And another update - Light & Dark
Feb. 1st, 2004 11:29 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparkindarknessStill during the wedding - the previous additions of which can be found here:
Politics of Marriage
Sitharensor's tale of past glory
It is now Ilatheril's turn to tell a tale of his house.
The echoes still rolled around the hall. Ilatheril stepped into that silence, stepping forward confidently and bowing to our fathers. He took the trailing threads of Sitharensor’s magic and wove it into his own words. Eyebrows rose around the hall, a small susurration from the Sidhe and those few who understood the implications - that these two young newlyweds could already use their magic together. Magic that was long thought to be utterly inimical to each other.
“I am Ilatheril, scion of House Darkeye whose gaze is unwavering in even the darkest night, even when we are cast into shadow. I am the Guardian of its Will and Thought. I proclaim myself strong and worthy, and let all who doubt here my tale.
“I do not tell a tale of ages long past, some long dead hero from my House’s heritage. Ancient past means little to the modern present. I speak of a time and a deed within the lifetime of all here.
“Far from these lands is a place of pristine wilderness. A place that has not yet suffered the binding, stifling touch of order. A place where life is not bound with suffocating chains of stasis.
“No Sidhe claims these lands, beyond the universal remit of the High King. It is not the duty, not the responsibility for any to protect or preserve them. It benefits no-one’s honour to preserve them. It gains no renown to preserve them. But these pretty words meant little to Nareseth, dark child of our House. Her heart and mind spoke, and no cage of words would stay her hand.
“For man had come to this pristine land. Man with his iron and his rules and his corruption and his ever present killing order. Man, who should fall on his knees before this holiest, most beautiful of places! Man came with his tools and weapons, eyes full of figures, mouths spilling the poison of profit. They saw no beauty, only resources. The saw no value, only price. They brought no life, only death.
“Nareseth would not allow this. Could not allow this and still be able to claim the name Sidhe. We are given the privileges of rulership, but we must never forget the burdens. She was sidhe, and even this land to which she had no ties deserved her protection. Deserved her service.
“The humans thought they were safe in their halls of order. They felt their metal, their money, their progress would keep them safe. How wrong they were.
“Blade in hand, Nareseth reminded man why he feared the night. In the depths of the sheltered branches of that woodland, she reminded man why they cowered around their fires away from the wild, she reminded them to fear the wilderness, the wild places which no amount of progress could ever truly tame. The dark pools of her eyes brought to life every childhood terror, every nightmare that ever haunted their sleep. Every imagined horror and monster of fairy tale woke to her touch. She taught those humans to fear again. Taught them, top fear the night, to fear the dark, to fear the terror at the door, to fear what lurks in the wild places of the world. She taught them how weak and fragile their pathetic shields were. How little progress meant when you were alone in the dark with a nightmare made flesh.
“They cried for mercy. They begged for clemency. They wept and sobbed and entreated for their lives, for the pain to stop, for the darkness to retreat. The cried in the face of their weakness, in the face of the power of the dark, in the face of the wrath of the wild. Nareseth heard their fear, tasted their sweet terror on the wind and smiled. This was how it should be, this is how humans should be taught and shepherded. Bringers of destruction and death, they are blind to all beauty, blind to all that is wondrous in this world, they know only pain and fear and death. These are the tools we are left with, and Nareseth knew them well.
“They cried for mercy, cries that went unheeded. Mercy was a tool of the weak. Mercy was the cry of the murderer with the blood of his victims on his hands. Mercy is the cry of the rapist with the violated crying at his feet. Mercy is the last plea of one who knows they do not deserve it. Mercy is a thin shield, a fragile tool of order behind which to hide atrocities. Nareseth knew of the lie of mercy and was not swayed by it. No, a greater power guided her. A stronger power. An older power. Justice.
“Justice guided her hands in judgement. Justice called for the death of those whose lives had no value. Justice demands that those who reduced the world to money and wealth must realise the enormity of that assumption. With a smile of triumph and a rich laugh thick with the echoes of all those who have suffered under man’s touch, Nareseth paid them what she thought their lives were worth. Then took what she had bought.
“One. One she let live. One she showed the true meaning of fear, one she showed what true power was. One saw deeper into the darkness than any man could look. His mind shattered, reduced to less than that of a child, she cast him out, babbling his terror to all who would hear.
“She cast him out to go back to the human wastelands of glass, concrete and steel. She cast him back with his message:
“The darkness is still out there. Fear is still out there. Fantasy and wonder is still out there. Cower on your barren temples o humans - for there will be a reckoning for all that you have wrought. A reckoning in blood and pain and death.
“For we know no mercy. Only justice.”
Ilatheril’s words echoed and died. The tale slithered away to the darkest corners of the grand hall, where it danced in the shifting shadows.
Politics of Marriage
Sitharensor's tale of past glory
It is now Ilatheril's turn to tell a tale of his house.
The echoes still rolled around the hall. Ilatheril stepped into that silence, stepping forward confidently and bowing to our fathers. He took the trailing threads of Sitharensor’s magic and wove it into his own words. Eyebrows rose around the hall, a small susurration from the Sidhe and those few who understood the implications - that these two young newlyweds could already use their magic together. Magic that was long thought to be utterly inimical to each other.
“I am Ilatheril, scion of House Darkeye whose gaze is unwavering in even the darkest night, even when we are cast into shadow. I am the Guardian of its Will and Thought. I proclaim myself strong and worthy, and let all who doubt here my tale.
“I do not tell a tale of ages long past, some long dead hero from my House’s heritage. Ancient past means little to the modern present. I speak of a time and a deed within the lifetime of all here.
“Far from these lands is a place of pristine wilderness. A place that has not yet suffered the binding, stifling touch of order. A place where life is not bound with suffocating chains of stasis.
“No Sidhe claims these lands, beyond the universal remit of the High King. It is not the duty, not the responsibility for any to protect or preserve them. It benefits no-one’s honour to preserve them. It gains no renown to preserve them. But these pretty words meant little to Nareseth, dark child of our House. Her heart and mind spoke, and no cage of words would stay her hand.
“For man had come to this pristine land. Man with his iron and his rules and his corruption and his ever present killing order. Man, who should fall on his knees before this holiest, most beautiful of places! Man came with his tools and weapons, eyes full of figures, mouths spilling the poison of profit. They saw no beauty, only resources. The saw no value, only price. They brought no life, only death.
“Nareseth would not allow this. Could not allow this and still be able to claim the name Sidhe. We are given the privileges of rulership, but we must never forget the burdens. She was sidhe, and even this land to which she had no ties deserved her protection. Deserved her service.
“The humans thought they were safe in their halls of order. They felt their metal, their money, their progress would keep them safe. How wrong they were.
“Blade in hand, Nareseth reminded man why he feared the night. In the depths of the sheltered branches of that woodland, she reminded man why they cowered around their fires away from the wild, she reminded them to fear the wilderness, the wild places which no amount of progress could ever truly tame. The dark pools of her eyes brought to life every childhood terror, every nightmare that ever haunted their sleep. Every imagined horror and monster of fairy tale woke to her touch. She taught those humans to fear again. Taught them, top fear the night, to fear the dark, to fear the terror at the door, to fear what lurks in the wild places of the world. She taught them how weak and fragile their pathetic shields were. How little progress meant when you were alone in the dark with a nightmare made flesh.
“They cried for mercy. They begged for clemency. They wept and sobbed and entreated for their lives, for the pain to stop, for the darkness to retreat. The cried in the face of their weakness, in the face of the power of the dark, in the face of the wrath of the wild. Nareseth heard their fear, tasted their sweet terror on the wind and smiled. This was how it should be, this is how humans should be taught and shepherded. Bringers of destruction and death, they are blind to all beauty, blind to all that is wondrous in this world, they know only pain and fear and death. These are the tools we are left with, and Nareseth knew them well.
“They cried for mercy, cries that went unheeded. Mercy was a tool of the weak. Mercy was the cry of the murderer with the blood of his victims on his hands. Mercy is the cry of the rapist with the violated crying at his feet. Mercy is the last plea of one who knows they do not deserve it. Mercy is a thin shield, a fragile tool of order behind which to hide atrocities. Nareseth knew of the lie of mercy and was not swayed by it. No, a greater power guided her. A stronger power. An older power. Justice.
“Justice guided her hands in judgement. Justice called for the death of those whose lives had no value. Justice demands that those who reduced the world to money and wealth must realise the enormity of that assumption. With a smile of triumph and a rich laugh thick with the echoes of all those who have suffered under man’s touch, Nareseth paid them what she thought their lives were worth. Then took what she had bought.
“One. One she let live. One she showed the true meaning of fear, one she showed what true power was. One saw deeper into the darkness than any man could look. His mind shattered, reduced to less than that of a child, she cast him out, babbling his terror to all who would hear.
“She cast him out to go back to the human wastelands of glass, concrete and steel. She cast him back with his message:
“The darkness is still out there. Fear is still out there. Fantasy and wonder is still out there. Cower on your barren temples o humans - for there will be a reckoning for all that you have wrought. A reckoning in blood and pain and death.
“For we know no mercy. Only justice.”
Ilatheril’s words echoed and died. The tale slithered away to the darkest corners of the grand hall, where it danced in the shifting shadows.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2004-03-07 02:48 pm (UTC)I think all fae are terrible, but the Unseelie scare me... *shivers*
Ilatheril: *grins*