“Because... Because I was - am afraid.”