Light & Dark fic update!!!
Jan. 18th, 2004 11:06 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparkindarknessI'm updating mainly because this is getting REALLY long... I intended it to be an update and suddenly it lept stretching and stretching. So I'm going to split it up into 3-4 easily disgestable posts.
So, anyway, here's some faeries for you to play with - and remember any back issues, or old fic of all plot lines can be found through the memories section of my LJ
Sir Hrolf stood in the sitting room when they emerged, both dressed in spare sets of Sitharensor’s robes. The white cloth looked strange on Ilatheril, bleached his pale skin to the point of being nearly translucent and ethereal. He looked ghostly and unreal even in the strong sun’s light. His black hair seemed all the darker, a length of stolen night and midnight shadow clinging to him.
Sitharensor’s eyes looked to the Troll knight as soon as he was out of the doorway. For once the ancient warrior looked a little confused. He had fought the Unseelie for centuries, perhaps even a millennium, Sitharensor had never considered it polite to ask, and doubly rude to enquire behind Hrolf’s back. Now one shared the bed of the heir to his liege, and his own personal charge.
Ilatheril stalked into the room, managing to give the impression of a lashing tail and rolling growl without having either. Still muttering over his robes he did not realise the Troll was there until he nearly ran into him. Sitharensor permitted himself a small entreaty to the gods - not only was the knight over nine feet tall, wearing full dress armour carrying four obviously massive weapons (Sitharensor remembered thinking the Troll had been born clad in metal when he was a child, so seldom was Hrolf seen unarmoured and without at least three weapons, usually he carried five or six) and apparently carved from stone - but the cold strong power of the Troll had alerted Sitharensor to his presence before the sidhe even left the bedroom. At least they had eternity in which to educate the Unseelie.
Finally noticing the towering guardian, the Unseelie jumped nearly a foot. Sitharensor choked back surprise to mutter several quick counter-spells, twisting and defusing Ilatheril's panicked magical flailing. Sitharensor caught the panicking sidhe’s arm, concentrating his powerful glamour into the Unseelie, soothing and calming. It took the edge off, but the touch seemed to have more calming effect, even a sidhe as untrained Ilatheril was highly resistant to glamoury of all kinds.
“Gods of mercy, Ilatheril! Control your power!” The Unseelie pulled back his magic, whether because he had pulled back his panic, or because his magic was next to useless with Sitharensor ready to hold him back. Sitharensor thought it was the latter, especially as the Unseelie sidled closer to him, pulling the restraining hand on his arm into a protective half-hug. He was tense and alert in the protective circle of the Seelie’s arm.
Hrolf was admirably restrained in the face of one of the noble sidhe behaving like a startled child. He blinked his gem-like eyes blinked, one giant hand twitched towards the giant, double sided battle axe on his back. The other slowly, carefully rose to the ice blue sapphire on a leather headband. The story of how the Troll earned that enchanted stone was one of the great epics of Sitharensor’s House.
“Does he attack me?” The knight was wary, leavened with potential violence, not a threat, just heavy inevitability. Ilatheril tensed in Sitharensor’s arm, huddling closer to the other sidhe. Sitharensor felt a sudden, shocking surge of protectiveness flash through him. How could he ever think of having to stand against the Troll?
“Forgive him, my friend. You startled him and...” He paused, unsure. Hrolf deserved to know, he had a right as guardian not to have dangerous secrets kept from him. “He does not have complete control of his powers yet.”
The Troll raised one eyebrow in response to this earth shattering news. It was almost embarrassing that one of the lesser fae was so much better at controlling their outward emotions. It was a measure at how upset Sitharensor was that he did not chide himself for using the term ‘lesser fae’ even in his head.
“No control over his powers? I have heard of this, and seen it. Sidhe whose magic flies wild without control. Many can die, and the destruction is great. Even on a small scale it can be quite troublesome,” the old Troll smiled ever so slightly with misty remembrance, no doubt remembering Sitharensor’s chaotic teenage years while he struggled to master the sidhe’s birthright. “But... perhaps I am mistaken, the sidhe keep their own council... I always assumed it was an affliction of the young sidhe.”
Sitharensor made a subtle gesture of refutation to the Troll. Now was not the time to pursue this. He needed Ilatheril to be calm. The marriage was fixed, now it was time to play politics with the newly united houses in the ball already starting below. Words would be more dangerous than ever swords and magic could be.
Hrolf waited until we left before following us, two steps behind like a proper bodyguard in a none-threatening location, like most Seelie etiquette, the rules governing bodyguards and their positions filled tomes of etiquette - it took decades of study to master the Byzantine rules of court. And now Ilatheril was going to have to learn very quickly.
The passage to the Great Hall was eerily quiet. The normal bustle of the palace subdued as all attention focused on its grandest, and least used of chambers. Even the servants would be gathered in the vast chamber. The doors vaulted above them, easily big enough for even the greatest giant to pass through, possibly even the few remaining titans could have passed through that arch if they stooped. But to the sidhe’s sight, their size was minor in comparison to the magnitude of the power that radiated off them - power of the ages, power of the sidhe, power of the fae themselves forged to form a terrifying and awe inspiring portal.
The doors swung open. Only Sitharensor’s iron grip on Ilatheril's arm kept him moving into the throng of fae. Sitharensor resisted the urge to sigh. Once this hall had been crowded with sidhe alone, or so say the old texts and the fae old enough to remember. Once the only lesser fae allowed in this room were servants and bodyguards. Now, the sidhe were in the minority by a considerable margin. How soon before the sidhe kingship failed? Worries for another day.
They advanced into a well of silence. The echoes of the siren Herald dying quickly. By common agreement, they had removed the few titles Sitharensor had acquired in his life, since Ilatheril had been barred from achieving any. It made the silence all the more ringing and expectant, as the newly wed couple walked with stately slowness to the huge begemmed thrones of living wood and leaf that adorned the far side of the chamber. The thrones stood empty now. Instead three large oak chairs stood at their foot, filled by Sitharensor’s parents and Ilatheril’s father. Sitharensor actually blinked and nearly stumbled. It had been long since either of his parents spent any amount of time in the real world or the present. Now, two days in a row? Perhaps there was hope...
The last ceremony to seal a marriage between two noble houses, the giving of gifts. This in itself had taken weeks of careful planning and etiquette dodging. To give gifts that were poor would be an insult. To give gifts that were rich would be an embarrassment, as the Unseelie had had their lands and chattels confiscated for decades and couldn’t hope to match the gifts. In the end, careful, flowery worded communications between the two not-quite-hostile camps had agreed that the greatest gift would be peace between the courts (something not agreed by several dissenting, bitter warmongers, but that was a trouble for another day - they seemed to be piling up). As a symbol of this peace, tokens of the past will be exchanged to let it be known that the past was behind them (this consisted of the returning of several artefacts that each court had captured off the other in the wars...). They were definitely not gifts (to imply they were gifts would be to imply that the court that currently held them actually owned the items and had the right to give them - a terrible insult) nor were they, in any way shape or form, spoils of war (the returning of spoils of war could imply surrender). Just tokens.
Sitharensor’s head began to ache trying to follow the twists and turns of the politics that had finally lead them to this point. It couldn’t go wrong now!
The two sidhe lords exchange some ancient texts, gentle courtesy (again lacking titles) and false friendliness... if Ilatheril’s father’s knuckles were a little white and Sitharensor’s father’s gaze a little vacant, they seemed to pass.
Sitharensor stepped forward... traditionally if two sidhe houses were to ally by marriage, the suitors must proclaim the worthiness of their house with a historical example. Unfortunately, most of the historical examples of House Eternal Fire’s glory involved the righteous destruction of the Unseelie. This was deemed to be rather undiplomatic.
So, anyway, here's some faeries for you to play with - and remember any back issues, or old fic of all plot lines can be found through the memories section of my LJ
Sir Hrolf stood in the sitting room when they emerged, both dressed in spare sets of Sitharensor’s robes. The white cloth looked strange on Ilatheril, bleached his pale skin to the point of being nearly translucent and ethereal. He looked ghostly and unreal even in the strong sun’s light. His black hair seemed all the darker, a length of stolen night and midnight shadow clinging to him.
Sitharensor’s eyes looked to the Troll knight as soon as he was out of the doorway. For once the ancient warrior looked a little confused. He had fought the Unseelie for centuries, perhaps even a millennium, Sitharensor had never considered it polite to ask, and doubly rude to enquire behind Hrolf’s back. Now one shared the bed of the heir to his liege, and his own personal charge.
Ilatheril stalked into the room, managing to give the impression of a lashing tail and rolling growl without having either. Still muttering over his robes he did not realise the Troll was there until he nearly ran into him. Sitharensor permitted himself a small entreaty to the gods - not only was the knight over nine feet tall, wearing full dress armour carrying four obviously massive weapons (Sitharensor remembered thinking the Troll had been born clad in metal when he was a child, so seldom was Hrolf seen unarmoured and without at least three weapons, usually he carried five or six) and apparently carved from stone - but the cold strong power of the Troll had alerted Sitharensor to his presence before the sidhe even left the bedroom. At least they had eternity in which to educate the Unseelie.
Finally noticing the towering guardian, the Unseelie jumped nearly a foot. Sitharensor choked back surprise to mutter several quick counter-spells, twisting and defusing Ilatheril's panicked magical flailing. Sitharensor caught the panicking sidhe’s arm, concentrating his powerful glamour into the Unseelie, soothing and calming. It took the edge off, but the touch seemed to have more calming effect, even a sidhe as untrained Ilatheril was highly resistant to glamoury of all kinds.
“Gods of mercy, Ilatheril! Control your power!” The Unseelie pulled back his magic, whether because he had pulled back his panic, or because his magic was next to useless with Sitharensor ready to hold him back. Sitharensor thought it was the latter, especially as the Unseelie sidled closer to him, pulling the restraining hand on his arm into a protective half-hug. He was tense and alert in the protective circle of the Seelie’s arm.
Hrolf was admirably restrained in the face of one of the noble sidhe behaving like a startled child. He blinked his gem-like eyes blinked, one giant hand twitched towards the giant, double sided battle axe on his back. The other slowly, carefully rose to the ice blue sapphire on a leather headband. The story of how the Troll earned that enchanted stone was one of the great epics of Sitharensor’s House.
“Does he attack me?” The knight was wary, leavened with potential violence, not a threat, just heavy inevitability. Ilatheril tensed in Sitharensor’s arm, huddling closer to the other sidhe. Sitharensor felt a sudden, shocking surge of protectiveness flash through him. How could he ever think of having to stand against the Troll?
“Forgive him, my friend. You startled him and...” He paused, unsure. Hrolf deserved to know, he had a right as guardian not to have dangerous secrets kept from him. “He does not have complete control of his powers yet.”
The Troll raised one eyebrow in response to this earth shattering news. It was almost embarrassing that one of the lesser fae was so much better at controlling their outward emotions. It was a measure at how upset Sitharensor was that he did not chide himself for using the term ‘lesser fae’ even in his head.
“No control over his powers? I have heard of this, and seen it. Sidhe whose magic flies wild without control. Many can die, and the destruction is great. Even on a small scale it can be quite troublesome,” the old Troll smiled ever so slightly with misty remembrance, no doubt remembering Sitharensor’s chaotic teenage years while he struggled to master the sidhe’s birthright. “But... perhaps I am mistaken, the sidhe keep their own council... I always assumed it was an affliction of the young sidhe.”
Sitharensor made a subtle gesture of refutation to the Troll. Now was not the time to pursue this. He needed Ilatheril to be calm. The marriage was fixed, now it was time to play politics with the newly united houses in the ball already starting below. Words would be more dangerous than ever swords and magic could be.
Hrolf waited until we left before following us, two steps behind like a proper bodyguard in a none-threatening location, like most Seelie etiquette, the rules governing bodyguards and their positions filled tomes of etiquette - it took decades of study to master the Byzantine rules of court. And now Ilatheril was going to have to learn very quickly.
The passage to the Great Hall was eerily quiet. The normal bustle of the palace subdued as all attention focused on its grandest, and least used of chambers. Even the servants would be gathered in the vast chamber. The doors vaulted above them, easily big enough for even the greatest giant to pass through, possibly even the few remaining titans could have passed through that arch if they stooped. But to the sidhe’s sight, their size was minor in comparison to the magnitude of the power that radiated off them - power of the ages, power of the sidhe, power of the fae themselves forged to form a terrifying and awe inspiring portal.
The doors swung open. Only Sitharensor’s iron grip on Ilatheril's arm kept him moving into the throng of fae. Sitharensor resisted the urge to sigh. Once this hall had been crowded with sidhe alone, or so say the old texts and the fae old enough to remember. Once the only lesser fae allowed in this room were servants and bodyguards. Now, the sidhe were in the minority by a considerable margin. How soon before the sidhe kingship failed? Worries for another day.
They advanced into a well of silence. The echoes of the siren Herald dying quickly. By common agreement, they had removed the few titles Sitharensor had acquired in his life, since Ilatheril had been barred from achieving any. It made the silence all the more ringing and expectant, as the newly wed couple walked with stately slowness to the huge begemmed thrones of living wood and leaf that adorned the far side of the chamber. The thrones stood empty now. Instead three large oak chairs stood at their foot, filled by Sitharensor’s parents and Ilatheril’s father. Sitharensor actually blinked and nearly stumbled. It had been long since either of his parents spent any amount of time in the real world or the present. Now, two days in a row? Perhaps there was hope...
The last ceremony to seal a marriage between two noble houses, the giving of gifts. This in itself had taken weeks of careful planning and etiquette dodging. To give gifts that were poor would be an insult. To give gifts that were rich would be an embarrassment, as the Unseelie had had their lands and chattels confiscated for decades and couldn’t hope to match the gifts. In the end, careful, flowery worded communications between the two not-quite-hostile camps had agreed that the greatest gift would be peace between the courts (something not agreed by several dissenting, bitter warmongers, but that was a trouble for another day - they seemed to be piling up). As a symbol of this peace, tokens of the past will be exchanged to let it be known that the past was behind them (this consisted of the returning of several artefacts that each court had captured off the other in the wars...). They were definitely not gifts (to imply they were gifts would be to imply that the court that currently held them actually owned the items and had the right to give them - a terrible insult) nor were they, in any way shape or form, spoils of war (the returning of spoils of war could imply surrender). Just tokens.
Sitharensor’s head began to ache trying to follow the twists and turns of the politics that had finally lead them to this point. It couldn’t go wrong now!
The two sidhe lords exchange some ancient texts, gentle courtesy (again lacking titles) and false friendliness... if Ilatheril’s father’s knuckles were a little white and Sitharensor’s father’s gaze a little vacant, they seemed to pass.
Sitharensor stepped forward... traditionally if two sidhe houses were to ally by marriage, the suitors must proclaim the worthiness of their house with a historical example. Unfortunately, most of the historical examples of House Eternal Fire’s glory involved the righteous destruction of the Unseelie. This was deemed to be rather undiplomatic.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-01-24 01:51 am (UTC)there's something about that turn of phrase that just makes me chuckle. *loves on the faery boys*
strange and dangerous ground they've found themselves on. so many twists and turns and hidden shoals. politics...scary. probably even more so in a case like this, where the semantics and the weight of a single word or impression could just make the entire thing crumble. i think i'd be almost too tempted to give it a nudge. *laughs*
(no subject)
Date: 2004-01-24 01:21 pm (UTC)Politics are some of my favourite passtimes, and so very dangerous. Duelling with words is so much more fun than swords.
Sitharensor: It was difficult, but I could ahrdly proclaim 'we slaughtered your kinsmen'. It would be impolite.
Ilatheril: I could. *grins*
(no subject)
Date: 2004-01-27 05:48 pm (UTC)*waves the "i <3 ilatheril" fangirl banner*
altho the real genius in having the two of them together. *chuckle*
(no subject)
Date: 2004-01-28 05:25 pm (UTC)Ilatheril: *smugly draws up a chalk board with 'Seelie' on one side and 'Unseelie' on the other. Draws a '1' in the Unseelie side.* *Smirks at Sitharensor*
Sitharensor: *raises eyebrow* *walks to board* *draws 6,000,000 on the Seelie side* You have a fangirl. We won the war.
Ilatheril: *glare*
Re:
Date: 2004-01-29 02:14 pm (UTC)*wrecks Sitharensor's strategy by immediately getting all misty -eyed, squeeing loudly and throwing some sparkly hearts in his direction.* <3
Re:
Date: 2004-01-29 07:05 pm (UTC)Ilatheril: I'll get the axe.