Edria Meredith

Rose Rose Rose Red
Will I ever see thee wed
I wil marry at thy will sire
At thy will

The week was a daze, some visitors, some kind words, but mostly silence and numbness and the quiet and tentative touches of Gaius and Kalen. She went to the gathering not because she wanted to, but because she was supposed to. She sent those who were good at that area off to deal with problems. She sat wrapped in a blanket, freezing and tired. She had not slept much and it showed in the circles beneath her eye and the flower wilted and dropping from her hair. In a few weeks the burden of the crown would be gone but it wasn't the crown that was the burden. She still thought about the poison but did not go until the stillroom unless Gaius hovered near to avoid worrying him.

The emptiness inside her still remained unfilled. Where did the path lead? Where was her faith? What was the point?

It was the hoofbeats that roused her. Horses in the hedge? That many?

"SUMMER COURT TO THE WALLS!" Kalen's voice rang out through the freehold and Edria looked up. "sable and aster," someone whispered.

Now it's time.

A thousand years gone by
Too late to wonder why
I'm here alone
And in my darkest hour
He rose that fell a flower
I should have known

She went out to the ramparts with the knowledge that the plan she had thought of six month past in the waning of spring to summer was about to come to fruition. The thought that roused her while she was in Tampa to get rid of Sable and Aster from her life and her hold, had found the right time to be implemented. It was a suicidal plan at best, stupidity at its finest. She knew that walking out onto the ramparts and she did not care.

The only thing she would lose in this was her life and safety. She might however gain everything and either option was a change from this. Victory or hell in the return. They edged away from her and the dullness in her eyes. She had not told them of her idea. They wouldn't let her if she had. They didn't know that she wanted release from this even if that meant death. It was the only thing, that feeling, that allowed her to stand out there and stare at her deepest nightmare without running far and fast.

She would have to be exceptionally careful - she had cast truth and lies earlier and could not lie now.

Rose Rose Rose Red
Will I ever see thee wed
Only if you can capture me

He was as stunning as she remembered, and as alien.

"My lord wants to parlay," the goblin called out. She gave her assent, looking at the inert form of the Frenchman over one horse and the elemental criminal he'd been chasing draped over the other. Arioch had caused this by riding too deep into the Brim but it had given her the chance She had been waiting for all these months.

"Granted."

"A tent or inside the hollow?"

"A tent will suffice."

The freehold stirred behind her, grumbled, shifted, shoved.

"Not without an honor guard," Kalen said.

"Two. Only two." If they mispoke, she would die and so would they. Her life did not matter and that was all that allowed her to do this. There's did. Ryver and Kalen went with her. She ordered their silence and not to look at the gentry that waited below.

Tell me no more stories
And I'll tell you no lies
No one wants to hurt me
But everybody tries


Surprisingly they listened and by miracle alone they resisted the siren call of Sable and Aster's voice. Her gut clenched, longing to run to him and throw herself at his feet but she held against it. Hold... hold on. She took the dangerous step that she needed to take.

And played his game.

She sparked the contracts that turned her hair to firey tangles of auburn and earth brown, made the black eyes limpid and endless and mysterious, heightened the planes of face and softened away all those human imperfections. She watched the anger and intrigue in his inhuman eyes.

He wove a chair from hedge thorns and reclined in it with a casual sensuality that made her dig her heels into the dirt, her body inherently abhoorant when her mind was numb.

She wove the vines up from the earth and seated herself regally. A flicker of a frown crossed his face.

Playing his game now. Was she better at it than a gentry? Did she -want- to be better at it than a gentry?

"Your terms?" Voice like fur on skin, purring, liquid. She knew that in Arcadia it sounded even better. No... no... don't go.

"A challenge." She felt Kalen stiffen. Ryver's quetioning glance slid over her back. "If I win, I get Arioch and the other. You leave here. You leave the people of this freehold, it's allies, and their families alone. No mental games. No attacks. No stealing of them or their property." She wove the terms, judging each word that she had woven into tapestry of speech that would keep them all safe months ago. Her memory held even though fear chipped away at resolve. Only the numbnes, the not caring for her own life, actually allowed her to speak calmly.

Run, run run... no... not this time. Die here today if you will.

"Those are steep terms. What do I get if I win?"

"Me."

"Not enough"

"I still have things I can teach you."

I did not expect that. I can't offer any of them! Take me...I can teach you of heartbreak and love. If you accept this I will teach you that those things outweigh everything you know. Take my bait! She froze in panic and he smiled laciviously. She felt her hold on sanity and numbness slipping. He tried to call Ugati but the sounds of the scuffle behind them meant the freehold held him. No, not Ugati.

"Your husband?"

"I cannot offer their lives. They are not mine to give."


Someday these walls will speak
The floor beneath you creek
To call my name
Here in my web of dreams
My whispers turn to screams
And place the blame

"I'll go with you," Kalen whispered.

"Are you sure?" she replied in Welsh without thinking. Sable smiled.

"I'll take her," he added.

"I won't let you do this alone."

This is not supposed to be how this works. It's just supposed to be me, not her too!

And now the numbness started to recede and the fear that it covered inched forward inide her like a creeping, stalking thing, waiting to seize her like Sable's clawed hands as they tapped upon the table. The numbness was gone and with it the comfort. She knew now two things.

Terror. But like any Autumn courtier, she used it like a weapon.

And that she was not her Keeper. She was not as good at this game and playing at it was folly - but in that was relief because if she was not as good, than she was not him and never would be him. Playing his game this time would only work if ... if after the feeling returned. She let the insane madness of fear track her mind and reveled in it. That fear made her human.

"What is your challenge?" He asked.

"One of emotion. Of manipulation."

Emotion you cannot understand. Manipulation...this is all manipulation. I'm not good enough But she pressed on because there was no other choice.

Rose Rose Rose Red
Will I ever see thee wed
Only if you discover me

Tell me no more stories
And I'll tell you no lies
No one wants to hurt me
But everybody tries
And if you think that I've been waiting
For my planets to align
It's time you go on
Get your things, get up, get out
I'm doing fine

She could see his hesitation now. The price was too steep. She was in trouble. "Surely," she said as evenly as she could manage - oh goddess don't rush or he'll know - "you can easily outdo the likes of me in a challenge." For a moment she saw the rage and the affront.

"Done. What is your challenge?" He had taken the bait. She quelled the joy that flared up like fire in a cold pit within her. She fought to keep her voice level, to stay, to sit, to not run. Stay. See it through, courtier of Autumn. She felt the wyrd bind his word to his agreeement and wanted to sing. She blinked black eyes hard, fixing the memory in her mind like chisel to stone.

"To make someone feel emotion."

"The target?" He looked so smug.

"Kalen."

Kalen stiffened again. What was she doing? But she knew Kalen well enough to know what to say and ask and she could not contain the triumph in her voice when she turned and she knew her people watched and her voice rose so they could hear her.

"Feel love. True love, the deepest and truest love that your soul can feel."

Understanding dawned in Kalen's eyes and she smiled as she bent to kiss her neices cheek.

"I could love no one more than my niece and my queen," she replied.

Tell me no more stories
And I'll tell you no lies
No one wants to hurt me
But everybody tries
And if you think that I've been waiting
For my planets to align
It's time you go on
Get your things, get up, get out
I'm doing fine

"She loved another before!" Sable growled. The sky, previously idyllic, darkened with his anger.

"Before the challenge," Edria replied calmly but when she turned to look at him again - this time fully because his word had bound him and he could not affect her now without destroying himself "You have lost," her voice cracked.

For this freedom
I have given all I had

He stepped back one step and the earth trembled. She felt him try to kill them all but he could not. The binding words held and the mask on him snapped. She swallowed the scream at the sight of that inhuman face.

For this darkness
I gave my light

"You cannot know love. You can't cause it. And here is love like you will -never- know. I told you I had things I could still teach you - and I told you that this was a game of manipulation"

The fear swam over her vision, making the tears sting her eyes. Oh Goddess, run run run... but she held, held strong for the satisfaction of this victory and the fear touched her, held her, comfortered her and made her real and alive and human and not gentry, not like him at all.

For this wisdom
I have lost my innocence
Take my petals
And cover me with the night

"NOW GET OUT OF MY LANDS!"

The emotion tore at her throat and he turned and prowled off, all the rage and defeat stripping the human like mask off of him and the hedge recoiled around him. But he left because he had given word and there was no choice. There were other threats out there, other gentry. If she ever slipped too far and was taken by another Gentry, he would hunt her down and torture and kill her in that beautiful insanity that he was. But now - bound by her trick - he walked away alien and furious.

She heard the silence, and then the cheering and deafening applause from the ramparts. Right before she fainted, smiling, into Kalen's waiting arms as the terror finally seized her and the numbness dissapeared and her faith - knowing each step had lead to this point and that the loss of faith had kept her safe for faith to return and save her freehold - was returned. This time she had saved herself.

Tell me no more stories
And I'll tell you no lies
No one wants to hurt me
But everybody tries
And if you think that I've been waiting
For my planets to align
It's time you go on
Get your things, get up, get out
I'm doing fine

Edria




Gaius

Please realize that this PC is not happy go lucky or okay with her life.

Please realize that it's been just about one month of play with her and to expect her to be totally welcoming, trusting, and okay with everything and everyone is totally unreasonable.

Actually, please realize that for her to be okay with _anyone_ outside of the few people she has very specific background ties to, is totally unreasonable.

Please further realize I am all right with your PC's being bewildered, sometimes hurt, aggravated, and alltogether confused by this behavior.

Please note that I do not anticipate this PC warming up fully to people for another few months, and much longer in some cases. Also realize that when she does she may in fact piss your PC off more as the trepidation she feels at the moment will no longer be stopping her tongue.

I'm sorry if this sounds ranty but everytime I post an LJ post of her feeling lonely or hurt, I get backlash in my e-mail. I as a player am well aware that your PC's are not trying to offend or dick over my PC. I as a player am also aware that her perspective on things is VASTLY skewed in favor of the twistiness of her history and the fear and survival instinct that result. I am not rushing a story that is integrally based into the background of the PC - her consistent betrayal and mental abuse from her keeper and the abandonment of her parents and separation from her family - in two weeks just so she can go be buddy buddy in a corner and have drinks with people.

I realize that cuts me out from some RP - I don't particularly enjoy that but I realize it's part of the PC's story and that in time it will begin to work out as she has the time to see that the people trying to befriend her are in fact being honest.

I recommend patience with the character as continually pushing at her does nothing except aggravate me because she doesn't need "fixing" or "to be more social." She needs time.

I will further remind folks she had to make a freaking clarity pull to move to Orlando what with the major life changes and did in fact make that pull, however she feels the need to restabilize her existence. Not go bar-hopping.

Pleaes for all that is holy, stop emphasizing that wasn't what you meant and that you were trying. I know you were and I know what you meant. Edria, however, has a far different read on things than her player does and the posts are made in an effort to try and elucidate some of that for both myself and others who may, over time, be able to pick out behavior patterns.

Post with singing with Gen's PC.
Mechanical Song bird post
healing saga

The tang of sweat and the sweet scent of dust. She frowned, the small line forming between her brows as she tried...tried...why was that familiar? Even here? Horses...hoofbeats...laughter.

A sharp tug on her arm brought her attention back to the arena before her. Her Lord of Sable and Aster kept his clawed fingers tightly to her side sometimes stroking, sometimes hurting, her ribs tight to his. She was not certain he breathed though. The images of the fighters, bloodied and sweating and groaning in the dust below, hazed in the scent coming from him. She closed her eyes and tried to focus. He had brought her here for a reason, to see something.

"Do you see how they fight?"

"Yes." She cringed back against him at the clang of a sword and shield that startled her out of the mire of her thoughts. Why was it always so hard to think near him? One of his hands stroked her hair.

"Good. I could bring you here to fight like they do but that wouldn't do for my little pet."

"No, my lord husband." She hid her face against his sleeve, trying to breathe, trying to understand what he was saying. Surely he would never have her fight down there like that? She'd never survive...

"As long as she obeys of course."

Obey, obey, obey. Listen always. Do as your lord says and life is full of silks and velvet and kind words and gentle kisses. Do as he says. Disobey, displease him, and there is such pain and such agony. She nods her head silently, miserably, unable to stop herself, wanting his praise and his touch as much as she abhors his presence and the way it fogs her mind.

A man screams in pain and it cuts through the fog again. She startles, the instinct in her rising and the Lord of Sable and Aster laughs.

"Do you pity them my pet?"

"No. Yes...I don't know. Is he badly hurt?"

"Would you like to go find out?"

It's a test. She knows it, can sense it. Trap trap trap her gut instinct screams. But still she nods. He laughs again, the sound of dark wolf's fur brushing against skin. Oh yes that laugh. Oh goddess those eyes, white and silver, staring, smiling, white as asters, white as the teeth of sharks and beasts.

"I will let you go, my darling Edria. When you wish. But you will have to serve me after for the privledge of it. But then you like that and it is your duty as my wife."

"Yes my lord," she murmurs. She wants to scream but cannot and instead his pricking fingers send her off in the direction of the arena. He could make her fight here but he does not.

Because her lord husband's games are all about the mind and how hers is twisted around his clawed fingers. She will go and she will help the man who screams in so much pain because her hands and heart know the skills of earth and healing..She will go because her beauty and the soft sounds of her voice will lull and soothe.

And when she returns he will make her pay for the privledge, make her pay for going, when he knew all along that she would.

That is the game. For now she plays her part.

(oc: trying to hit on other aspects of fear rather than terrifying and leaping out at people. I know it's probably fighting a losing battle with most of the court ocly given what I'm seeing conceptually but whatever.)


The earthen smell of loam and dust and the sweet tang of horse sweat filled her nose as she breathed deep and slow in time to the canter of the horse’s hoof beats. She rotated slowly in the center of the arena, the slither of the lunge whip trailing through the combed sand.

“Try again,” she coaxed. She was torn between sympathy and joy at the surge of uncertainty and fear of her young charge. Emily aimed the thoroughbred at the low cross jump and urged Two Penny forward. Her hands wrapped in the mare’s mane as she leaned low. Her form was close but Edria did not have time to correct it before the horse launched itself and the girl, her balance upset, tumbled into the earth. She rolled once, coughed unceremoniously and sat up with a sniffle. She was uninjured – the ground was soft and she was certainly not the first child to take a spill off a horse. Edria had only a moment to gather the lingering trace of fear and terror of the fall that lay in the air, tucking it deep inside her with all the other uncertainties and terrors that she had revealed in herself and others.

“Are you all right?” She dropped the whip and moved over to the girl, gently lifting the girl in her arms and smoothing back blonde braids under the hard helmet.

“I didn’t do it right.”

“No but you can try again.” She smiled gently, coaxing, reassuring. Walking the fine line between fear and terror, uncertainty and the downright destruction of confidence, was dangerous enough in its own right. Too much fear could shut you down inside, make you curl up and wither forever. Understanding fear, claiming it as your own, knowing where the line between caution and terror lived was a survival skill. It was one she inspired in her students, one she taught them.

It was the way she made sure they would always listen to that little inner voice that told them not to stray too far into the darkness for the things that lived there would inflict their own versions of hell and pain and pleasure on a person.

“I don’t think I want to.” Edria shook her head.

“No little one, that’s not how this works. Fall off the horse, get back on.”

“I’m scared.”

“I know” Oh I know The thrill of a student’s fear, of their grasping of it, of the rush of it filled her with magic. The shiver that let her gather power. But she never liked seeing them fall, never set them up for it. The nature of riding a thousand pound animal was often enough to generate anything she needed.

But oh she never wanted them hurt, never wanted them to fall, and when they did she was the first to rush over, to smooth away the bruises and dust, to hug away the tears.

She helped Emily back onto the horse, steadied her.

“How do you do it? When you fall?” the girl demanded. Edria was silent for a moment, considering how best to answer.

“I understand that I will still be afraid.”

”And you overcome it?” Emily answered confidently.

“No. I’m still afraid. I just live with it. I know I will be and I move on.”

“That’s… you’re still afraid?”

Edria smiled a little, the expression still warm but hoping that Emily did not see the haunted look in her eyes.

“Yes, my dear. Very often. Now, try the jump again. You can do it.”

note: years subject to change in the near future.
Rest of time line events apply.

1976 - Born, Western Massachusetts
* Twin sister with Eden (rachel m.)
* Potential tie in-s in with one or two family members. Rich upper class family, horse breeders and businessmen.
*Potential tie ins for school age years. Edria was studious and smart and inquisitive with a love for biology, animals, and ancient literature. She often was intrigued by esoteric topics and had the sort of knack of being brainy but popular. She is very much the lighter side to her sister "dark goth" phase. Edria is also an accomplished singer, though not trained formally. She doesn't sing for people often, mostly when out riding horses. (yes horses like music. Shush)
*Potential travel ties: The twins travel frequently for school and to visit relatives around the country and in europe.
*Potential tie with Quentin, pre-kidnapping for both.

1989 - Edria starts attending local wiccan/pagan meetings at first just interested academically and then following the faith eventually. She picks up herb lore during this time and makes plans to become a homeopathic doctor in the future.
*Meets Ceranon and Spider's PC (okay brain cramp) during this time. She is more peripherally aware of them as powerful and strange attendants at the rites than much else.
*Potential ties: other worshippers - either locally or those traveling to visit.

1992 - Sixteenth birthday party and kidnapping of Edria and Eden
*Potential ties: others kidnapped at the party

1992 - 2000 - In the hedge. Edria's keeper seduces her, enchanting her and making her believe that her new lover and "husband" loves her and she him. She has frequent nightmares regarding her sister, unaware her twin was also kidnapped, and is often settled and re-enchanted by her keeper who is toying easily with her mind and emotions.

She is able to keep a grip on herself by working the keep's gardens, often creating poulstices and remedies for the wounded gladiators and Lost who live in the area. While she has great sympathy for those around her, she feels apart from them, not fully realizing how enslaved she is - and ultimately just like those she has compassion for as a result. The more she works with the earth and the other Lost, the more she returns to herself. SHe has brief periods of clarity in which she attempts to escape. She is dragged back several times and punished/rewarded for the attempts at her keeper's hands. Each subsequent attempt further erodes his solid hold on her.

*potential ties: any lost she may have healed
*Potential ties: any household servants
*potential ties: Other concubines
*Potential ties: random changelings
*Ties made with John Christensen, potential with Jilly Christensen, and several of the Phalanx group.
*Ties made with Bryan, loyalist hunter PC that dragged her back once or twice.

2000 - Successful escape from the Gentry, return to mundane world, taking several lost with her
*potential ties: Those she helped escape

2001 - Edria returns home to find that her fetch has taken over her life and that her sister was also kidnapped. Unable to uproot the fetch that now has her own budding doctorial career, has taken Edria's place in the mortal pagan circle, and has utterly replaced her in her not-so-close-knit family, she manages to secure herself a new identity and falls into the Changeling courts. The inquisitiveness she once showed in studies links her into the Autumn court, though the bright sunniness of her previous life is mostly obliterated at the hands of her keeper's tortures and games (both mental and physical) While she is still good-hearted and compassionate, she is a far more somber individual. The fire is, in a word, banked.

Turning to what she was always good at, Edria picks up her studies as a priestess, healer, and herbalist, and her skills with horses. She sets up a small farm south of Boston and works with student riders, tending her garden, and using her knowledge in the changeling courts. Her quick intellect and the desire to use that intellect to protect herself via magic pushes her up fairly rapidly in the ranks of the autumn courtiers and local freehold.
*potential ties: followers of the Goddess (Edria in priestess role)
*Potential ties: Local changelings
*Potential ties: Horse back training, animal breeding
*potential ties: Herbalist, farming, healers (trained by her or offering her their own knowledge)

2007 - in order to gain a poltiical alliance, the freeholds of Boston and Orlando arrange a mutual defense pack of a connecting trod by arranging the marriage of two of their locals - Gaius and Edria. The betrothal is met with hostility from both, however, she's managed to work herself into this position with her own talent. Her fears - and the severe mental issues with marriage after her ordeal in Arcadia - not withstanding, she literally packs up her life and relocates at the behest of her court. After all, without the other Changelings, what would she do?

2007 - Relocation to Florida and betrothal to Gaius Arctorus.

Something moves high in the branches above. One would think that polished halls and gilded cages had taken the fight and fit and lay of land out of her but the earth sings to her, even here. In older times in other places she'd ridden bare back through forest trails to the Beltane fires.

Now she runs.

The pursuer is good, better than most that had drug her screaming back to the lord of sable hair and white aster eyes. This is not Edria's first escape attempt. She prayed to the Mother it would be her last.

Muscles tire.

Sweat stings eyes.

Feet ache.

Thorns scratch.

Lungs burn with air exhale, inhale, slow burning pain.

Trapped.

She realizes the dead end too late, the thickets and brambles impenetrable. She hears the voice in the shadows and doesn't jump, not knowing where it comes from but expecting it. They always taunt...taunt. She wants to cry but more she wants to scream and claw and kick. The hands tighten around her arms, held firm and locked still.

It is not the voice she expects.

"Well fuck me ... are you going to fight me Edaria?"

Only the circle ever calls her Edaria, only the coven ever sings the extra syllable into her name, half admiration, half caring, half gentle teasing. For a second she considers it before the voice becomes Dar's. Slowly the turn of her head over one shoulder. A small, ragged smile.

"Only if you're going back that way." She points into the hedge, deeper from where she's come. There's a pause, a scenting of the air. Is she deciding? The Lady waits for the Hunter to answer before they're moving away again, through brambles and thicket and thorn and dark. Edria releases her grip on the blade secreted into the folds of what was once a glorious gown. They turn back toward light and back toward sister, and away from sable and aster and gilded bars.

(altered the circumstances of her keeper relationship a great deal)

The terror and frozen limbs of his hands lifting me onto the horse faded the further we went into the thorns and brambles. The further from the party we rode, the further from my sister, the more my limbs loosened, the more my body melted to his, the more all I could think of was my lord of the sable hair and white aster eyes.

"Smile love, it's your wedding day." And the capricious fae courts danced and spun around us. Others looked on but i was not like them, not like those lost humans that the fae dragged back. The velvet dress around my ribs was so tight I could barely breathe, but I smiled and I laughed for I loved him and my lord loved me. He said so in between the lavish gifts and paper-dry soft kisses. When I looked at him I could see only how he cared for me.

The nights were long and how could i refuse him? His hands tangled in my hair, in my gown, long fingers on my thighs and the sharp prick of his finger nails sending blood and shivers down my back. Pain. Pleasure. Was there really a difference in those white aster eyes, in that bed of velvet the softness of the dark and silk smooth as water and shadow. I woke screaming from that bed sometimes, trying to find the memory of my sister.

I saw her alone, in pain and rage and covered in blood. I had to reach her.

"Hush love, no... she is fine. It was just a fell dream. Sleep."

"I have to find her!"

"No no... she's fine. Stay. I've gifts and riches for you."

And each word would wrap tightly into my mind and my heart until I'd forgotten the images of my bloodied other half.

"Sing for me."

And I would until my throat was ragged and worn and still he demanded more, and of course it was such a small thing. I would be hoarse for days after. Minutes? Days? Which was it?

He never left me for long, he never let me out of his sight. The longer I was gone the more the unease would grow. The less his dark hair filled my sight, the less I thought of him and the more I thought of the unfortunates around me, the enslaved, the servants, the toys of the fae, of my sister. Inevitably he would forget about me. Inevitably I would try to find her, inevitably they would pull me back and my screams and pleas for his forgiveness would rival only the screams of denied pleasure that he would withhold until I sobbed and groveled at his feet. I forgot the earth. I forgot the heat of summer sun. I forgot the scent of horse flesh as I rode and the laughter of my sister.

But then, I was never one for groveling and each failed attempt, each time his words of enchantment and binding slipped, each time I found a little more of myself. Each time he let me stray to the healers tents and the gladiator's ring, each time he laughed at my need to tend the wounded and the bloody, each time he indulged my caring, I found a little more of myself. Soon, when he made me scream in pleasure and pain it was with clear knowledge of who I was.

And I grew to hate him, my lord of the sable hair and white aster eyes.

"Stay love stay..."

"Yes, she is fine," I sighed and let him comfort me, hearing for the first time the hollowness in his words and the laughter and mocking behind them. My heart broke for love, even false love, is a hard thing to let go of and I had loved long and true, or thought I had. But he had mocked it all this time.

"Stay"

"Yes."

But then I ran. And this time I took them with me, those faces and hands that were like mine, human and bound. I cut the chains and unlocked the doors and in the night, we ran with the hounds at our heels. The thorns tried to stop me. The brambles snagged. He loves you, they hissed. Go back! Go back!

Eden. I am coming. I am coming. I could hear the thunder of my mare's hoofbeats. I could hear Ceranan's laughter. I could smell the Beltane fires and feel the heat on my skin. I could feel the skin of the wounded beneath my hands as I stitched it back together, gentle words, gentle songs. Run and run and run until the the thorns part and I am only my own and no longer his.

In a way, this is work I understand. The digging of earth. The blood.
The dirt. The pain. They use me to bind the wounds of my fellow slaves
now. They use my love of the earth and the knowledge of its secrets,
ever growing ever growing, to keep their games alive.

Every now and again my lord of the sable hair and white aster eyes
comes to me and pushes me to the earth and reminds me I am still his
even if he no longer loves me. The adoration in his eyes is gone. But
the earth, always catches me, even here, even soaked in glamour and
magic her mothering arms keep me safe and hold me close, even as he
tries to remind me over and over and over that I am his slave.

But I am not his slave.

I think to myself that the light in me wasn't prepared for this, that
every wound flays more of it from my spirit. Have you ever seen light
and joy stripped out of a person with every word? With every lash?
With every brutality and casual use and abuse? I have. But I cling to
it still. I refuse to become what he and all of them would make me. I
refuse to break.

And as I bind wound after wound, as I tend the gladiators led in from
their games, as I am dragged back by their hunt, as my fellow captives
and I plot and plan and try and die for the attempts at escape, as I
earn a place of honor for the skill and gentleness of my hands, I
remember three things for everything here comes in threes.

I am light and fire and passion and I will not become what I hate.
I am a slave to them.
And they are nothing but enemies to me.

The velvet dress is so tight around my ribs I can barely breathe, but
it shows so much skin that I want to melt out of sight. I'm not
ashamed of my body. But I am ashamed of the way he uses it as his
showpiece. The grip he has on my arm is like steel, wrapped tight and
unbreakable. I know if I try to pull away I will only hurt myself and
so I stay. He digs a clawed finger into my side.

"Smile my darling lass. This is after all your wedding."

And I do. Because it is, although I do not remember ever consenting,
ever wanting to consent.

The court whirls in a glitter of light and laughter that's touch off,
perfume that reeks a little too much of decay, velvet that's so soft
your hand sinks into the pile a little too much. It's all beautiful.
All sensual. But many of us know that beneath the surface of the
glamour and dazzle it's all a danse played by creatures that only like
to mimic human forms because it thrills them and entertains them. The
walls are lined with slaves and pets like me, some of them escorted by
fae lords and ladies. Some of them bound. Some of them beaten. Some of
them have trays. Others just stand, numb and staring.

Nothing thrills the fae for long. Capricious, rapacious, greedy,
lustful, tricksters of malice, and manipulators of fate and time and
lives. Kidnapper. Keeper.

Mine is a high lord of the courts and the frightening part is, he does
love me in his own sadistic way. He cajoles and brings me gifts,
flatters, takes me to see the most wonderous sights that mortal eyes
have ever beheld. He kisses gently, gives me a suite adjacent to his
own filled with rich things and sweet food and gowns spun of moon and
dusted with the glitter of fae tree pollen. He dazzles, my handsome
lord, with hair like sable and eyes the color of white asters in
spring.

But he is fae and capricious and i know that he only accepts my
refusals because he finds the game intriguing. I can sense his growing
impatience as the days...weeks...months, perhaps go by.

I am not surprised tonight then, when I play the part of his pet and I
tell him no, and I pout, that he will not go. I am not surprised but I
am no less afraid. Eden would you be proud of me that I did not cry?
That I fought him? That his perfect skin broke my nails as I scratched
and fought? Would you be proud of your bright sister when my only
submission was my body and not my mind? Because his mind is so very
strong and fierce, sister. Eden where are you? It wasn't Beltane. It
wasn't Beltane. He holds me after and nuzzles against me and smooths
my hair and calls me his lovely mortal lass and I can see the
adoration in his eyes.

The next night he woos me and this time I let him because there is too
much pain and too much else I have to fight. It is a fight just to
keep sane here, seeing things I should not see and knowing what I
should not know. The dark delights of the high courts are
abominations and my sleep is plagued with the images I see. The night
after that again. And the night after.

But after seven nights of his lovemaking - and I hate to admit that my
body craves it now, oh goddess I hate it - he does not return. The
trays of food are no longer so laden. The gowns are not left. The
trinkets stop coming. It has been perhaps two months, I cannot really
be certain any longer. The next morning he is in my rooms, his sharp
nails in my hair, pulling me from the bed and a small dark haired
woman stands huddled by the door.

"Git ye out of my love's bed."

And I know I am cast aside.

My eyes meet the girl's. We both know his game. She will be replaced
soon too, the novelty worn off and forgotten when he is done
memorizing the lines of our limbs.

He hauls me out and down the stairs and I am shoved into the arms of
one of the Others, the cook I think, whose face resembles the cabbages
she is cooking. She sneers. She is used to pretty pets abandoned into
her holding.

But part of me..oh part of me wants to weep with relief to not have to
smile in his presence anymore.

(pre-napping, as always changes may apply. Steve, let me know how this
works for you. The time wonky with Arcadia really plays in our benefit
this time I think)

It's my first Beltane. Well not really. I've lived through fourteen of
them but this is my first real Beltane. I've been going to this pagan
group for two years now, but they really only recently let me start
joining in, coming to all the rites, participating. Shelley says I
can't tonight, not fully. She won't have me deflowering myself just
yet even if I am a follower of the old ways. I don't bother telling
her this makes me relieved, but a little sad as well. I can feel the
heat and the anticipation in the air and it makes me want to sing and
dance, makes the blood rush to my face and the heat shoot through my
limbs. Eden would lose her mind if she saw me here. But then I think
Eden might also totally understand this.

The bonfires in the wood glade we use in the state park are high and
fragrant from all the flowers strewn about. Nine sacred branches and
the smell of smoldering wood and thick smoke is touched by the cool
scent of damp earth and moon dew. It's a beautiful night really,
though no where near as beautiful as the people in the circles.

I've never seen anyone dance like that. I sit to the side with the
other novices, watching entranced. We can dance - Shelley gave us
permission to do that - but I'd rather watch for now even though my
feet twitch to get up and move my limbs in that half-crazed rhythm.
They dance and spin and sweat to the beat of the drums, whirling
around the fires, through them leaping, arms akimbo, legs flashing.
Clothing dissapears piece by piece but it doesn't bother me. After two
years, I know that nakedness is just a shedding of clothes and nothing
to be ashamed of. Moon and fire burnish skin silver and gold and even
the not-so-beautiful people look Goddess-touched.

The air stops, stirs, pauses and holds its breath. The Hunter's
footfalls echo the drums and are the drums. I wonder if there's
hallucinogen in the smoke because looking at him hurts. The tribal
markings on his face and bare torso aren't symbols I recognize. The
scars on him are real and I wonder what he did that he has so many.
He's beautiful but frightening and far too old for me to even be
thinking half the thoughts that race through my mind. Hands. Flesh.
Heat. Chase. The chase....
Maybe he's not too old. I can't really tell. I've spoken to him a
handful of times. Sometimes he watches me when I'm at the rites but
there's a distance, something I can't pinpoint about him that makes my
bones shiver even though I know he's one of the reasons I show up
here. I don't even know his name really. Not many of us do. did he
tell me once?

The dancers give deference to him before the world moves again and the
steps continue and I see him weave in and out of the bodies and flame.
I feel the earth call for the chase and the stag's blood and the
beltane heat.

I feel Shelley touch my hand, breaking the trance and I breathe again.

"Not tonight," she says.

"No." I'm still okay with that even though I keep watching him. I
watch him until the men take off into the trees and the women keep the
fires and their laughter lilts like waiting.

I kneel to the ground and dig my hands into cool earth and warm ash
and I draw the symbols on my face and arms, feel the robe slip loose,
feel the warmth as I dance.

And tonight just to dance.

But not next time. I will not wait past my sixteenth Beltane

"Once upon a time, there was a little girl who didn't want to be a princess.

"She didn't want a pony, or a pink barbie doll house, or anything much besides a good book and her parents to pay some attention to her. The first was very easy to obtain but the second was much harder and the only solace the little girl found was with her grandmother. The old woman and the child would spend hours together reading and playing and making music on the old woman's harp.

"Children grow up - it's what they do. And as the years passed, the girl became precocious and stubborn and wise, an old soul in a young body.

"And children sometimes demand too much, as this little child did. And because there were plans she did not understand, because there were paths in the wood one should never go down but one does anyway - she was cursed.

"The curse was also a blessing, an opening of her eyes to a dream world she had never quite known had existed, and yet had always known. The world was peopled with magical beings, fair elves, rambunctious satyrs, loyal trolls, and tricksters of every shape and size. The girl was a princess, but she did not know it, and still the little girl did not want to be a princess. She did not want recognition. In fact she learned to shy away from it, to hide from it, because being seen meant being hurt, punched, kicked, wounded, and berated for things she did not understand, for the paleness of skin and the chill of her touch.

"The girl that had once been so stubborn and carefree became quiet and withdrawn and sheltered. She hid in the shadows of her house and wept into her pillow in the dark.

"But really there is no darkness without light, no one half without the other. For all the fate was cruel, it could also be kind. There were those who stood with her. A bard of dark eyes and bone-silver flute. A tracker with the scent of autumn about him. Pooka in cat-forms. Redcaps with snarling smiles and crayons and paints in hand. A young sluagh boy who knew shadows and secrets and balance. Trolls with cowboy hats and kindness. Cluricauns with music and laughter quick at hand and a few sidhe who loved books as much as she did. The few became many and more. The girl found her other half in a young man, as many girls do. Their love burned bright and strong and through eternity. His touch and his care healed the wounds of her house's manipulations. His love made her learn to fly again. And slowly, with the help of her friends and their loyalty and belief, she learned to raise her head again. She learned to follow her instinct and heart and care for the children abandoned around her. To care for her people and put them before herself always. To care for the child growing inside her. But really, she did not have to learn these things at all - merely she had to remember them.

"But then the man went away. Struck down in murder, in blood, in fear. The woman -for she was now - had her life rent in two. While she cradled the newborn son in her arms, she wept in ragged grief for the loss of her other half.

"Life goes on. Wheel's turn. Cycles and seasons change even when you don't want them too. Long years passed, though short to mortal eyes, they were eternity for her. Only the land sustained her. Only the people. Only her little family, fiercly loyal. Through war, through hatred, through conflict, through fear, they drew together and held one another and battle onward. They refused to accept another path other than victory.

"Another man came, a king long lost, and taught the young woman that her people believed in her. He was a father she had never had. He was a reminder of the lost love of her husband for their dreams echoed together. When he left at last there were two things to do. One was to care for the people of the lands of red and gold and freedom.

"The other was to accept who she truely was.

"And so the girl that had never wanted to be a princess in the first place became a Queen.

"With her people behind her and beside her, they traversed through place and time and legend. They fought with gods, and had tea with them as well. They restored balance. They wept. They bled. For the land, for the people always. And the land and the people were almost enough to fill the empty place inside her.

"And for that, for the battles and years of war, for the inspiration, she was given two more gifts, beyond those treasured companions of Apples that had become her family and her strength.

"When the woman returned through the gates to the land of dreams, her beloved awaited, and the sacrifice they both made, the will of a Goddess bound them together for all time, never to be sundered again."

Shayndel, once just Shay, still just Shay, and now and always Guenevere, now and always priestess, paused in her retelling of the story. The babe in her arms squirmed and grinned up at her and wrapped her delicate fingers in her mother's long golden brown hair. Just like her brother, Jaelinn loved hair pulling. The Holly and Oak were laid to rest and moved on, their mantles assumed by Herla and Catalin. Charles was with them now. Sundance would guard Apple's legacy. They were all where they needed to be and where they should be and the peace that washed over the stone castle between the White Willows and the Apples was undeniable and unbroken save by the laughter of people and the occasional cry of a newborn babe.

"Now now... you wanted to hear this. You got all excited with mama's story."

The baby, much like her brother, was wise beyond her infant form and just smiled, snuggling contentedly close as her mother rocked her. The sun was setting now, touching the sky with pink and lavender though there was rain on the air. It was spring, truely. And summer coming. Below the balcony, fae worked in the fields around the now-cleansed castle and the road to the camps in White Willows Arcadia were progressing nicely. Progress and change swept rapidly through the lands, guided by the King and Queen and their trusted people.

Beside her, Rainian coughed, balancing Gabriel against his hip.

"I was enjoying the story."

"You want the end?"

"You might as well, my lark."

Shayndel smiled, the sun glinting off the white-grey stones dazzling her, showing her a future where cities and towns arose, where groves kept the old ways in the forests, where the baronies nearby were filled with nocker-tech and nightmares and dreams of every variety and sort. The sun motes dances, showing her a daughter grown with the mark of the goddess on her brow, dark and solemn and gentle to her brother's bright ferocity and joy. She smiled.

"And the second gift was a daughter to balance the son. A priestess born to balance the king in waiting. but really, their gifts were inumerable and were in the smiles of their people. The woman knew there would someday be more battles, someday be more challenges. But that was the way of legends and they were certainly legends."

The baby laughed and Shayndel ducked her head over her infant daughters and planted a kiss on the brow where a crescent moon would one day sit. Rainian's arms slid around her waist, holding her close with Gabriel tucked between them.

It was all the happily ever after she would ever want and could ever need.

(Oc: All pending source. Duh.)

The hall was hung with strings of dark irises and blood red roses. Paper whites and orchids and white roses interspersed on the other side of the ballroom. The twins had picked their favorite flowers and while the lighting dazzled on one end of the hall, the other loomed dark and shadowy and somewhat comfortingly ominous. The groups of teenagers mingling between the two was a steady stream of girls in frilly and elegant prom dresses and darker gothic versions. Most of the groups moved in knots, avoiding eachother save for where Edria and Eden stopped to talk and then the knots grew bigger and the mixture of dark and light intermingled with the lilting sound of girls laughter.

There were many boys in attendance as well, though as boys of that age are wont to do, they payed more attention to the "bad girls" and stayed in their loose groups on the shadowed side of the hall.

Edria watched them with a strange mix of apprehension and curiosity. Boys for the most part still confused her in ways that they did not seem to confuse most sixteen year olds. She thought the cute one in Calculus might be nice to kiss but she had other things that interested her beyond dating. Her thoughts, when not occupied by literature homework and the latest crop of foals, was constantly drawn back to the forest rites and the next meeting of the coven.

So tonight, she let her friends flirt, enjoying the twist on the Black and White Ball that she and her twin had cajoled their father into. Everyone was having a good time, an appropriate mix of classy and racaous. Edria suspected that Eden had spiked the punch and shook her head with a wry smile as her sister flounced across the room trailing half the school in her wake. One hand adjusted her own tiara and she did her best to make herself look stately and guenevere-like. Laughable.

"You look lovely." The voice was smooth and cultured, a hint of an accent she couldn't place even with latin and welch and french under her belt. Male, definitly male, though when she turned the young man looking at her was delicate enough that the jocks at school probably teased him. He smiled charmingly and extended a hand with a half-bow, playing along with her costume and the party theme. "Your highness."

"Thank you, good sir." She dipped a gracious curtsy and laid a gloved hand in his.

And knew instantly it was a mistake.

The skin on her arm tried to crawl away, her feet tried to flee, her body strained to lean back, to turn, to walk away. Her instincts screamed to run and her spirit recognized something her mind could not. She could not move. She stayed rooted and staring, into eyes dark and the deep green of the forest leaves at dusk. Those eyes should have been beautful, but they were not. She searched in them for some shred of compassion and understanding and saw nothing.

Eden... Her mind screamed it. She thought she saw her sister turn to look, thought she saw a flicker of worry. But then she was dancing and laughing and Eden turned away. The laughing scared her most, as the visitor whirled her about the dance floor, her feet tripping and skipping lightly over the stones like she'd never managed before. The laughing scared her because it was not her own. It bubbled out of her, unstoppable and maddening. All she could do was look in his eyes and laugh as he turned her about and about. She was dizzy. She couldn't see the door, her sister, her brother, even her parents.

Couldn't see...

They were outside. The grass was soft. When had she lost her shoes? Where was her sister? Eden? The hoofbeats of the horse were lighter than they should have been. The horse itself was the color of a harvest moon. She felt herself lifted, placed. She wanted to leap off, to run, to scream. Instead she wrapped her hands in the horse's mane and held on. She felt the lean press of a body behind her. An arm around her waist holding her like steel back against stomach and chest. A head that tilted up to rest her head against his shoulder.

"Bonny lass. I've never loved another so and never will again."

And the horse moved and the forest streamed by and through the smile on her face and the forward glance, she tried to look back and couldn't and she screamed inside her mind.

http://www.duirwaighgallery.com/show_prod_with_artist.php?image_num=689§ion=36

This strikes me as closer to her appearance. I'm contemplating some sort of arm thingy now...

http://www.duirwaighgallery.com/show_prod_with_artist.php?image_num=1419§ion=27

That is actually the painting that makes me contemplate an initial kidnapping by some sort of fae who is in love with Edria. Fae love being what it is that's not exactly a good prospect. It's just an interesting picture. Makes me think.

http://www.duirwaighgallery.com/show_prod_with_artist.php?image_num=1358§ion=27
I like this one for sort of the "pre-napping" idea of her at the coven rites

and in the fae realm
http://www.duirwaighgallery.com/show_prod_with_artist.php?image_num=372§ion=27

The above are more attitude thoughts than appearance. I'm still looking for a picture of what I think she looks like.

Name: Edria
Type: Elvish something or other. Noble.
Other concept notes Guenevere (welsh and old celt versions - priestess/warrior queen) PRE lancelot and definitly not simpering french twit

Edria and her twin sister Eden (rachel m.) grew up on a rich estate in massachusetts. The two sisters enjoyed spending time outside, rebeling in their various ways. They received anything they wanted from their father from private education to the newest clothes and toys and gadgets. Both girls retain a certain love of the outdoors and horses - part of the family fortune comes from the raising of warmbloods and thoroughbred dressage and hunter horses.
While Eden tends toward a darker lifestyle, Edria is a constant optimist. She is studious and responsible to her sisters carefree choices, though the two always intimately understand one another.
During teenage years, Eden turns to the goth and punk scenes while Edria sneaks out on saturday nights to a pagan circle practicing the old ways nearby. She is dissapointed at the first few groups of "fluff" she attends but soon finds a coven she likes practicing with while her sister is off at clubs and rock concerts. They share whispers of their rebellions after, always keeping an eye out for one another.

Potential kidnapping: sixteenth birthday party "Black and white faerie ball", to be decided

Mortal time frame: Very current, likely mid-90's

Length of time gone: good question

Potential fae 'napper: Someone who needed a healer for the other lings and picks up on her ties to old religions and the earth
OR
Potential "fae prince" that falls in love with her, drags her off, and promptly forgets about his love, resigning her instead to servitude
(pending source)

Other notes in the fae realm: Edria would have almost certainly tried to bolster the spirits and hope of the other changelings. She'd have been responsible for a number of planned escapes, attempted escapes, and leading her own band of people out when she finally managed to get out herself. Not all of these escapes would have gone well and there will likely be some lasting damage on the pc as a result.

Potential ties: the wild hunt w/ cerannen, Jake's "Round table"

We're thinking of using the arthurian concept to create a "motley" or group that recreates the round table in order to fight back and defend against the fae, as wellas to create a place of solace for ling escapees. Think roman and welsh and old celt, NOT french. This will not be shiny fluffy camelot but a battle hold and a place of sort of "stop and bleed here" before you run off to your own life.

Courts: Spring or summer (waiting on source) - we're thinking that the marriage between gaius and edria might best be served by some sort of court "peace treaty" sealed by the two of them being joined together.

All above details pending to change.

The castle rose before them, graceful, the stained glass panels that should have been gaudy shimmered in shades of crimson and gold. Apples colors. They rode forward with haste. The Holly King should have been inside and Shayndel was determined more than ever to claim the home that should have been their own save for the warring seasons that, ironically, couldn't seem to accept change or balance. But then habits died hard.

It was the throne room where she finally slowed her seeking. The walls held images of her people, their people. The stories and triptychs that depicted the legends and stories that had opening the gates to Arcadia. She looked at the stained glass images of herself and Rainian and all those they had left and it brought tears to her eyes. For a moment they were all gathered around her again, she could reach out and touch them. She withered the holly vines choking the thrones, took the pieces in her hands, knowing they were important. She looked up into the images of the Kings and Queens of Apples beside the throne and into Asterlan's empty gaze.

Shayndel heard the growls behind her, felt the connection between hers and Dylan's mind drop.

And for once did not think twice, layering her will over the room and stilling the fighting as she sat in the throne and turned to look at them. Serene wore Dylan's circlet, glaring menacingly at him. Dylan looked pained, Caspian worried, the new troll confused. Shayndel glanced at the story Serene had told, depicted on the wall, the one she knew that Dylan had removed to keep his rider's sanity. She looked back to the pair and knew that Serene remembered the false memories again.

You are begging from your knees
Without dirtying your hem
You want someone to love
but not someone I can
the wilderness calls you again
a trusted friend in your exile
you're free in your exile
You're free

"Enough." her words echoed in the throne room and they were bound to turn and look at her. She hated the ability to make them do it but knew it was necessary. The tactic would let Dylan explain. And he did, his eyes begging and his words sincere for his friend to understand. "If you don't believe me, then take my life," he finished with a soft exhale and weariness and his sword in his hands held in offering.

She did not expect Serene to take it but she did. she interposed her body between them, ready to take the blade, bracing for the pain but it didn't come. Caspian's own protocol had made Serene turn on him instead.

And no one touched her sons.

The stringless thorns replace
the fishhooks in your flesh
You try to draw me in
but still deny the net
You're clinging to what you have left

while you forget in your exile
you're free in your exile
You're free
to forget


Shayndel shoved the eshu back, anger in her eyes

"What are you doing? Why are you doing this? To family? To the people you swore to protect?"

"I'm nothing but a weapon to you. You've never made me family," Serene hissed.

It was natural, the words falling from her lips like breathing. She didn't think. It was what Apples did when someone needed a family. It gave them one. She had told Serene once for every loss there was a gain, for every person taken there was a family offered. Now she offered it in oath. She saw the confusion in the Eshu's eyes but then acceptance and the oath was sworn back.


your brand these rags and tatters on your feet
Here were tests we knew that you could meet

Shayndel was not expecting the blade that Serene buried in her own stomach, the shock of it, the wounds that she and dylan healed quickly but the damage done...

you say that I am weak
and brush the tears away
We offered what you need
for more than you could pay
your choice is who you should betray

Shayndel shuddered away from the rush of burning cold,the milk white over Serene's eyes as the blindness struck, from the noise and the agony of it. In the courtyard the gryphon screamed in pain and terror as the banality ate it from the inside out as the rider's oath shattered. In the throne room all she could hear was the shattering of glass and the grating horrid sound of a broken dream, of her own dream of companionship and loyalty, friendship and balance, torn asunder and unraveled until she huddled away with her hands over her ears, sobbing silently. She was stunned to be able to move after.

It was quiet then, too silent. Shayndel raised her head and hurried to Caspian, curled in his own ball. Dylan was already gone running toward the courtyard and the dieing gryphon. Serene was gone... the black scorched spot on the floor still shuddered with banality. Arcadia had forsaken her. She had forsaken her oaths. Shayndel stared at the spot on the floor. She wanted to weep, to scream. She didn't understand. She didn't understand at all.

Gathering Caspian, she ushered him outside and stopped to look at Asterlan's still face in the wall. She went over to the figure, laying her palms and forehead to the image, tears sliding down her face that she couldn't show her people.

"I failed this one. I failed her and I'm sorry father. I'm sorry. I didn't know how to help her. Please don't let me fail more of them." There was no response, none expected, and the rational part of her knew that even she couldn't stop another's poor choices. Winter whittled them away until only the strongest, only those that knew where to find solace, remained.

Or to stay in your exile
you're free in your exile
you're free to stay
you're free in your exile
you're free to stay
you're free in your exile
you're free

again.

oc I keep saying the end chron was the icing on a totally rocking cake. If that's the case this cake has rolled fondant and marzipan and candles and lots of flowers and very cool stuff on it. Best f'ing cake EVER. ::lurves on sts::

-------------
"I need your help with something bold queen"

Shayndel startled, turning in the pavillion to look upon the Crone. She curtsied low, never quite able to shake the awe her walking Goddesses inspired. A low chuckle of amused laughter and a hand waved her to stop such a silly action and the Crone adjusted her death's head sunglasses with a smirk.

"He needs a king-making if he's to be brought back to you right and proper."

"I know. Old Beltane rights performed in youth don't particularly qualify. What do you need of me? You know you've only to ask, sister." Over tea and camp chairs, the Crone outlined her will to the priestess that had followed her and her counterparts through hell and back to paradise.

In the deep roots of her memory, Shayndel remembered the Lia Fail though of which turn and time she had been here, she could not say. She remembered bleeding with pricked thumbs on the embroidered scabard. She remembered clinging to Arthur. She remembered the mound of kings and land.

Now she stood by the Crone, cloaked and invisible and silent, watching. She would be allowed to watch the rest of his trial before her own part. She could feel the Goddess stirring in her blood. It was true she was favored but she found only reverance and solace in that and no pride.

"You will not need your weapon there.' The crone indicated the entrance to Rainian. He looked as he always had. Calm, assured, ready to meet any challenge. He nodded and gave her the sword.

"May I entrust this to your care and keeping while I walk within the tombs? I... would be foolish to but set it aside, when I know I shall have need of it in the time to come."

The Crone nodded, taking it with gentle care. "I swear that it shall be returned to you honestly and with speed when your trial is over." There was a faint hum of magic in her words, and Shayndel knew that they could be believed.

She followed him through the mists that sang of Avalon. She followed him down into the earth and her skin tingled with the energy of it. It welcomed her, held her, cradled her. Sister. Mother. Daughter. She had sworn her oaths already and the Lia Fail recognized them.

Only a king could walk here.
And a Queen.

Into the darkness, into the earth, into the blackness below but to her eyes it was a living darkness. She could feel that he did not yet understand. He would. He would have to.

Statues of tall kings were carved into the walls around the end chamber, like pillars in an ancient Greek hall. They held swords, scepters, scions of rulership, their dull stone eyes given life by the flickering of the fire. This room felt ancient, was ancient, the weight of it pressing down on her shoulders and his, pushing to their knees - but he was a king. She was a queen.

Neither of them knelt.

The room seemed to sense this, and the eyes of the ancient kings turned toward Rainian. She watched Uther step from the throne from her cloak of shadow. In the old Welsh her true name meant the shadow that falls before the sun. He was her sun. Her Horned God, she the Goddess. Uther looked important, regal, ancient.

But the Goddess was on her and she cared nothing for the ways of men whose paths twined in glorious battle and light and death. The gift of life sprang from her. Her patrons were the Maiden. The Mother. The Crone. She was Guenevere. She was Queen and the Land breathed with her. And she had no care for the momentary trifles of kings long past. Her eyes stayed on the man who had come to court her. The gaze, invisbile still, was not unkind. She loved him more than her own life. But she knew the needs of land and people and before she could let herself love him again this task must be completed.

He had to be worthy of her.
Of Apples.
Of the old ways.
Silently she prayed and she felt the comfort of her faith still her rising apprehension.

"Announce yourself," Uther said

"I greet you, assembled Kings. I am Rainian Paendrag, son of Michael, scion and Shard of the Arthur-King, incarnation of the Pendragon. Hail to you, Kings of ages past."

"You have come before us to seek the Lia Fail. It has been long... too long... since anyone has come, and the stone has been covered with dust. But it has not forgotten. You will answer three questions, and if you answer them correctly, then you will be allowed to approach her. She is waiting for you, Ranian...." The spirit's too-black eyes glitter. "And if you can win her, then you will truly be King. But not before." The wind picked up the mist at Rainian's feet, swirling it gently around his ankles. "You may find these questions difficult, but if you answer from your heart, and you a King... it will show. The first question."

"Where does a King's heart stand?"

A King's heart stands with its people. She answered the questions silently herself.

"A king's heart," Rainian replied at last, still smiling in fond recollection, "stands within the lives of his lands and its people. As they prosper, so too does he - as they grow and live so does he. Their lives, both of land and people, are the beats of his chest, so great is thus his responsibility towards them."

Shayndel nodded along with Uther's acceptance of the answer. She could feel the invisibility start to slip from her, knew the glmouar disguised her features as well. She resisted the urge to reach for him and remembered her part and the land aching to be soothed. It had been so long since she had touched him, truely touched him. So long since she had been held. The brief night of respite on the plains of Arcadia had done little to quench months and years of hurt.

But you must be worthy first my beloved.

At last, Uther asked the second question. "You know where the heart of a king stands, and I have seen in your coming that you know how it must fight. But tell me, how does the heart of the king die? What failure in its nature kills the land and blights the people? Where is the darkness in the heart of every king?"

Pride. But there are many answers for many kings.

"Pride is that darkness, Uther-king. The notion that though we lead them, we are greater than they, or that our means matter more."

She had to smile, still able to read him and his answers after so long and so well.

Rainian paused, looking at Uther. "There is... a song. Either a very old, or very new one... that says 'although I am the head of state, in truth I am the least. The true King knows his people fed, before he sits to feast."

Uther nodded slowly. "There is another, as well.

This crown of burnished metal,
Is the symbol of our land -
Supporting all we cherish;
The dreams for which we stand.

The weight you'll find is nothing,
If you hold it in your palm.
The burden of the crown begins,
The day you put it on."

Turning toward the stone, Uther reached out and let his fingers slide gently across it as the Lia Fail faded more fully into reality. The mood of the ancient kings changed, grew more sorrowing, more thoughtful even as Uther's hand pressed upon the stone. She could feel the shudder and pressure of his fingertips as if they touched against her skin.

"When I was a young man, Rainian, I was taught as you were taught. That Pride was a blackness at the heart of a king. It is true. But there is another, and it is one that I fear even more. Pride is a weakness that can lead a king to ruin, as you say. But this can kill him. Not because the sin is evil - nay, not at all! The law must be true, tempered by mercy - but pray caution, young brother, not to fall as we have fallen before you."

"Shimshon.
"Antony.
"And I."

She knew he could see her now. She watched the room, examining it, and then she looked to him. The jolt that rocked through him was echoed in her but she dared not let it show.

I will seduce you my beloved because only I know how. This the crone knows.

"I will let her ask your final question, Rainian, bearer of Caliburn. Remember - the land and the King are one, but to be true, the spirit of the land must accept you. She must concur to your kingship, and grant you a touch of the Lia Fail." Uther said and then retreated.

She stood and she waited to see how her husband would approach. He bowed. She knew he would. And his voice was gentle and soothing, as if tempting a wild lark from the bushes. It made her smile. Rainian favored grace layered over fire.

"Greetings, lady."

Would he be able to meet her challenge? To prove himself and rid the land of blight and herself of doubt?

"Appeasing Kings is easier than appeasing the land, king-who-would-be," she said at last.

She moved closer, letting the warmth of the land fall on him, letting it sooth him. It tempted him, but he did not falter. One brush of a hand and she sent the Beltane heat into his blood just as it stirred her own. He shivered.

Want me... I know you do.

"I do not receive many visitors anymore. You seek a final question but I've some of my own. Why are you here oh king-who-would-be?"

Shayndel's unseelie nature was riddler. She had no compunctions of asking questions when answers better suited. But it was a tactic that had helped her lead and rule and her halves complimented as always.

"I am here, lady, for you. Because for too long the needs of the land have been left... neglected, and such suffering is shown in its people and in the ground itself. I am here precisely because you do not recieve visitors anymore... and such does not honor the old ways as much as no one knowing to visit does as well."

"Oh the needs have certainly been neglected," She let the suggestion into her voice for a moment, but not enough to rid the gentleness of her touch. "but you are not the only that follows old paths, man who-would-be-king. Why you? What is so special about you?" She examined his hand, the scars she knew well. The callouses, the soft spots, the curve of fingers. it was not hard to feign interest. He had no idea who she was. She was certain of it in his courtesy and respect. But he had no idea in the world who she was anymore at all. This would recement them if it succeeded, it would erase the doubts that she could start over with him. It would mean that they both understood.

"Special? In truth, lady, I would say little is overly special. Some would agree with me, some would disagree with me, no doubt. I am who, and what, I am... be that an incarnation of what's come before, or the promise of what is to come. I could say because I carry Caliburn, but the sword does not make the man, and never will. I am here because I have been here before, and shall be again, to seek your favor and your blessing. Because it is as much a part of who I am as those who have come before me."

It was the answer she expected.

"Hmm." She dropped his hand and steps back lightly, lithely skipping one step backward to the stone again.

"Well as long as you realize that I suppose you will do for the rest. The kings sometimes let men pass that believe they are special in some way. The only thing special is that you _choose_ to be what you are. Choices...so many of them. You've made them before. You're an expert by now." Her tone turned teasing, tempting. "But maybe not like this oh king-who-would-be. You do not bear your Caliburn here. Men come unarmed here. I have no love for swords. So what do you offer me? You seek...you seek...what do you give?"

"I cannot be half a king... to commit myself to this, I know I must give myself over to it completely. To give myself to you, both as lady and land, if you will but have me."

And now she stopped. It was the part she dreaded for while she had total faith in her beloved, the Land needed more. She dreaded his answer as much as she prayed for it.

"You have promises that bind you, king who-would-be. I give a gift of myself to thee. You sing it in memory and heart. It tremors in you. Where is your queen man who would-be-king? Your promises bind you but you say you will give yourself completely."

"What of the one that holds your promise in marriage?"

"My queen is in my heart as much as my people and my lands. She knows this, and it is, and always has been the way between us. All are one, even as they are separate. She is as wed to the land I have been in my life. We have never begruded each other those commitments, and we have each drawn strength for our people from it, and each other."

I know I am but it is not enough...you do not yet understand.

"Such romantic words from Arthur for his queen. But did not the Uther-king warn you? The land is a jealous lover and while your Guenevere may forgive such, I do not. If you will have me, you will swear your heart and soul to me." She looked up at him, eyes pleading. He would not yet realize how much this destroyed her to ask, how much she prayed for his correct answer. "Would you foresake me come dawn, Arthur-king, as you did before? "

"Arthur was never supposed to have his Guenevere. She was meant for another but his love for her doomed him, doomed their Camelot. Your life is tied to your oath, man who-would-be-king. Your choice and question that. I will not give you what you seek without that devotion, you cannot be what you seek without that choice. The Land will not bear it again."

Uther intoned softly from the far side of the Lia Fail. "Oath of True Hearts... the stone will accept that it overrides your past oath, and that this one will be forever. Upon your immortal soul it will be, if you do this, Rainian.

"And so your choice. Turn your back on your Queen... and take the land.

"Or fail them both."

Uther's eyes were black and unyielding and she did not turn to look at him. "As Shamshon to Deliliah, as Antony and Cleopatra... as I... and the beautiful Igraine. So Arthur lost the land to love Gueniveure. So it has happened in the past, when the king turned from the land's needs and chased his own heart." His voice falls, and the demeanor of the stone kings surrounding you is stoic and relentless. "Love is the failing I warned you of, Rainian. Pride is a weakness that can lead a king to ruin, as you say.

"But love... love can kill him." Uther whispered raggedly.

Or it can carry you. but you must let it. You must choose. Choose well my beloved, my heart, my king. Choose so you may truely be such with no doubt from either. This the land must have. This I must know. This is what they failed.

Rainian was silent, watching the woman in his arms and helping her wipe away her tears before looking to Uther and back again. His own voice was hoarse as he looked between them both. "Am I to throw away my armor before the coming battles? To lose the refuge of peace and solace?"

Gain them both but I cannot tell you that!

His eyes closd, head tilting as he heard the beltaine drums, shoulders straightening. She held her breath. He would either foresake her and win, or keep her and lose. The first would break and then heal her heart. The second would part them forever and forever, cycle upon cycle, loss upon loss.

"I have died for the land and it's people... let my blood water it's fields, as my hands worked it's earth. I have lived, and I have died, and now beyond all reason I live again."

Choose well oh beloved please. The land...feel it. Feel me in your arms...feel the ache..the hurt that you must heal for it is your path

His voice caught as he spoke and she choked back tears. Both lady and land hurt for him. There was no easy choice. "Personal... sacrifice has ever been the calling of my path, and I cannot turn my eyes... away from that which the land needs to heal the wounds that have been inflicted upon it."

Slowly taking a breath, Rainian's slate grey eyes opened to regard both her and the stone.

"I give a gift of myself to thee. Take it freely; freely is it offered, and forever thou hast me in thy keeping. I swear love unto you and pledge you my troth. May those who watch over love watch over this oath and those who keep it, and may we never find fault in their eyes."

She felt the world shatter for part of herself, felt the pain rend her in two all over again, back in the memory of his corpse laid out in the White Sands keep. Back in the bonfires screaming his name and her penance. Back in the abbey weeping as the skies wept for she had failed him. Lost him. Again. And again. and again...

They both felt it, shooting through them. But with it, for Shayndel, for the Land, there was joy.

He had chosen well.

The Lia Fail brightened, stone accepting his words. A rare and ancient magic sprung from its dark side, working fiery tongues and dreaming traceries onto solid earth and stone. With the last, aching flash of power from the Lia Fail, his own name, "Rainian," inscribed upon the ancient stone in gold letters. It took its rightful place beside the kings of yore, in the dream of the Changeling people. Into the realm of legend and of heroes.

The land was alive, as if each handful of earth was a pound of their own flesh. More, they sensed its breathing, its dream, the ancient vision of Camelot - and they knew, deep in themselves, that the ancient wrong of Arthur has been healed. The wound of his love, the failing he caused when he turned from the land without acknowledging its needs, was smoothed over and given life again.

The deepest cut, the darkest wound... had, after aeon and legend, at last been healed.

By his sacrifice.

She began to speak, as Land and as Lady, her dark voice wrapped in the same mystic bond that his held

"I give a gift of myself to thee. Take it freely; freely is it offered, and forever thou hast me in thy keeping. I swear love unto you and pledge you my troth. May those who watch over love watch over this oath and those who keep it, and may we never find fault in their eyes."

Her voice changed, became her own. She felt the last carress of the Land and the Goddess for now as it shifted out of her leaving her warm and tired and tear-stained but glorious as the glamour fell off her.

She saw him look. Saw the recognition, the joy, the relief. The light flowed around them and linked their souls in a union more powerful than she could have imagined. Sanctioned by Goddess and Kings and Land. Their souls and bodies breathed as one inseparable through all eternity and at last merged wholly. No blade would ever sever them. They could never be parted again. She would never know life without him at her side. She could feel his love inside her, with the land, buoying and lifting them both with the depth of her joy and pride in her husband, as well as her deep and infinite love for him.

Where Arthur failed when tested, and lost his Queen... he had gained his.

Camelot was at last healed. One of the most ancient legends of Changeling kind, the darkest stain upon honor and glory, the tragedy that was wrought by one man's desire...

...had been undone by another's courage and sacrifice.

The Lia Fail faded back into the mists where it belonged. The cavern faded into the familiar territory of their own dreams.
Uther smiled, and walked with it, into darkness and - at last - into peace.

Once, long past in a dream she half remembered, Shayndel knew Rainian had promised that their parting would be the last time. That he would find a way to keep them together. You did it. You kept your promise.

Thank you... It was the only words she had for the Goddess at the moment as his arms held her safely close. She felt the acknowledgement. The brief touch of a woman's hands in comfort. A gentle nudge of humor at a well-done task. She smiled and rested her head against his shoulder.

There was only Rainian and Shayndel.

Forever.

She was tired... so tired.

Rainian was still with the Crone and when she had drank the brew in her dream it had been half desperation to simply have a moment of rest. Oh she was sleeping again, that was true enough. But like the song, first to rise and last to lie down. The past week of getting her people settled into some sort of routine in Arcadia, some shelter, some food. There was either deal with it and be exhausted or panic and die. She was practical enough to know that there was no other way. They needed her.

The party, the small house, all of it was respite. To see Catalin and Charles and Herla again was more than she could have hoped and the comfort of their presence was only slightly marred by the chill of being near them. Without her mortal frame she could feel the grounding of the earthbound and its force against her fae soul. But she didn't move away even though instinct screamed it. She wasn't certain when she would see them again. She watched with quiet pride and solace as they opened presents and traded treats and laughed. It was good to see them laugh.

She didn't like the Druids but a part of her recalled that she had never really liked the druids. They were the male counterpart to her feminine, the sun to moon. They might worship the Goddess but with the innate superiority that all of them seemed to absorb from the holy trees themselves, she had little patience for their pride and arrogance. Their was no arrogance in service. But it was how they were and changing them was like asking the sun not to cycle. She didn't say anything, just smiled as they ran into the logic that was inherantly Apples and got confused by it. Their questions were meant to push, to guide, to make them think. They were good for that.

Why cling to Apples? Can't you feel your link to the land fading?

Apples is not the land. It is the people. My link to them is still strong.

But she wavered, watching them, uncertain if she had made the right choice in leaving them behind, in leaving the land she had sworn to protect. had she failed? She did not feel as though she had and yet...

You're not used to Apples are you.

Apples bends knee to no one.

Where is he...?

The phrase had been Asterlan's. She had taken it to heart as her own. But she knew the words and knew that the frost that had rimed the mark on her arm meant he was in danger. The Druids knew. And yet they stared at her with enigmatic eyes.

I really don't have time for the bullshit of my house. Tell me what you're here for.

It was a gift, the Druid handed her. A box from a King who claimed these lands, who considered them interlopers. A King who wanted winter to balance the long years of Summer even though the Casque had altered all of it. A king who would challenge her title and her people and herself.

In the box lay an ornament, tiny and frozen, with two perfect miniatures inside. mab and Asterlan. And she knew with a sickening lurch of her stomach that they were not replicas. no...

It was Dylan that took the ornament and hung it on the tree.

It was the tree that broke the spell of Kryos and Metamorphasis. The spells unraveled and spun out and the bodies of Mab and Asterlan tumbled to the ground. Mab was in repose...not breathing... her healer's eyes looked quickly and fast and saw the death rattle breath in Asterlan's chest.

She didn't think. She just acted, shoving the acorn the Mother had given into his mouth, willing life back to him.

Father...don't leave me again.

Ah lass, you are doing fine. My story is over. You knew that. Take care of them

But the spell unraveled. She knew it had been unwoven. For a moment she looked in his eyes and saw that ancient pride and wisdom and sadness and then he was gone, the glamour of their bodies sinking back into the earth beneath her hands as she wept.

She wept because she knew that without Mab, he would not have wanted to remain.
She wept because she prayed the Goddess would take them and give them the peace they finally deserved, together somewhere at long and final last.
She wept because he was the only father she had known and the pain in her chest and lungs and heart was unbearable.
She wept because she knew that if she had saved them, she would have not been Queen any longer, that she would have tried to give them back the mantle of leadership and that she could not do this.

It was her burden to bear.

So tired... so tired...

She turned tear stained eyes to the Druids

"tell this king I will speak with him."

"There cannot be four monarchs"

"No. There can't be."

And inside her mind raced. Apples is not the land, it is the people. Apples is with me. Apples is in my heart and I am in theirs. We have made no trespass here that was intended. And yet he responds with violence. He wishes winter and chaos without the chance for warmth. He lets power and bitterness rule instead of balance. And Balance is not easy but it is ours. We can fight for honor and remember the dark. We can embrace the light and know that change is still good. He sent me them. He sent me my father and the winter queen. Who was here first? Asterlan or this King whose face was not seen when we defeated Gods?

...he is scared. He sees a threat. He sees a threat or he would not send message. He would come like nightmare or dream but not this ghost of a chase. Why? What do I have that Asterlan did not?

I have my people. They have me.

And clearly before her the options fell open, laying themselves out. Fight or flee, stay and try diplomacy and know that the options the King would give would not be ones she could accept for her poor and beleaguered heart. She was at the end of things now. It was stand and stay and make a home for her people, whatever the cost to her. Whatever the cost...</i>

She could feel her heart breaking. I have finally gotten them all back...

"Don't give up yet." Herla's voice startled her. His fingers found hers and squeezed once. She wiped the tears away again.

Don't give up... don't give up. Balance... how can he be winter king in balance? How can I be summer queen in balance... how can...

And she knew what she would do and how she would do it. If it didn't work...if it didn't work she knew what she would do and what the heavy price would be and for now she ignored that ache.

Maiden, mother, crone, I hope your blessing is still upon me. I will need it to follow the path you want. But I will not fail you. I will not fail them.

"Shayndel it's time to go." She could feel herself waking, stirring and hugged them all tightly. Promises, vows, love... her family would not be parted no matter how far they lay from eachother. The ties of their hearts and souls were too strong. Sometimes their greatest weapons were invisible to the eye.

Goddess be with them. be with us. We've come so far... we cannot fail this now.