Light & Dark Update for more politics
Mar. 7th, 2004 02:57 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sparkindarknessAnd then I really must give the other muses some time. I'm also updating memories, I'm getting real lapse with them.
Some politics... did I ever mention how much I like politics? No? Well, ask the people in my roleplay group, I think they're all drowning in machiaevllian schemes and subtle plots. But I do like politics...
Sitharensor lead Ilatheril through the crowd, wilfully empty of magic. To the mystical sight of the sidhe they were confidently helpless, boldly powerless, vulnerable, and in complete control.
“You know, if one of them decides to start killing things we’ll be dead before we hit the floor like this.” Ilatheril’s voice hissed silently through Sitharensor’s mind.
“If it comes to magical combat in this room, with the cream of the local sidhe of both courts, then a quick death might be the best we can hope for.” Sitharensor murmured back. “We have to calm things down.”
“What? No-one’s going to do anything. Boss men have left the room. Everyone’s waiting to see what they decide.”
“People get impatient. People make their own decisions. People decide to do a great deal when the powers that be seem to be occupied with other things... As heirs we have a duty to our people to makes sure they don’t make any... inadvisable choices.”
“‘While the cat’s away the mice will play?’ And now we’re playing exterminator... great.”
“Welcome to politics. Where the mighty fall and the weak rise up triumphant, all on the power of a word, a gesture or the tilt of an eyebrow.” Sitharensor smiled. “Let the games begin.”
He lead Ilatheril towards a group of three Seelie nobles, two lords and a lady, each backed by a small crowd of retainers. Bodyguards with fingers easing close to weapons, personal servants fluttering around their masters like nervous butterflies, sycophants fawning and nodding to every word, all the while acting as paranoid sentinels over the movements of the crowd. With choreographed grace, the small circle opened up smoothly to let the two young sidhe join them, everyone moving in perfect harmony seemingly directed by one voice. Eyebrows rose at the presence of the Unseelie, lips pursed at the Seelie scion’s predatory stalk and blazing eyes.
“My lord Ythirath! I cannot begin to describe how much pleasure your presence brings me!” Sitharensor gushed to the Lord of House Winter‘s Honour. “Mainly because in a court situation I am required to be polite to this creature” Ilatheril’s face smoothed over woodenly against the sudden need to laugh. “In this trying time, I know House Eternal Fire will have no allies quite like House Winter‘s Honour.” “Yes, our other allies will be helping us.”
Ythirath bared his teeth in what could just be mistaken for a smile if you were sufficiently deluded. “Of course, Lord Sitharensor. I was already remarking to my fellow lords here at the extent of aid we must give to House Eternal Fire during this difficult time. Such a tragedy to happen to you, and after so much discussion with the Unseelie, and after such grand sacrifice!”
“Sacrifice, my lord? I fear I cannot think of any sacrifice, certainly none to compare to the grand sacrifices my house has made for the honour of all Seelie in the past. But then, perhaps you can reveal this mystery to me, after all I’m sure Winter’s Honour has extensive experience of noble sacrifice... somewhere in its history.”
Ythirath’s smile twisted even further, his throbbing power surged even higher, emphasised by the emptiness of the two younger sidhe. Ilatheril gave the Seelie a questioning look, prompting him to take control of himself in the face of derision from the barbarous Unseelie. “I take it Winter’s Honour doesn’t have a grand history of noble sacrifice, Sith?”
“Hardly. Not a House known for caring about others or greater ideals. It looks after it’s own, no matter what it costs. Almost Unseelie like.”
“Crap. You know nothing about the Unseelie. Why does past history matter now anyway?”
“It matters because it’s another little needle to prick him with and set him off guard. And to make him look foolish in front of his companions. Look, he seeks allies. The Lady Myrawen of House Fresh Sight, renowned for their wisdom and shrewd decisions, as well as novel approach and somewhat... wild reputation. Not a powerful house, but an influential one. The other is Lord Tysian of House Noble Arm. Definitely a powerful House, influential through sheer strength of arms. But he’s just the regent, his father is hopelessly insane, as well as incredibly domineering. The son‘s been under his thrall for too long. He prefers a quiet life devoted to art, not politics. He’s unsure, young, politically untrained and scarred by his father’s delusions. He’s out of his depth here... likely to be easily influenced by anyone with a sympathetic ear and kind, fatherly advice.”
“Easily manipulated, in other words. And well worth the effort. Quick, the fool‘s finished swallowing his tongue. I got the wild Lady Myrawen, you get the innocent Tysian.”
Ythirath glared fiercely behind the mask of a desperate smile at Sitharensor. “I was referring to your forced union with an Unseelie. That is indeed a grand sacrifice that we must all respect you for.” Lord Tysian and Lady Myrawen nodded in respect, the former with great fervour, the latter gently, with a small smile.
“Really, Lord Ythirath? A sacrifice? Perhaps you have not seen Ilatheril, he stands here before you. He is, as no doubt you can see, an extremely beautiful specimen, and I assure you possesses a passion that makes any such union far from a sacrifice. If I had known you had such strange views, my lord, I would have spoken with Ilatheril's father about arranging a liaison for you with one of the hags.” Ilatheril had to smile then, especially in the face of the collective Seelie outrage.
Lady Myrawen smiled enigmatically. “So you don’t consider it to be a noble sacrifice? Interesting... your house would gain much prestige from such a sacrifice.”
Ilatheril stepped forwards quickly, standing far to close to the Seelie lady. He smiled... predatory, but not dangerous... at least not in any conventional sense. “Sacrifice? Oh dear... Sitharensor assured me the Seelie were not so frigid... so boring... so unadventurous as we thought they were. Did he lie? Such a pity. An entire court of wondrous, beautiful fae, and you're all so coldly scared of the gifts you have. Such a waste.” He raised one hand and combed his fingers through the power that was radiating of the noble Lady’s skin. He shivered, eyes closing in rapture. “Tell me, Lady Myrawen, do you waste yourself?”
Lady Myrawen maintained her icy stare. Only the sharpest, or most paranoid, eyes could spot the slight quickening of breath. Everyone hated the Unseelie... but there were some intriguing rumours. “This is hardly the appropriate place to discuss such things.” Her voice was level, she was a true player of the game.
“It isn’t?! Oh, do forgive me, we Unseelie do things differently. Perhaps you could show me what is the appropriate place?”
“If you are going to live among us, young one, it would be wise to learn our ways. Come, allow me to educate you.” The pair drifted away with perfect grace, circled by the lady’s entourage. Ythirath looked on in barely concealed fury, staring just long enough for Sitharensor to step forward...
“Lord Tysian, why I don’t think you’ve met Lord Amasron? Fie, forgive my thoughtlessness, and your House such a dear ally of House Unyielding Pride! Please, I must rectify this gross oversight at once!”
“Well... but...” The young lord looked uncertainly at Ythirath, who had just managed to gather himself enough to object.
“Why, your father will be simply furious that I didn’t introduce you sooner!” The younger lord’s head snapped away from the older sidhe to Sitharensor, fear and shock written large on his face. Terribly untrained, Sitharensor cursed, that such power should vest in Noble Arm. Something would have to be done. Still, for now it left an opening that easily allowed him to usher the younger sidhe away from the now furious Ythirath to Lord Amasron.
Amasron was tall, ancient and noble. The very epitome of what it meant to be a Seelie sidhe. He had a reputation for listening and patience. The worth of his words were long considered to be beyond that of any gold. The content was wise, and every tone rang with the authority and surety of centuries of leadership. Through hardship, conflict, chaos and blood, Unyielding Pride had always stood firm, and doubly so in their support for Eternal Fire. At Sitharensor’s approach, the small clique of nobles circling him parted respectfully. With quiet gravitas, Amasron bowed to Sitharensor.
“Lord Tysian, may I present you Lord Amasron the True, Lord of House Unyielding Pride, Lord of the Open Lands, Guardian of Northern Honour, Light that Shines in Darkness, The Eternal Wall, Blessed of Lindesfarne, Avalorn, Castlerigg, and Avebury, Kinblade to Lord Brionachan of House Eternal Fire.” Tysian jerked at each title, looking lost. “Lord Amasron, may I present Lord Tysian, scion of House Noble Arm. May you come to love him as you have his father.”
Sitharensor caught the slight flicker of Amasron’s eyebrow. Very well done Sitharensor. I applaud. His mental voice was thick and resonant. “Be welcome in my sight, Lord Tysian! Ever and always will the blood of my friends find favour in my heart!” Sitharensor had already ghosted away before the last echoes had faded.
Pensively he scanned the room, taking a few seconds before several advancing nobles closed on him to survey the room. Plots spawning in every corner... and with the High Lords and their chief advisors absent, there were few willing to fight against the tide.
Some politics... did I ever mention how much I like politics? No? Well, ask the people in my roleplay group, I think they're all drowning in machiaevllian schemes and subtle plots. But I do like politics...
Sitharensor lead Ilatheril through the crowd, wilfully empty of magic. To the mystical sight of the sidhe they were confidently helpless, boldly powerless, vulnerable, and in complete control.
“You know, if one of them decides to start killing things we’ll be dead before we hit the floor like this.” Ilatheril’s voice hissed silently through Sitharensor’s mind.
“If it comes to magical combat in this room, with the cream of the local sidhe of both courts, then a quick death might be the best we can hope for.” Sitharensor murmured back. “We have to calm things down.”
“What? No-one’s going to do anything. Boss men have left the room. Everyone’s waiting to see what they decide.”
“People get impatient. People make their own decisions. People decide to do a great deal when the powers that be seem to be occupied with other things... As heirs we have a duty to our people to makes sure they don’t make any... inadvisable choices.”
“‘While the cat’s away the mice will play?’ And now we’re playing exterminator... great.”
“Welcome to politics. Where the mighty fall and the weak rise up triumphant, all on the power of a word, a gesture or the tilt of an eyebrow.” Sitharensor smiled. “Let the games begin.”
He lead Ilatheril towards a group of three Seelie nobles, two lords and a lady, each backed by a small crowd of retainers. Bodyguards with fingers easing close to weapons, personal servants fluttering around their masters like nervous butterflies, sycophants fawning and nodding to every word, all the while acting as paranoid sentinels over the movements of the crowd. With choreographed grace, the small circle opened up smoothly to let the two young sidhe join them, everyone moving in perfect harmony seemingly directed by one voice. Eyebrows rose at the presence of the Unseelie, lips pursed at the Seelie scion’s predatory stalk and blazing eyes.
“My lord Ythirath! I cannot begin to describe how much pleasure your presence brings me!” Sitharensor gushed to the Lord of House Winter‘s Honour. “Mainly because in a court situation I am required to be polite to this creature” Ilatheril’s face smoothed over woodenly against the sudden need to laugh. “In this trying time, I know House Eternal Fire will have no allies quite like House Winter‘s Honour.” “Yes, our other allies will be helping us.”
Ythirath bared his teeth in what could just be mistaken for a smile if you were sufficiently deluded. “Of course, Lord Sitharensor. I was already remarking to my fellow lords here at the extent of aid we must give to House Eternal Fire during this difficult time. Such a tragedy to happen to you, and after so much discussion with the Unseelie, and after such grand sacrifice!”
“Sacrifice, my lord? I fear I cannot think of any sacrifice, certainly none to compare to the grand sacrifices my house has made for the honour of all Seelie in the past. But then, perhaps you can reveal this mystery to me, after all I’m sure Winter’s Honour has extensive experience of noble sacrifice... somewhere in its history.”
Ythirath’s smile twisted even further, his throbbing power surged even higher, emphasised by the emptiness of the two younger sidhe. Ilatheril gave the Seelie a questioning look, prompting him to take control of himself in the face of derision from the barbarous Unseelie. “I take it Winter’s Honour doesn’t have a grand history of noble sacrifice, Sith?”
“Hardly. Not a House known for caring about others or greater ideals. It looks after it’s own, no matter what it costs. Almost Unseelie like.”
“Crap. You know nothing about the Unseelie. Why does past history matter now anyway?”
“It matters because it’s another little needle to prick him with and set him off guard. And to make him look foolish in front of his companions. Look, he seeks allies. The Lady Myrawen of House Fresh Sight, renowned for their wisdom and shrewd decisions, as well as novel approach and somewhat... wild reputation. Not a powerful house, but an influential one. The other is Lord Tysian of House Noble Arm. Definitely a powerful House, influential through sheer strength of arms. But he’s just the regent, his father is hopelessly insane, as well as incredibly domineering. The son‘s been under his thrall for too long. He prefers a quiet life devoted to art, not politics. He’s unsure, young, politically untrained and scarred by his father’s delusions. He’s out of his depth here... likely to be easily influenced by anyone with a sympathetic ear and kind, fatherly advice.”
“Easily manipulated, in other words. And well worth the effort. Quick, the fool‘s finished swallowing his tongue. I got the wild Lady Myrawen, you get the innocent Tysian.”
Ythirath glared fiercely behind the mask of a desperate smile at Sitharensor. “I was referring to your forced union with an Unseelie. That is indeed a grand sacrifice that we must all respect you for.” Lord Tysian and Lady Myrawen nodded in respect, the former with great fervour, the latter gently, with a small smile.
“Really, Lord Ythirath? A sacrifice? Perhaps you have not seen Ilatheril, he stands here before you. He is, as no doubt you can see, an extremely beautiful specimen, and I assure you possesses a passion that makes any such union far from a sacrifice. If I had known you had such strange views, my lord, I would have spoken with Ilatheril's father about arranging a liaison for you with one of the hags.” Ilatheril had to smile then, especially in the face of the collective Seelie outrage.
Lady Myrawen smiled enigmatically. “So you don’t consider it to be a noble sacrifice? Interesting... your house would gain much prestige from such a sacrifice.”
Ilatheril stepped forwards quickly, standing far to close to the Seelie lady. He smiled... predatory, but not dangerous... at least not in any conventional sense. “Sacrifice? Oh dear... Sitharensor assured me the Seelie were not so frigid... so boring... so unadventurous as we thought they were. Did he lie? Such a pity. An entire court of wondrous, beautiful fae, and you're all so coldly scared of the gifts you have. Such a waste.” He raised one hand and combed his fingers through the power that was radiating of the noble Lady’s skin. He shivered, eyes closing in rapture. “Tell me, Lady Myrawen, do you waste yourself?”
Lady Myrawen maintained her icy stare. Only the sharpest, or most paranoid, eyes could spot the slight quickening of breath. Everyone hated the Unseelie... but there were some intriguing rumours. “This is hardly the appropriate place to discuss such things.” Her voice was level, she was a true player of the game.
“It isn’t?! Oh, do forgive me, we Unseelie do things differently. Perhaps you could show me what is the appropriate place?”
“If you are going to live among us, young one, it would be wise to learn our ways. Come, allow me to educate you.” The pair drifted away with perfect grace, circled by the lady’s entourage. Ythirath looked on in barely concealed fury, staring just long enough for Sitharensor to step forward...
“Lord Tysian, why I don’t think you’ve met Lord Amasron? Fie, forgive my thoughtlessness, and your House such a dear ally of House Unyielding Pride! Please, I must rectify this gross oversight at once!”
“Well... but...” The young lord looked uncertainly at Ythirath, who had just managed to gather himself enough to object.
“Why, your father will be simply furious that I didn’t introduce you sooner!” The younger lord’s head snapped away from the older sidhe to Sitharensor, fear and shock written large on his face. Terribly untrained, Sitharensor cursed, that such power should vest in Noble Arm. Something would have to be done. Still, for now it left an opening that easily allowed him to usher the younger sidhe away from the now furious Ythirath to Lord Amasron.
Amasron was tall, ancient and noble. The very epitome of what it meant to be a Seelie sidhe. He had a reputation for listening and patience. The worth of his words were long considered to be beyond that of any gold. The content was wise, and every tone rang with the authority and surety of centuries of leadership. Through hardship, conflict, chaos and blood, Unyielding Pride had always stood firm, and doubly so in their support for Eternal Fire. At Sitharensor’s approach, the small clique of nobles circling him parted respectfully. With quiet gravitas, Amasron bowed to Sitharensor.
“Lord Tysian, may I present you Lord Amasron the True, Lord of House Unyielding Pride, Lord of the Open Lands, Guardian of Northern Honour, Light that Shines in Darkness, The Eternal Wall, Blessed of Lindesfarne, Avalorn, Castlerigg, and Avebury, Kinblade to Lord Brionachan of House Eternal Fire.” Tysian jerked at each title, looking lost. “Lord Amasron, may I present Lord Tysian, scion of House Noble Arm. May you come to love him as you have his father.”
Sitharensor caught the slight flicker of Amasron’s eyebrow. Very well done Sitharensor. I applaud. His mental voice was thick and resonant. “Be welcome in my sight, Lord Tysian! Ever and always will the blood of my friends find favour in my heart!” Sitharensor had already ghosted away before the last echoes had faded.
Pensively he scanned the room, taking a few seconds before several advancing nobles closed on him to survey the room. Plots spawning in every corner... and with the High Lords and their chief advisors absent, there were few willing to fight against the tide.