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sparkindarknessWell, this took a lot of doing. I think it might be quite long, but my eyes are going double at the minute so I may come back and split it up into different posts later.
What can I say? I love politics, drama and ostentatious speeches.
Oh, this may loose some people due to long time between posts so some useful links (others, as ever, in memories under faerie guides, light & Dark and Lighjt & dark discourses).
Seelie ranking system and titles
First mention of Stone of Night's Shroud
First Political Dissent (not necessary reading
Lesser fae dissent(not necessary reading
The Norn's scrying
And the next post will have a brief reminder of dramatis personae (yes there'a a fair few in this and can be hard to keep track of)
It took them an eternity, and no small amount of glamour, to be able to return to the Marcherson village. Sitharensor didn’t even complain when Ilatheril called a taxi. He was holding his breath against moaning from the pain. Talking to the taxi driver was beyond him though, and Ilatheril didn't feel inclined to make the effort. He lashed out with magic, not subtly or gently, his tutors would have been appalled at such poor magic use.
They had the Stone of Night’s Shroud, that explained how the creature was so powerful, at any rate. Sitharensor had refused to touch the gem, refused to even look at it as much as was possible. He never understood why it was called a gem, it was too big, big enough to make closing your palm over it difficult. For the rest? It resembled nothing so much as a hole. A deep black hole that drew the gaze deep within it. A void that seemed to go on for all eternity.
Ilatheril cradled it in his lap, stoking his fingers reverentially over its surface. His face was an expression of pure, overjoyed awe. Sitharensor tried not to look. H could sympathise, he had felt such reverence before now for the powerful artefacts of their past... but for this? He was too tired to argue the point.
Hrolf followed in their shadows as they staggered back towards the castle. Sitharensor longed for what peace and healing could be found. So much had happened, so much to think about, his head was beginning to ache with the pressure of it all. Another pain to add to those burning through him.
But there was no peace to be had. He did not know whether it was the same turmoil they had left, or new turmoil raised up; but turmoil it was. He could feel it in the air. Amos was waiting for them anxiously, one look at his face was enough. Death rode the air tonight.
He sighed and quickly fired his brain into the actions of politics. His thoughts ran into the long established grooves, desperately pushing back the newly crammed information for a short time. He took a piece of paper off the Boggun and scribbled a quick message, charging him to deliver it with haste and apologies for such a terse note.
“We face a troubled reception, Ilatheril. We will find no rest here. We must change quickly in order to be presentable for court.”
Ilatheril grabbed Sitharensor’s arm before he had time to march towards the bed chamber, both of them winced. “No. I say we go in as we are - bloodied from battle. The Unseelie will respect us more for it. And the other fae... You were worrying yesterday that the other fae were thinking of rebellion.”
“The Seelie Sidhe will not. They will be offended.”
“Yeah, but you’ve had decades of practice of bringing them around. So’s your father and just about everyone else who supports you.”
Sitharensor considered, before finally nodding. “This will be dangerous, Ilatheril. I intend to invoke a precedent older than the Courts themselves, one not used in centuries.”
Ilatheril raised his eyebrows in surprise. Then grinned, a wicked magical smile that was both terrifying and compelling. The sight of a hungry tiger charging, something so incredibly beautiful it was worth dying just to witness it. Sitharensor answered it with a near identical smile, it was more aloof, pure and terrible as the glory of a wrathful god, rather than the feral majesty of a forest guardian - but it was the same. “Not among the Seelie, maybe, but we’ve been doing something close to it for all time.” The Unseelie leaned forwards and delicately licked up the blood from a cut on the Seelie’s face, a deep rumbling purr setting both the Sidhe’s bodies vibrating. They parted, and again they smiled.
Hrolf took a step back. He had seen the smiles before but never had they looked so... similar., Yet they had not changed, just pulled elements of the other’s into themselves. The forest guardian was aloof and glorious. The god from on high contained a majestic, feral passion.
The two ignored the Troll and strode through the corridors to the great hall, both finding new reserves of strength in resolve and new challenge. Their smiles faded to grim expressions of determination and their skin caught the subtle glow of a Sidhe wrapped in his power and not caring who knew it. An old gesture, a gesture of a Sidhe who had reached his limit, who would tolerate no more. The glow of a Sidhe who was ready to raise his fists to the sky and declare before all detractors ‘I am Lord!’ The glow of a Sidhe who was willing to remind everyone how they had become lords in the first place.
The doors slammed open without anyone touching them. Neither Sidhe used their magic, but the ancient building of glamour recognised its lords and obeyed their will unquestioned by any laws or rules - not even those that bound reality itself. A sea of heads turned to the new arrivals, every Sidhe face, no matter how well trained, openly showing shock at this most ancient of powers riding again.
The hall was full, in both Sidhe and important representatives of the other fae. But the gaps in the crowds were telling. The smallest crowd stood on the dais around the thrones. There stood High Lord Brionachan and High Lady Mariasanna of House Eternal Fire and Lord Kirathil of House Dark Eye. They were joined by High Lord Amasron of House Unyielding Pride. Some of the vassals of all three houses were present, but not all. Sitharensor’s gaze sharpened, stabbing out at those faithless vassals who were so lost to honour.
The second smallest crowd was still nearly twice as large as the first. At it’s forefront stood High Lord Ythirath of House Winter’s Honour. He was surrounded by all of his vassals and allies. And Lord Tysian of House Noble Arm. Sitharensor suppressed a curse. Young fool! The crowd’s eyes had all recently been glued with razor edged hostility towards those on the dais
The third smallest seemed to contain nearly half of the Unseelie, their furious eyes had also recently turned away from the dais. Hands drifted near weapons all too often and the dance of angry magic surrounded them like a miasma.
The rest of the crowd gathered in a mill in the centre of the room, carefully maintaining their distance from any faction, though you could see where their sympathies lay by how far they had drifted to any direction. Sitharensor’s heart clenched, there were far too many of the lesser fae in that group... and far too many seemed to be forming a fourth faction, one that regarded all groups with equal disdain. He heard Sir Hrolf’s outraged grunt behind him; Lord Aeric of House Blood Snow did not stand with Eternal Fire on the dais.
They two Sidhe paused to absorb the scene, allowing the silence to stretch. Several times it seemed someone, invariably a Sidhe, would open their mouth to take the initiative. Sitharensor and Ilatheril did not want that. And the air escaped the detractors lungs before they could form the first word. In this time of power where the future rode and in this place of glamour where the Sidhe had ruled for millennia, want and reality were the same. No magic, no power, simply the land refusing to be other than what was desired.
The two walked forward, the silence fell heavier except for the unnaturally loud echoing for their footsteps. The crowd parted for them, many of them not even realising why they stepped aside, as the pair stepped up to the dais. Gasps rippled through the throng as their wounds became evident, shuffling feet grew louder as the pair surveyed those around them, their eyes cold and calculating, seeming to take notes and hiding dangerous secrets... and insights for the future.
They reached the dais. In perfect unison they executed deep bows to Lord Brionachan and Lord Kirathil - slighting neither. The statement was clear, this power, this old will, this control of the castle of glamour was behind the land’s rulers, not in competition with it.
Only then did they turn to face the other crowds.
“We have the Stone of Night’s Shroud.” Sitharensor intoned with sombre reverence. Ilatheril elegantly raised the Stone in both arms for all to see. The Unseelie crowded forwards... closer to the dais, all eyes riveted to the precious artefact. Even as their awe faded slightly, they stayed close to the dais.
“We battled a great enemy in the human’s city. In a place that Halla, First of the Norns of the Iron Gate, termed a place where Iron minds hurt worse than Iron swords.” There was a collective shuddering as the dread metal was named. The two Sidhe nodded to Halla who actually looked stunned. Almost unprecedented for a Norn. She seemed to gather her resolve with a smile - a second surprise, for not only was it a smile, but a smile of hope. Boldly she stepped forward, mounting the dais and presenting her bows to all present. She skipped Lord Kirathil, but other than that, it was perfect. She turned to the two Sidhe and spoke with quiet joy, “perhaps there is still a hope for dreams.” As one the Norns stepped forward, mounted the dais and presented their bows.
There was a quiver through the crowds, the main force of undecided swelled towards the dais, foremost among them Lord Aeric of House Blood Snow, his eyes torn between Halla and the two Sidhe.
Ilatheril raised his own head. “We fought side by side, we each took wounds for the sake of the other, we each strove to save each other’s life. We were united, we were one, with common purpose, common cause, common goal and common dream. We stood together, Seelie and Unseelie. It can happen - as it has before, so it will again; it’s time to stop being enemies for enemies sake.”
One of the Unseelie screamed out his fury, barely holding back his attack, his axe swinging furiously in his hand “you would bind us to them! Enslave us to their rules, virtue and foolish honour! I am Unseelie! And I will be free!”
Ilatheril looked at the Sidhe for a full minute, walked to the edge of the dais and kicked him hard in the face. “Free?! Free, Mistasrith? You don’t know the meaning of freedom! You are ignorant, a fool, an idiot! You would deny an mother load of advantage, benefit, ideas and potential without even thinking - you’d drive them away without consideration just because they have the word ‘Seelie’ attached. You are a slave. Your ignorance makes you a slave - those without knowledge are ever without freedom. Those who do not know - or refuse to know - enough to make a decision are limited, restricted - SLAVES! You are a slave to prejudice! A slave to wilful ignorance! A slave to stupidity! Three times a slave I name you - and for as long as you remain a slave you have no right to call yourself Unseelie!”
“You would force me to learn?” Mistasrith growled as he regained his feet.
Ilatheril spat at the fallen Unseelie. “If you were free, were truly an Unseelie - I wouldn’t have to force you. You would learn and know by your own volition - because only those who know what choices are laid out before them are free to make the right one for them. Only those who know are free to choose any path. Only those who know are Unseelie.”
Mistasrith glared at Ilatheril, power pounding behind his eyes. Then the Unseelie drew back his axe and threw it at Ilatheril in one whipcrack movement.
Ilatheril lashed out and caught it just behind the head, scant inches from his head. Mistasrith laughed, long and hearty and loud. “The lad speaks truth! And proves his worth. Shove up child, and make room for the Unseelie - the TRUE Unseelie!” The Unseelie Sidhe strode up onto the dais, pausing only to nod at Kirathil, a trickle of Unseelie following in his wake.
“You fought side by side with this Unseelie?” Lord Ythirath of House Winter’s Honour’s voice was mocking. “I weep for you, Prince Sitharensor, that you would put yourself at such risk. I weep that we could have lost Eternal Fire’s precious heir.” His tone made it clear just how few tears he would shed at such an event - a tone that earned him more than one reproving voice even among his own followers. “You have heard the Unseelie speak. Freedom! No rules, no law no respect or value or virtue - just freedom. Free to destroy, despoil, betray. Does this Unseelie have any honour? Do the Unseelie have any honour?”
“More than many Seelie here, High Lord Ythirath!” The doors burst open again, this time at the urging of extremely powerful magic. Winds roared into the room, sending many of the crowd tumbling to their knees in the teeth of the gale. Electricity rode the air, sparking off Ythirath’s followers in painful arcs. Count Umathir of House Limitless Heavens strode boldly into the Hall, winds whipping his robes in his fury. His robes were deep, pure blue silk. The last time Sitharensor had seen them they had been dotted with drifting white clouds. Now they raged with deep black storm clouds and arcs of lightening. The Robes of Sky and Winds. Sitharensor smiled, his note had been well received.
The ancient Count of Limitless Heavens was not finished venting his anger. “>Long have I seen the honour of the Seelie degrade, just as my power and the power of my House has degraded. But never did I think that we would - that we could - sink so low. Here, I see sworn vassals to Eternal Fire, noble Counts, Lords and Ladies of all fae and a myriad of Houses - all honour bound in loyalty to High Lord Brionachan. I see them standing away from him, I see them avoiding him! But worse, I see them stood against him. HOW DARE YOU!” A burst of hurricane force wind howled through the room, smashing the disloyal prostrate to the floor yet leaving the honourable untouched.
“I have seen, and now you will hear. The Robes of Sky and Winds have returned to me - thanks to the honoured diplomacy of my liege House Eternal Fire. My powers and the powers of my House are returning - and by Light and Honour, so too will the principles of the Seelie!” A clap of deafening thunder followed his dire pronouncement. While the echoes were still dying he strode forcefully up to the dais and bowed low to all present, including Kirathil. He was nearly overwhelmed by a sudden rush of fae who belatedly remembered their honour... or perhaps remembered the power of House Limitless Heavens. Among them was Lord Aeric of House Blood Snow, his Trollen honour wounded and shamed. He knelt silently at Lord Brionachan’s feet, eyes lowered. With that step the rest of the Trolls were quick to follow.
The crowds were now gathered heavily around dais, new respect filling the air.
“I still see no Unseelie honour!” Lord Ythirath of Winter’s Pride cried. “I still see no reason why I should trust that the Unseelie will not betray and destroy us the minute our back is turned!” There were murmurs among the Seelie who remained in his ranks, and even among the undecided. Several drifted towards the High Lord of Winter’s Pride.
Sitharensor raised his chin, raising his head high. “I trust Ilatheril.”
Ilatheril, I need you to prove my trust! There was a desperate edge to Sitharensor's mental voice, so much now rested on this. The Unseelie nodded, grimly. He strode forwards, one hand flicking into his clothes to draw a knife - the knife he had never even unsheathed during the battle in the city. A knife made of iron. He darted forwards, grabbing the long flowing strands of Sitharensor’s hair and pulling his head back. He brought the knife to rest next to Sitharensor’s throat, a hair’s breadth from touching the stretched skin of his neck.
Sitharensor desperately fought the urge to panic, fought the urge to scream at the burn of iron so very close, the death metal, the dreamless form! It took every scrap of will, utterly ignoring the panicked commotion around him to control himself. Control himself to be able top speak - calmly and in ringing, confident tones.
“THIS is how much I trust my husband - Ilatheril of House Darkeye of the Unseelie Court. Do any here question this trust?” No-one spoke, everyone was held in utter shock at the unprecedented gesture. After a dramatic pause, Ilatheril released the Seelie. He grinned and passed him the knife.
Sitharensor had never handled an iron weapon before, even if the hilt and guard were more normal bronze. He forced his shaking hands round it, stilled them by force of will and put the point to Ilatheril's throat. The Unseelie didn’t waver, didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. His smile widened. Sitharensor gave him back the knife in the stunned silence.
Ilatheril didn’t sheath it. He threw it to High Lord Ythirath’s feet. The Seelie jumped back as if from red hot coals, yelling in horror. Ilatheril grinned. “You have seen our trust - the trust of a Seelie Prince for and Unseelie and an Unseelie for a Seelie. But what do I know of honour and trust, Unseelie that I am? Perhaps you could show us all how much you trust those honour bound to serve you?” His grin turned malicious and he gestured at the knife. “Show me the worth of Winter’s Heart’s Honour. Show me how much you’ve earned your follower’s respect that you might trust them to this degree.”
Lord Ythirath stood, shuddering, hate blazing in his eyes. He reached one hand down as if to pick up the knife, gaze darting to his followers. He drew back again, rubbing his hand as if he'd actually come close to touching the metal. He growled, the growl of an enraged Sidhe, as he kicked the dagger away.
His party broke behind him. Nearly all of them moved towards the crowd of undecided, some even to the dais. Including Lord Tysian of House Noble Blow. Lord Ythirath turned in fury and stormed out of the Hall.
Sitharensor turned to Ilatheril, seeming to ignore the crowd. “Husband, we have fought together, bled together and tasted victory together.”
Ilatheril met his gaze levelly, face serious. “Husband, we have loved together, lain together, and tasted joy together.
Sitharensor raised his left hand to touch Ilatheril’s right, careful of the Unseelie’s broken wrist. “I place my Honour in your right hand. I place my Light in your left hand, I place my life’s Order in your soul‘s keeping. I pledge my magic and power to yours.”
Ilatheril raised his right hand to touch Sitharensor’s left, forming a circle of arms. “I place my Freedom in your right hand. I place my Darkness in your left hand, I place my life’s Change in your soul’s keeping. I pledge my magic and power to yours.”
Power flowed between the two, Seelie and Unseelie, ordered and chaotic, static and changing, life and death, passion and passion, spark and spark, dream and dream it flowed together freely and easily, reaching for each other, merging together, rubbing and dancing against one another. Then both Sidhe bit their tongues, blood flowing into their mouths. They pulled together and their mouths met, blood flowed through the connected lips, passion flared strong and hot as it trickled down their open throats., They sank into a kiss of lust, power, magic and an eternity of denied possibility. It was truly magical, tongue rolled over tongue, magic over magic. Mouths worked against each other as auras pushed through each other, coming together. It raised them, hotter, harder, stronger, deeper. And it called...
The powers came together, still separate but merged. For a brief moment, Light and Dark became one. For a brief, perfect moment, all was one, everything was in balance, everything was as it should be. For a moment all the fae felt what they once were, what they were meant to be.
The two Sidhe came apart, both gasping, but whole and healed from the rush of power. Their powers slowly drew back to their own bodies, but the link was forged. The small spark of each other’s power they once held was now a pulsing, potent resident within their souls; never again would their powers be pure Light or pure Dark - it would be both, and more.
In the aftermath of that rush, that glimpse of purity, the fae, Seelie and Unseelie both, knelt.
What can I say? I love politics, drama and ostentatious speeches.
Oh, this may loose some people due to long time between posts so some useful links (others, as ever, in memories under faerie guides, light & Dark and Lighjt & dark discourses).
Seelie ranking system and titles
First mention of Stone of Night's Shroud
First Political Dissent (not necessary reading
Lesser fae dissent(not necessary reading
The Norn's scrying
And the next post will have a brief reminder of dramatis personae (yes there'a a fair few in this and can be hard to keep track of)
It took them an eternity, and no small amount of glamour, to be able to return to the Marcherson village. Sitharensor didn’t even complain when Ilatheril called a taxi. He was holding his breath against moaning from the pain. Talking to the taxi driver was beyond him though, and Ilatheril didn't feel inclined to make the effort. He lashed out with magic, not subtly or gently, his tutors would have been appalled at such poor magic use.
They had the Stone of Night’s Shroud, that explained how the creature was so powerful, at any rate. Sitharensor had refused to touch the gem, refused to even look at it as much as was possible. He never understood why it was called a gem, it was too big, big enough to make closing your palm over it difficult. For the rest? It resembled nothing so much as a hole. A deep black hole that drew the gaze deep within it. A void that seemed to go on for all eternity.
Ilatheril cradled it in his lap, stoking his fingers reverentially over its surface. His face was an expression of pure, overjoyed awe. Sitharensor tried not to look. H could sympathise, he had felt such reverence before now for the powerful artefacts of their past... but for this? He was too tired to argue the point.
Hrolf followed in their shadows as they staggered back towards the castle. Sitharensor longed for what peace and healing could be found. So much had happened, so much to think about, his head was beginning to ache with the pressure of it all. Another pain to add to those burning through him.
But there was no peace to be had. He did not know whether it was the same turmoil they had left, or new turmoil raised up; but turmoil it was. He could feel it in the air. Amos was waiting for them anxiously, one look at his face was enough. Death rode the air tonight.
He sighed and quickly fired his brain into the actions of politics. His thoughts ran into the long established grooves, desperately pushing back the newly crammed information for a short time. He took a piece of paper off the Boggun and scribbled a quick message, charging him to deliver it with haste and apologies for such a terse note.
“We face a troubled reception, Ilatheril. We will find no rest here. We must change quickly in order to be presentable for court.”
Ilatheril grabbed Sitharensor’s arm before he had time to march towards the bed chamber, both of them winced. “No. I say we go in as we are - bloodied from battle. The Unseelie will respect us more for it. And the other fae... You were worrying yesterday that the other fae were thinking of rebellion.”
“The Seelie Sidhe will not. They will be offended.”
“Yeah, but you’ve had decades of practice of bringing them around. So’s your father and just about everyone else who supports you.”
Sitharensor considered, before finally nodding. “This will be dangerous, Ilatheril. I intend to invoke a precedent older than the Courts themselves, one not used in centuries.”
Ilatheril raised his eyebrows in surprise. Then grinned, a wicked magical smile that was both terrifying and compelling. The sight of a hungry tiger charging, something so incredibly beautiful it was worth dying just to witness it. Sitharensor answered it with a near identical smile, it was more aloof, pure and terrible as the glory of a wrathful god, rather than the feral majesty of a forest guardian - but it was the same. “Not among the Seelie, maybe, but we’ve been doing something close to it for all time.” The Unseelie leaned forwards and delicately licked up the blood from a cut on the Seelie’s face, a deep rumbling purr setting both the Sidhe’s bodies vibrating. They parted, and again they smiled.
Hrolf took a step back. He had seen the smiles before but never had they looked so... similar., Yet they had not changed, just pulled elements of the other’s into themselves. The forest guardian was aloof and glorious. The god from on high contained a majestic, feral passion.
The two ignored the Troll and strode through the corridors to the great hall, both finding new reserves of strength in resolve and new challenge. Their smiles faded to grim expressions of determination and their skin caught the subtle glow of a Sidhe wrapped in his power and not caring who knew it. An old gesture, a gesture of a Sidhe who had reached his limit, who would tolerate no more. The glow of a Sidhe who was ready to raise his fists to the sky and declare before all detractors ‘I am Lord!’ The glow of a Sidhe who was willing to remind everyone how they had become lords in the first place.
The doors slammed open without anyone touching them. Neither Sidhe used their magic, but the ancient building of glamour recognised its lords and obeyed their will unquestioned by any laws or rules - not even those that bound reality itself. A sea of heads turned to the new arrivals, every Sidhe face, no matter how well trained, openly showing shock at this most ancient of powers riding again.
The hall was full, in both Sidhe and important representatives of the other fae. But the gaps in the crowds were telling. The smallest crowd stood on the dais around the thrones. There stood High Lord Brionachan and High Lady Mariasanna of House Eternal Fire and Lord Kirathil of House Dark Eye. They were joined by High Lord Amasron of House Unyielding Pride. Some of the vassals of all three houses were present, but not all. Sitharensor’s gaze sharpened, stabbing out at those faithless vassals who were so lost to honour.
The second smallest crowd was still nearly twice as large as the first. At it’s forefront stood High Lord Ythirath of House Winter’s Honour. He was surrounded by all of his vassals and allies. And Lord Tysian of House Noble Arm. Sitharensor suppressed a curse. Young fool! The crowd’s eyes had all recently been glued with razor edged hostility towards those on the dais
The third smallest seemed to contain nearly half of the Unseelie, their furious eyes had also recently turned away from the dais. Hands drifted near weapons all too often and the dance of angry magic surrounded them like a miasma.
The rest of the crowd gathered in a mill in the centre of the room, carefully maintaining their distance from any faction, though you could see where their sympathies lay by how far they had drifted to any direction. Sitharensor’s heart clenched, there were far too many of the lesser fae in that group... and far too many seemed to be forming a fourth faction, one that regarded all groups with equal disdain. He heard Sir Hrolf’s outraged grunt behind him; Lord Aeric of House Blood Snow did not stand with Eternal Fire on the dais.
They two Sidhe paused to absorb the scene, allowing the silence to stretch. Several times it seemed someone, invariably a Sidhe, would open their mouth to take the initiative. Sitharensor and Ilatheril did not want that. And the air escaped the detractors lungs before they could form the first word. In this time of power where the future rode and in this place of glamour where the Sidhe had ruled for millennia, want and reality were the same. No magic, no power, simply the land refusing to be other than what was desired.
The two walked forward, the silence fell heavier except for the unnaturally loud echoing for their footsteps. The crowd parted for them, many of them not even realising why they stepped aside, as the pair stepped up to the dais. Gasps rippled through the throng as their wounds became evident, shuffling feet grew louder as the pair surveyed those around them, their eyes cold and calculating, seeming to take notes and hiding dangerous secrets... and insights for the future.
They reached the dais. In perfect unison they executed deep bows to Lord Brionachan and Lord Kirathil - slighting neither. The statement was clear, this power, this old will, this control of the castle of glamour was behind the land’s rulers, not in competition with it.
Only then did they turn to face the other crowds.
“We have the Stone of Night’s Shroud.” Sitharensor intoned with sombre reverence. Ilatheril elegantly raised the Stone in both arms for all to see. The Unseelie crowded forwards... closer to the dais, all eyes riveted to the precious artefact. Even as their awe faded slightly, they stayed close to the dais.
“We battled a great enemy in the human’s city. In a place that Halla, First of the Norns of the Iron Gate, termed a place where Iron minds hurt worse than Iron swords.” There was a collective shuddering as the dread metal was named. The two Sidhe nodded to Halla who actually looked stunned. Almost unprecedented for a Norn. She seemed to gather her resolve with a smile - a second surprise, for not only was it a smile, but a smile of hope. Boldly she stepped forward, mounting the dais and presenting her bows to all present. She skipped Lord Kirathil, but other than that, it was perfect. She turned to the two Sidhe and spoke with quiet joy, “perhaps there is still a hope for dreams.” As one the Norns stepped forward, mounted the dais and presented their bows.
There was a quiver through the crowds, the main force of undecided swelled towards the dais, foremost among them Lord Aeric of House Blood Snow, his eyes torn between Halla and the two Sidhe.
Ilatheril raised his own head. “We fought side by side, we each took wounds for the sake of the other, we each strove to save each other’s life. We were united, we were one, with common purpose, common cause, common goal and common dream. We stood together, Seelie and Unseelie. It can happen - as it has before, so it will again; it’s time to stop being enemies for enemies sake.”
One of the Unseelie screamed out his fury, barely holding back his attack, his axe swinging furiously in his hand “you would bind us to them! Enslave us to their rules, virtue and foolish honour! I am Unseelie! And I will be free!”
Ilatheril looked at the Sidhe for a full minute, walked to the edge of the dais and kicked him hard in the face. “Free?! Free, Mistasrith? You don’t know the meaning of freedom! You are ignorant, a fool, an idiot! You would deny an mother load of advantage, benefit, ideas and potential without even thinking - you’d drive them away without consideration just because they have the word ‘Seelie’ attached. You are a slave. Your ignorance makes you a slave - those without knowledge are ever without freedom. Those who do not know - or refuse to know - enough to make a decision are limited, restricted - SLAVES! You are a slave to prejudice! A slave to wilful ignorance! A slave to stupidity! Three times a slave I name you - and for as long as you remain a slave you have no right to call yourself Unseelie!”
“You would force me to learn?” Mistasrith growled as he regained his feet.
Ilatheril spat at the fallen Unseelie. “If you were free, were truly an Unseelie - I wouldn’t have to force you. You would learn and know by your own volition - because only those who know what choices are laid out before them are free to make the right one for them. Only those who know are free to choose any path. Only those who know are Unseelie.”
Mistasrith glared at Ilatheril, power pounding behind his eyes. Then the Unseelie drew back his axe and threw it at Ilatheril in one whipcrack movement.
Ilatheril lashed out and caught it just behind the head, scant inches from his head. Mistasrith laughed, long and hearty and loud. “The lad speaks truth! And proves his worth. Shove up child, and make room for the Unseelie - the TRUE Unseelie!” The Unseelie Sidhe strode up onto the dais, pausing only to nod at Kirathil, a trickle of Unseelie following in his wake.
“You fought side by side with this Unseelie?” Lord Ythirath of House Winter’s Honour’s voice was mocking. “I weep for you, Prince Sitharensor, that you would put yourself at such risk. I weep that we could have lost Eternal Fire’s precious heir.” His tone made it clear just how few tears he would shed at such an event - a tone that earned him more than one reproving voice even among his own followers. “You have heard the Unseelie speak. Freedom! No rules, no law no respect or value or virtue - just freedom. Free to destroy, despoil, betray. Does this Unseelie have any honour? Do the Unseelie have any honour?”
“More than many Seelie here, High Lord Ythirath!” The doors burst open again, this time at the urging of extremely powerful magic. Winds roared into the room, sending many of the crowd tumbling to their knees in the teeth of the gale. Electricity rode the air, sparking off Ythirath’s followers in painful arcs. Count Umathir of House Limitless Heavens strode boldly into the Hall, winds whipping his robes in his fury. His robes were deep, pure blue silk. The last time Sitharensor had seen them they had been dotted with drifting white clouds. Now they raged with deep black storm clouds and arcs of lightening. The Robes of Sky and Winds. Sitharensor smiled, his note had been well received.
The ancient Count of Limitless Heavens was not finished venting his anger. “>Long have I seen the honour of the Seelie degrade, just as my power and the power of my House has degraded. But never did I think that we would - that we could - sink so low. Here, I see sworn vassals to Eternal Fire, noble Counts, Lords and Ladies of all fae and a myriad of Houses - all honour bound in loyalty to High Lord Brionachan. I see them standing away from him, I see them avoiding him! But worse, I see them stood against him. HOW DARE YOU!” A burst of hurricane force wind howled through the room, smashing the disloyal prostrate to the floor yet leaving the honourable untouched.
“I have seen, and now you will hear. The Robes of Sky and Winds have returned to me - thanks to the honoured diplomacy of my liege House Eternal Fire. My powers and the powers of my House are returning - and by Light and Honour, so too will the principles of the Seelie!” A clap of deafening thunder followed his dire pronouncement. While the echoes were still dying he strode forcefully up to the dais and bowed low to all present, including Kirathil. He was nearly overwhelmed by a sudden rush of fae who belatedly remembered their honour... or perhaps remembered the power of House Limitless Heavens. Among them was Lord Aeric of House Blood Snow, his Trollen honour wounded and shamed. He knelt silently at Lord Brionachan’s feet, eyes lowered. With that step the rest of the Trolls were quick to follow.
The crowds were now gathered heavily around dais, new respect filling the air.
“I still see no Unseelie honour!” Lord Ythirath of Winter’s Pride cried. “I still see no reason why I should trust that the Unseelie will not betray and destroy us the minute our back is turned!” There were murmurs among the Seelie who remained in his ranks, and even among the undecided. Several drifted towards the High Lord of Winter’s Pride.
Sitharensor raised his chin, raising his head high. “I trust Ilatheril.”
Ilatheril, I need you to prove my trust! There was a desperate edge to Sitharensor's mental voice, so much now rested on this. The Unseelie nodded, grimly. He strode forwards, one hand flicking into his clothes to draw a knife - the knife he had never even unsheathed during the battle in the city. A knife made of iron. He darted forwards, grabbing the long flowing strands of Sitharensor’s hair and pulling his head back. He brought the knife to rest next to Sitharensor’s throat, a hair’s breadth from touching the stretched skin of his neck.
Sitharensor desperately fought the urge to panic, fought the urge to scream at the burn of iron so very close, the death metal, the dreamless form! It took every scrap of will, utterly ignoring the panicked commotion around him to control himself. Control himself to be able top speak - calmly and in ringing, confident tones.
“THIS is how much I trust my husband - Ilatheril of House Darkeye of the Unseelie Court. Do any here question this trust?” No-one spoke, everyone was held in utter shock at the unprecedented gesture. After a dramatic pause, Ilatheril released the Seelie. He grinned and passed him the knife.
Sitharensor had never handled an iron weapon before, even if the hilt and guard were more normal bronze. He forced his shaking hands round it, stilled them by force of will and put the point to Ilatheril's throat. The Unseelie didn’t waver, didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. His smile widened. Sitharensor gave him back the knife in the stunned silence.
Ilatheril didn’t sheath it. He threw it to High Lord Ythirath’s feet. The Seelie jumped back as if from red hot coals, yelling in horror. Ilatheril grinned. “You have seen our trust - the trust of a Seelie Prince for and Unseelie and an Unseelie for a Seelie. But what do I know of honour and trust, Unseelie that I am? Perhaps you could show us all how much you trust those honour bound to serve you?” His grin turned malicious and he gestured at the knife. “Show me the worth of Winter’s Heart’s Honour. Show me how much you’ve earned your follower’s respect that you might trust them to this degree.”
Lord Ythirath stood, shuddering, hate blazing in his eyes. He reached one hand down as if to pick up the knife, gaze darting to his followers. He drew back again, rubbing his hand as if he'd actually come close to touching the metal. He growled, the growl of an enraged Sidhe, as he kicked the dagger away.
His party broke behind him. Nearly all of them moved towards the crowd of undecided, some even to the dais. Including Lord Tysian of House Noble Blow. Lord Ythirath turned in fury and stormed out of the Hall.
Sitharensor turned to Ilatheril, seeming to ignore the crowd. “Husband, we have fought together, bled together and tasted victory together.”
Ilatheril met his gaze levelly, face serious. “Husband, we have loved together, lain together, and tasted joy together.
Sitharensor raised his left hand to touch Ilatheril’s right, careful of the Unseelie’s broken wrist. “I place my Honour in your right hand. I place my Light in your left hand, I place my life’s Order in your soul‘s keeping. I pledge my magic and power to yours.”
Ilatheril raised his right hand to touch Sitharensor’s left, forming a circle of arms. “I place my Freedom in your right hand. I place my Darkness in your left hand, I place my life’s Change in your soul’s keeping. I pledge my magic and power to yours.”
Power flowed between the two, Seelie and Unseelie, ordered and chaotic, static and changing, life and death, passion and passion, spark and spark, dream and dream it flowed together freely and easily, reaching for each other, merging together, rubbing and dancing against one another. Then both Sidhe bit their tongues, blood flowing into their mouths. They pulled together and their mouths met, blood flowed through the connected lips, passion flared strong and hot as it trickled down their open throats., They sank into a kiss of lust, power, magic and an eternity of denied possibility. It was truly magical, tongue rolled over tongue, magic over magic. Mouths worked against each other as auras pushed through each other, coming together. It raised them, hotter, harder, stronger, deeper. And it called...
The powers came together, still separate but merged. For a brief moment, Light and Dark became one. For a brief, perfect moment, all was one, everything was in balance, everything was as it should be. For a moment all the fae felt what they once were, what they were meant to be.
The two Sidhe came apart, both gasping, but whole and healed from the rush of power. Their powers slowly drew back to their own bodies, but the link was forged. The small spark of each other’s power they once held was now a pulsing, potent resident within their souls; never again would their powers be pure Light or pure Dark - it would be both, and more.
In the aftermath of that rush, that glimpse of purity, the fae, Seelie and Unseelie both, knelt.