The Mary Sue Virus: A Faerie Tale
Oct. 21st, 2010 10:19 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
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marysuevirusTitle: The Mary Sue Virus: A Faerie Tale
Chapter One: Mirror Mirror
Fandom: Merry Gentry Universe
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: graphic sex and violence, language, anything else i can toss in.
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of LKH. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators, Ginevra, Dazzledfirestar, Nanaea, and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar. Daz had been a big help on the plotting front. thanks, hon!
The Mary Sue Virus: A Faerie Tale Index
She was dreaming. Dreaming of vaulted ceilings that rose so high they couldn't be seen and of long tables that held people who were clad in brilliantly colored clothes and brilliantly colored skins. Winking gems in all the colors of the rainbow and gleaming crystal filled with richly heady wines. The loud sound of hushed speaking and sudden bursts of laughter. The clink of delicate glass and fine china and gleaming silverware gently rapping against each other. The soft chamber music that seemed somehow obscenely out of place in all of that opulence.
And she was dreaming of the clash of swords, of sweat and burning muscles and gasping breaths. Of grunts and groans of exertion and pain. Of the determination to win. Of cheers and badgering calls meant to distract.
She was dreaming of green eyes the color of the sky before a storm and of hair the grey of rain clouds. She was dreaming of it all and it was so real, from the slightly tangy odor of sweat on the air to the melodic laughter to the feel of the sword in her hand and the way her arms and muscles shook with each hit she took. She was dreaming of it all and so that was why it took her some time to realize that she wasn't actually dreaming and that she was, in fact, seeing all of those things with her own eyes.
For just a moment, confusion settled in and took place of lessons learned through repetition. For just a moment, she let her gaze skim the gathered crowd. Faces that were as distinct as they were unreal jumped out at her. Here one that was the color of the waves when they crashed angrily upon the shore. There one who was such a lovely shade of green that she thought immediately of the forest and all its living things. Another that was black as pitch, that was almost completely monochrome but for the flash of silver on the side of his head. A face that was pale as the freshly driven snow, with a singular blue eye and a white patch where the other should have been.
It was only a moment, only a small distraction. But it was enough. That second of hesitation cost her. She turned back toward the man before her, saw his blade coming at her. It was going to strike and she would have no way to block it. She brought her own sword up anyway. Too little too late.
Metal clashed and sang, a high-pitched, discordant sound that grated upon the nerves. His blade bounced off of hers and dropped sharply. The sharpened edge bit painfully into her arm, forcing her to jerk back from him with a barely stifled gasp. Not that it mattered. An echoing gasp rose from the crowd and she watched as her opponent stepped back. His blade lowered as he stared at her in surprise. She blinked, her brain not quite grasping just what had happened. Until the feel of something warm and thick running down her arm caught her attention.
As if in slow motion, she shifted her gaze from his shocked face to the pale flesh of her own right forearm. The skin had parted under the sharpened edge of his sword, allowing crimson blood to leak out and stain her flesh. It wasn't a particularly deep wound, but she could see that it was going to be a bleeder. A voice like thunder rumbling through the cotton of thick clouds brought her eyes back to his. "Raevynne. You are bleeding."
"It is nothing," she replied absently.
"You were distracted," he accused softly. She had been, but she didn't need him to point it out to her. She turned her fiercest frown on him.
"It. Is. Nothing." She stepped back from him, took a second to wipe at the blood with the edge of her tunic, When she was finished, she raised her blade and met his gaze head on. "Merely a flesh wound. And it shall not stop me from finishing this. I will hear you yield before I lower my sword."
It was the only warning he got. She pressed forward, blade swinging at him. He jumped back, brought his weapon up to block her blow. The sound of metal clashing rang loudly throughout the silent hall, everyone's attention now caught up in the battle that was taking place between the two warriors.
The only sounds that her ears caught were the sounds of their blades singing to one another, a moaning dirge of sorrow and pain and the harsh panting of their breath from between their lips. She could see determination in his eyes. The determination to put and end to their fight without bringing any further harm to her. She knew that he felt some sense of guilt about the wound in her arm. And she planned on using that to her advantage.
The two of them pressed forward and fell back, caught up in a deadly dance that could mean death if they weren't careful. It seemed as if the hall held its breath in anticipation of the outcome. She was sure that there were wagers being made between some of the gamblers present, those who couldn't stop themselves from trying to make a profit of some kind off of the winner of the exhibition fight.
He fought like the devil, the light flashing wildly off the steel of his blade as he swung it at her or used it to block her own sword. There were occasions when she thought he would beat her back, force her to drop her sword and thus give the battle to him. But she persevered. She ignored the fact that he was stronger than she was, ignored that her arm burned with pain, ignored that she was tiring. She dredged up every last ounce of her strength and reserves, forced herself through the fight until she'd driven him back into a table. Until one of her blows had hit hard enough that he'd been forced to drop his sword. She fought on until he bowed his head to her. "I yield the fight to you, Raevynne. You have won the day."
It was only after those words rumbled up his throat that she lowered her guard. The tip of her sword pointed at the floor as she stepped back and allowed him to retrieve his fallen weapon from the floor. He lifted it and, smiling, he brought it up before him as a salute. She did the same.
The polished steel of the blade was highly reflective and, as she returned the salute, she caught sight of herself in the surface of her weapon. What she saw was a pale face with eyes ringed in copper and red and brown. Her cheeks were high and angular, her lips lush and full. Her hair, pulled back into a tight braid that lay heavily against her spine, was an auburn color that reminded her of bloody copper. The image was both startling and beautiful.
Loud clapping pulled her away from her reflection. Turning to look to her left, she found a woman of immense beauty standing from a throne located at the far end of the hall. Hair as black as a raven's wing flowed around a face and shoulders that were the white of marble. Blood red lips were the only splash of color in a face that was done in shades of white and black and grey. The clothing she wore was all black, a mixture of leather and lace and velvet. Raevynne turned her salute toward the queen, then dipped into a bow.
"My queen," he said from beside her.
"Bravo, my brave warriors. An excellent diversion from the sorrows of late." Her voice rang clear as a bell throughout the large hall. She stepped down from the dais and glided toward them. One hand motioned them to straighten. "Your assessment was correct, Mistral. Raevynne is a worthy opponent. She fought you to a stand still despite her wound."
"She is well trained as a warrior," Mistral replied. Pride colored his every word.
The queen moved closer to her, her grey eyes looking Raevynne up and down. She wasn't surprised when one of the other woman's hands reached out, her fingers gently touching the sliced flesh on her arm. When the tips of them were painted crimson with her blood, the queen lifted them and daintily licked them clean. "You have pleased the court, Raevynne."
"Thank you, my queen," Rae dipped her head in acknowledgement.
"Now that you have proved yourself against Mistral, perhaps it is time you seek out the aide of a healer. It would not do for you to bleed to death from such a minor wound."
"Of course, my queen." Rae bowed her head once more. The queen touched it before turning to look at the man standing beside her.
"Escort her to the healer, Mistral."
"Yes, my queen." He bowed his head in the same manner that Raevynne had, then lifted it and turned to take hold of her arm. One of the Ravens hurried toward them to collect their swords and hand over a length of cloth to be used as a bandage. When their hands were emptied of their weapons, she allowed Mistral to help her tie the cloth around her arm. Then he motioned to the door on the other end of the hall. Together, the two of them left the great hall behind, stepping silently into one of the many corridors that had made the sithen a confusing and sometimes dangerous place.
Raevynne held her tongue, sensing the anger that vibrated around him. It hung on the air like the heavy thickness of an approaching thunderstorm. Instead, she gave her concentration to the never changing walls around them. For this day, the sithen had chosen to create walls from plain earth, the rich and loamy smell a comfort amidst the confusion that surrounded her.
How had this happened again? She was more than well aware what was going on. She'd been through it too many times not to recognize the signs. But never before had she become someone who was so unlike her real self. For a moment, seeing her reflection in the blade of her sword had left her disoriented. And what the hell was she doing in this world? Was she here alone or had anyone else joined her? Those questions, and so many more, rolled through her head. But she had no time to devote time to them, to finding answers for them, because Mistral's grip on her arm tightened enough to send a sharp shaft of pain up to her shoulder.
"Either loosen your grip or release me. I do not wish a broken arm because you are in a snit." Rae kept her voice level and cool. Provoking any more of his temper would not be wise. She'd known Mistral long enough to know what would and wouldn't work with him. Almost immediately, his fingers unclenched and she felt blood flowing back into her arm once more. "Now tell me what has you so angered."
"You were distracted." His voice held accusation in it. There was also concern and the smallest amount of fear. "I could have killed you. What happened to you out there? You know to never give your opponent such an opening."
"It was nothing. And you did not kill me. You are better trained than that. Did you forget that it was an exhibition match?" she asked, injecting her tone with a small amount of curiosity. They both knew he hadn't. Which was precisely the reason why she still had her arm and her life. Her question served to quell his anger for a few moments. Before it could come roaring back to life with the rampaging of his thoughts, she turned his attention from her flesh wound. "It gave the court something to think upon beyond the Princess' assassination."
"Raevynne," he sighed, then brought her to a halt. His face was etched with concern and something far gentler. She gave him a fond smile and laid a hand against his chest.
"My lord Mistral, you did me no harm. Do not worry so. All will be well. The healers will see the wound properly cared for." She saw that the fear still hovered in his eyes, letting her know that he still cared after all the years between this day and their wild youth so long ago. She lifted up on tip toes to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. "You flatter me with your concern, Mistral."
"So many strange things have happened recently. It was difficult to lose Merry and the babies. I do not wish to know what would happen if I were to lose you so soon after her."
"You will not lose me," she promised softly.
"I have already lost you." His eyes clouded over before he turned and once more started up the hall. She stared after him, taking note of the tense line of his shoulders and spine. His feelings were deeper than he was willing to let on. And he knew of her growing emotions for another. Yes. He'd already lost her. Somehow, that made her sad. With a sigh, she started after him. A flash of green caught her attention, stopping her in her tracks. A small section of the wall had slid from the dark, loamy brown of earth into a deep, glossy black marble veined with forks of grey and white. Short lengths of ivy hung from the ceiling near the patch. She was sure it hadn't been there before.
Curious.
~*~*~*~*~
The smell of dirt invaded her nose, bringing her out of the darkness. It was a fresh, earthy smell, as if the ground where she lay had just been turned over. Her head felt like soup, as if she'd had too much to drink or been given too many drugs. Either one would explain why she found herself face down in the dirt with no memory of how she'd gotten there.
Her limbs felt weak and limp, as if she'd run for a very long time, when she tried to push herself up off of her face. It took three tries before she was sitting up, wondering just where in the world she was. The room around her was heavily laden with all manner of plant life. Flowers bloomed and filled the air with heady fragrances, their colors bright and flashy against the abundance of greens. Ivies grew, long fingers decorated with leaves reaching and crawling up the walls and along the floor. Large leafed plants and ferns gave a slightly tropical appearance to the space around her while a tranquil pool of water was only an arm's length from where she say. Trees of varied heights lined the walls, giving the appearance that she was in some sedate forest clearing. If not for the earthen dome over her head, she could believe she was lost in the woods.
She sat still, waiting for the spin of dizziness to leave her, before moving toward the pool. She was so thirsty, it felt as if she hadn't had a drink in a week. Three attempts at standing told her that she would do better simply crawling to the edge of the pool. Grit and small bits of stone dug into her knees and her palms, each small pain helping to clear some of the fog from her head.
Dirt crumbled away from her skin as she moved, exposing skin that was pure and white. Like freshly fallen snow. She found herself staring and marveling at the lack of color, at the fine and seemingly delicate form of her hand and arm. The unnatural beauty of her arm made her move just a little faster until she could stare at the surface of the pool, the water smooth and peaceful and casting back a perfect reflection of a stunning, ethereal face.
A face that she didn't know as her own.
Like her arms and her hands, her face was that milky smooth paleness of marble. A perfectly shaped mouth pouted in confusion, the lips tinted a pale blue. Eyes of blue stared back at her, eyes that were three shades of blue. A ring of icy blue lined the darkness of her pupils, followed by a ring of cobalt that was startling while midnight blue mimicked the darkness of the pupil, leaving the two other hues swimming in the darkness. What was most amazing was the mass of blue hair that fell down around her shoulders to frame her face and trail in the water at the edge of the pool. It was a deep, velvety blue color, speckled with spots of silver that glinted like stars in the night sky.
She reached out to touch her face, to be sure that she wasn't simply seeing things. A reflection of her hand came into view and grazed the edges of her cheek, traced the curve of her chin and the shape of her lips. She left behind a small smear of dirt and blood, the colors so stark against her flesh. She blinked.
Where had the blood come from? She glanced down at her hands and saw that one had smears of crimson on it, but that there was no wound. So she sat back and began inspecting herself. She could see well formed legs that were spotted with earth, but nothing that suggested any kind of wound. The front of her chemise was stained dark with dirt, masking the front of her body. She reached for the neckline, ready to pull it back and inspect her torso, when a whisper of sound caught her attention.
It sounded like a voice, though she couldn't be certain. Things were still fuzzy and she was fairly sure she was alone. But she thought she heard a woman's voice speak a warning to her. Then it was gone and she was aware of a presence behind her. "Astarte? What are you doing here alone?"
Astarte. Starr. Her name. She turned to look over her shoulder and found a face that she knew but couldn't put a name to. Snow pale skin, eyes the grey of a winter storm and hair that looked to be spun of the finest wrought silver. She opened her mouth, but no sound issued forth. She couldn't even be sure what she wanted to say.
She watched his eyes look her over, saw the frown form when he took in the smudges of dirt. Before she could think, he removed the white coat he wore and knelt down to wrap it around her shoulders. "Astarte? Are you ill? Has someone attempted to harm you?"
"I... I don't think so," She shook her head, which only made the muzziness seem more intense. "I don't remember." Even the words felt thick and clumsy.
"Where are your clothes?" he questioned, his hands helping bring her to her feet. When she stumbled, he tightened his grip on her. "Astarte, what's happened?"
"I..." she paused and frowned. She couldn't quite recall. She had no clue how she'd gotten where she was and she had no idea how she came to be there in little more than a nightgown. "I do not know."
"Come. You should see a healer." He slipped an arm around her so that he could put his hand on her elbow. His other hand took hold of her other elbow to ensure that he had a good hold of her. Then he urged her forward. Her stomach cramped and burned so badly that she knew she'd have fallen if not for his hold. Trying to keep the fact that she seemed to be injured from him, she turned and offered him a smile.
"Thank you..." Her voice trailed off as she searched for his name. She knew it, just as she knew his face. But she simply couldn't bring it to the front of her mind. He frowned at her all the harder.
"Frost," he supplied.
"Thank you, Frost. I apologize for being so troublesome."
"There is no trouble, Astarte." Though his tone sounded formal, there was no way he could hide his concern. She offered him a second smile.
"How many times must I tell you? Call me Starr."
"Are you sure you haven't struck your head? You do not seem yourself." His eyes went to her head, as if he could see any kind of wound through her hair.
"I honestly cannot say, Frost. I don't know what happened or how I got here." Okay. That was a lie. Kind of. Things were beginning to fall into place for her and she wasn't liking the way it all added up.
"Or what happened to your clothes, apparently. You were supposed to be in the hall for the exhibition fight. When I didn't see you, I took it upon myself to search for you. These are not times when one should wander the sithen alone."
"What danger do I present to anyone, Frost? You know they all see me as nothing more than a mere annoyance, something to put up with. I belong here as much as I belonged at the Golden court." She would have loved to pull away from him and hand back his coat, tell him to keep his concern to himself. But she would have dropped to her knees again. This time, she would have been unable to get up. And she knew that he suffered, that treating him so callously would wound far deeper than words. So she held her tongue and allowed him to help her from the garden room.
"The queen has ordered that no one should be caught off guard."
"And yet you come find me on your own." Wasn't that typical of a man?
"It is my job as a Raven to protect those residing within the sithen." It would have been terrible of her to point out that he was no longer a Raven, that he no longer held such a position. So she said nothing. The queen had yet to make any decisions in regards to the men who had been part of Princess Meredith's personal guard. But he'd spent a long portion of his life serving as a member of the Queen's Ravens. Perhaps clinging to that identity gave him purpose.
They left the garden behind, Frost helping her out into the hallway just outside the door. The change was drastic and immediate. Walls of plain earth met her sight and she found she missed the lack of riotous colors. Torches set into wall sconces lit their way, the flickering of the flames sending their shadows dancing across the walls. All in all, she thought that the corridor was lifeless and dull.
Frost didn't seem to be eager to talk, which she felt was fine. It gave her a chance to allow thoughts and ideas to tumble through her mind. The disorientation she'd woken with was slowly fading as more images and names and places and improbabilities poured into her brain. The fuzziness was still there, left her feeling slightly sick. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out what she'd been doing that would leave her hung over and nearly naked in the dirt. If it had been that, she thought she'd have felt something.
She cast a sidelong glance at Frost and marveled at the icy beauty of his face. He wasn't simply handsome. He was beautiful. And she couldn't forgive herself for not knowing who he was the moment she'd laid eyes on him. Maybe that was because part of her still didn't want to acknowledge that she was somewhere new. Somewhere strange and alien. She'd known almost since the moment she'd spied her reflection in the pool.
It had happened again. This time, though, it had happened almost without warning. She didn't think she'd been doing anything shortly before waking up with her face in the dirt that would have landed her lying on the ground with her face in the dirt. Not that she could really recall what she'd been doing before then. Everything was a blur. But still, she knew the signs when she saw them. And she was presently walking with a living, breathing sign. She sighed.
"Something tells me we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto," she muttered to herself. Frost cast her a questioning look, but she merely shook her head and continued on in silence. It was getting to be habit. A really bad, really freaky habit. She didn't know if she should laugh or cry or get pissed off. None of them would change the reality of her situation.
The first thing to do, before she lost all memory of this, was to find the others. There had to be others here. Surely she wasn't here on her own. Hadn't they shown up all together before? Why was this time so different? And why were they needed? What strange things were going on that...
Almost as soon as she thought the question, the answer rose to the surface of her mind, swimming up through the murk and haze. Meredith was dead. And so were her children. She knew that the knowledge had been there, but it hadn't really clicked into place until she'd started questioning what she knew. She stumbled with the weight of that knowledge, forcing Frost to tighten his hold on her. He cast her another of those concerned looks. "Do you wish me to carry you?" he asked her.
"No, Frost. I can manage," she replied. Stupid of her. Moves like that would alert people to the fact that something was off. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry? For what?" He seemed genuinely confused. And it came to her that she would perhaps be wise if she didn't start offering sympathy for something that she was sure had happened some time ago. She gave him a look, then waved a hand in a gesture that was meant to encompass the entire corridor.
"For reducing you to little more than nursemaid. I know your time is far more valuable than that."
"There is obviously something amiss, though you refuse to tell me of it. I would be remiss if I didn't ensure that you were well."
"I would tell you if I knew what it was that was amiss," she replied quietly. He shot her a look that clearly suggested he didn't believe her. She tried again. "You shouldn't trouble yourself with me. You can leave me with the healer. I will find my way to my rooms after that."
"I would be lax in my duties if I didn't see you back to the safety of your rooms, Astarte." He said it in a voice that suggested she should know this already. She laughed softly, a sound that seemed to tinkle and hang in the air. She half expected to see a physical embodiment of her laughter. He shot her a look that was almost a glare. "You find something amusing?"
"Just you, my dear Frost," she told him. "We all know just how seriously you take your duties. You would never be remiss in them."
He stopped them before a door framed with curling vines of ivy, one hand reaching out to knock at the wooden panel. "And how would you know such things, Starr?"
"I have my ways, Frost. I have my ways."
~*~*~*~*~
The hall was a dull cacophony of noise, voices rising and falling in rhythm as people spoke to one another. Keeping an odd beat to the chorus of sound was the metallic clang of swords striking against one another. It wasn't an unusual evening within the sithen and so she tuned the noise out and allowed her thoughts to meander through her own mind. And there was so much to consider.
Nothing had been the same since the assassination. At first, both the queen and Merry's consorts had been too shocked to do anything. Grief had come next, hard and fast in the face of the loss of the babies. But then had come the anger and it was a miracle that no one had gone hunting for the culprit or culprits, though it had been a close thing with Doyle and Frost. Of all of Princess Meredith's men, they had been the ones intent on seeing harm brought down upon the heads of those responsible. It had taken orders from the queen herself to keep them within the walls of the Unseelie mound.
She cast a quick glance around the hall, marking each of the men who had been forced to return with the death of their princess. Only one face was nowhere to be seen among the gathered crowd. Frost had spent much of his time alone with his own thoughts. As with other meetings and meals, he had declined to join them. The queen had tried ordering him into attendance, but Doyle had intervened on the man's behalf and won him his solitude. She had her doubts that it would be allowed to continue for much longer.
Part of her was surprised by the display currently taking place. It seemed to her somehow wrong that Mistral should be caught in the middle of an exhibition with a woman he was known to have had an relationship with before becoming a Raven. There should have been dark colors in the hall. The court should have been mourning the loss of a royal heir and her unborn children. There shouldn't have been such carrying on. The death of a royal deserved more respect than the queen had given it. And because the queen had treated Meredith's death with so little care, other members of the court were doing the same.
She found herself disgusted by the things she heard and saw. No one at court paid attention to someone such as herself, someone they considered to be unworthy of their time. But that never stopped them from saying things before her that she knew they would never dare give voice to before their queen for fear of how she would react. The general consensus amongst the court was that Andais was losing her mind. Perhaps this was so, but the woman had lost her son and her niece, as well as her grandnieces. She'd lost the future of her people. Such things were bound to make a person mad with grief and impotent rage.
The queen should have been wrapped up in her mourning. Meredith's men should have been cloaked in sorrow and loss. And perhaps they were. But none of them gave their emotions a public face, as if they were following the example set by their ruler. She was beginning to think that the queen had a heart that had been chiseled from a block of ice.
One of the serving staff shot her a dirty look and made a shooing motion with one hand. She'd apparently been lost in thought for too long. Carefully hefting the tray, she began the trek toward the tables.
It happened so quickly that she had no warning at all. She was approaching one of the tables, ready to dole out the dishes to one of the highly placed families, when she felt the change. She saw it in the way Raevynne simply came to a stand still in the middle of a sword fight. It was barely a tick of time, but it was enough to put the warrior woman in danger. And it was enough of a shock that she lost the hold she had on her tray.
The plates and their steaming contents slipped from her hands and clattered to the floor before she could recover herself. Even though she knew it was too late, she made a grab for the tray, her hands closing over empty air. She saw it all happening in slow motion, saw the plates slide from the tray to cascade in an arc toward the floor. Several of the dishes dumped their contents into the lap of a high ranking lady and her consort. Gasps of surprise and pain rose from the woman while her husband took to his feet and glared at her.
"You clumsy bitch! Look what you've done!" he snarled at her.
"I'm so sorry, my lord. It was an accident. I meant no offense," she told him, already kneeling down to begin the clean up. His hand curled tightly around her arm and jerked her to her feet. She had a moment to see the danger in her situation.
She'd long given public her support of Princess Meredith, believing that she would be a far better ruler than Prince Cel. And the angry man before her was one of those who had claimed that Meredith would kill off Faerie with her weak human blood. And while Meredith had lived, she and people like her had been safe from retaliation for their opinions. With the princess dead and buried, no one would stand against those who had put their support behind Cel. And she knew then that spilling the tray was just the excuse her attacker had been looking for to justify his actions.
"You have ruined my lady's gown! How will you make this right? Have you the money to pay for it?" he demanded, even though he knew full and well she did not. She felt a flutter of fear low in the pit of her belly, sending her eyes seeking out would be rescuers. Everyone seemed enrapt with the exhibition before them. Raevynne was injured, bleeding freely, and yet she had the advantage over Mistral.
"I.. It was an accident," she repeated weakly. Accident or not, she would be lucky if she came away from this encounter with nothing more than a single bruise.
"Insolent half breed," he snarled. His hand connected with her cheek, striking a painful blow that sent her spinning to the floor. She struggled to gain her feet, knowing that her position left her weak and vulnerable. His hand curled around her arm again, jerking her up until she stood before him. His palm slapped painfully against her cheek a second time. He didn't let her go, instead delivered a third blow.
Pain exploded up the side of her face, blood filling her mouth from a cut on the inside of her cheek gained when the flesh had smashed up against her teeth. His arm drew back one more time. Her eyes roamed across the crowd, but no one was even looking their way. And she knew better than to expect help from the other servants. To come to her aide would only earn them the same treatment to which she was being subjected.
The back of his hand caught her in the side of the head. He wore a large signet ring that tore her skin open, leaving her with a numbing pain beside her eye. She was dimly aware that it was bleeding. She was also only dimly aware of her hands fisting, of one of them shooting up to catch him under the chin and force him back. She barely felt the pain in her knuckles. She didn't see that the skin split and bled. All she saw was his hand lifting again.
She fell back, landing roughly on the floor on her backside, her hands braced to keep her head from hitting the ground. He was enraged with her actions and advanced. Panic rolled over her, saw her turning so that she was on her hands and knees, so that she could try and crawl away from her attacker. She didn't get very far before his foot connected with her rib cage. She went sprawling to the floor, winded and unable to get up or away. She was already hearing the crack of her ribs the next time his foot struck.
The blow never came. Instead, she sensed another presence between herself and the infuriated lord. "You have no business here, Shadowspawn. Return to the queen's side and continue playing her pet."
"Perhaps you forget who you speak to," a second voice said, a hint of coldness and arrogance coloring his words. "I am King of the Sluagh. I am ruler of my own kingdom. I am no one's plaything." There was both warning and challenge in his words.
"This graceless cow ruined my wife's gown. It is my right to take payment from her hide if I so choose."
"I see no reason to abuse her so harshly. She's apologized and claimed it for the accident it so obviously was. Enough, or it will be you and I fighting next."
She expected the angered lord to complain more but something stopped him. Perhaps he gave consideration to what would happen should he meet the Lord of Shadows in a duel. Perhaps he didn't think it was worth his time to finish meeting out punishment for her imagined trespasses. Whatever reason, her attacker returned to the table where his wife sat and the King of the Sluagh turned to face her.
She wasn't sure what she should expect. Whatever her expectations were, none of them included having the ruler of the Dark Host turned and offer her his hand. She hesitated a moment before placing her hand in his. Gently, he helped her to her feet, then reach out to give her his support when she wanted to crumple to the floor in pain. Her ribs burned with fire, making breathing difficult. And she could feel the dull ache that meant she'd have bruises on her face before the dawning.
Eyes of gold regarded her with a solemn expression, one hand reaching out to tenderly prod at those spots where the other man's hand had struck her. She couldn't stop herself from flinching and hissing. Finally, he shook his head and slipped an arm around her waist before propelling her forward. "You are in need of a healer. Come. I will escort you."
"Thank you, my lord." She kept deference in her tone. He offered her a smile and stared for the door out of the hall. She was vaguely aware of the sounds of clapping, then the queen's voice as it filled the hall. Nearly all of her attention was given over to concentrating on remaining on her feet and the man at her side.
"There is no need for formality." He was giving her permission to use his name. Something very few of the Sidhe had ever done before. Not with a servant. There were a few exceptions, people like Meredith, who had never stood on ceremony. But those few were truly a few.
"Forgive me, my lord Sholto. Habit leads me to using a title."
"I insist."
"Very well. Thank you, Sholto." They stepped through the doors and left the hall behind. The corridor stretched out before them, silent but for the sound of their feet upon the floor. She was unsure how to deal with this situation and it didn't help that his nearness seemed to leave her flustered. The arm that lay against her back was filled with strength, a warm and welcome comfort that only added to the confusion that clouded her mind.
In her experience, those of royal lineage rarely cared about their servants. None would have stepped in to stop a peer from doing as he or she pleased. Because of this, his actions confused her. Why had he come to her side? Why was he helping her to the healer's chambers? Did he not have something else to do? And why did his nearness leave her so baffled? His touch brought about sensations and thoughts she had no right giving life to.
Added to that was the puzzling knowledge that things were all terribly off balance and out of place. She was sure she knew the explanation as to the why, but she wanted someone else to consult with on that. Assuming she could find someone else. She had at least one idea, but how to go about finding out for sure was a hurdle she didn't quite know how to get across. At least, not now. Not when she couldn't really think past the pounding ache that had crept up her face to make itself home in her skull. Not with the fire that burned in her chest with every breath.
It took all of her concentration to remain on her feet. She did not wish to appear weak before him, an odd thought considering she was sure that he'd seen everything that had happened to her.
When one of her feet stumbled, his free hand reached out to take hold of her elbow, offering her that extra measure of security. His touch was warm and soothing, helping pull her slightly from the aches that pounded through her. She wasn't sure if he sensed that she wasn't up to speaking or if he simply felt there was no need to break the silence with useless chatter. Whichever it was, she was grateful to him for it.
But she found herself missing the warmth of his nearness when he finally left her with the healer, prompting her to wonder just what had passed silently between them.
~*~*~*~*~
The talk was all the same. People around her whispered of the murders. Whispered of conspiracies and culprits. Any other day, she'd have tuned it out. But not this day. This day, things had changed considerably. Moments ago, she'd been bored to tears and ready to beg she be allowed to retire for the evening. Court gave her such headaches. And then it had all changed.
In the blink of an eye, she found that she was no longer quite so bored. And her gaze roved the hall, seeking out familiar faces that she hadn't ever really seen before. She found them, each of them, naming them even as she told herself it simply couldn't be. That this couldn't be happening. Not to her. Not again.
Yet... Here she was, sitting amidst a race of people long held to be little more than myth and fantasy. They were beautiful and regal and shone with a radiance that marked them as magic made flesh. They were color and emotion given life, flashes of brilliant glory that few would ever see. That few had truly ever seen. What had gone so wrong with the world that she was allowed such a questionable privilege?
"There was another assassination attempt." The voice brought her out of her thoughts and sent her hand reaching for her goblet. A drink. She needed a drink. It didn't matter what it was. She just had to have something to fortify her. A glance from the corner of her eye told her that someone she had a name for was speaking. "Just a few hours ago. Someone is trying to murder people in our very own sithen. What magic could be strong enough to allow such things? The sithen should have stopped the attacks already."
"Perhaps the magic being used to perpetrate these attacks is stronger than the sithen's magic, Mother," she said before sipping at the wine in her goblet. It was tart and fruity and rich, sliding down her throat with ease.
"Is there a magic that strong?" Her mother sounded as if she didn't believe it. Perhaps she didn't. It wasn't any of her concern. She offered the woman a shrug and returned the goblet to the table. "Can you believe someone would dare try to assassinate Abeloec? And after everything that he's suffered."
The name caught her attention. How odd that someone would attack him. She pondered it a minute. Hadn't there been an attack on Nicca not that long ago? Both men had been lovers of the princess. Which seemed to her an odd coincidence. Especially when one combined their attacks with the fact that several members of court who had openly supported Meredith had gone missing. The attacks and the kidnappings had been the talk of the court for days. With exception of the attack on Abeloec, she knew each story by rote. There were terribly strange things happening within the sithen. Things that left her wondering if perhaps her offhand comment to her mother was correct.
Was a magic stronger than the sithen's behind the attacks? If so, who wielded such power? She didn't think any one person within either the Seelie or Unseelie court could hold such magic. The only being she knew of that was that strong was Goddess.
Why would Goddess try and destroy her own people?
Suddenly realizing what it was she was thinking, what names were running through her head, she sought out some kind of reflective surface. She had to see for herself if what she was thinking was true. She tried the goblet, but the surface wasn't large enough, the image distorted. There was little else at the table in which she could see herself, merely a shining silver plate before her. After glancing around casually to be sure no one was paying any attention to her, she leaned over the table and glanced at herself in the shining surface of the plate. She was immediately caught.
The face that she was looking at was one she'd never worn before. Her skin was the color of moonlight in the night sky, though there was a slightly greenish undertone to it that made her think that the light was being filtered through the leaves on the trees of old growth forests, where she knew her people had once roamed freely. Her eyes were three rings of shining color. The inner most ring was silver, like the plate she used as her mirror. Next to the silver was violet, dark as the small flowers that her name had come from. The last ring was a lush lavender, a startling contrast to the other two colors. Her hair hung in wild waves about her face. It was a green so dark that all she could think of was the pine needles that clung to fir trees all year round. As if someone had thought the green was too dark and oppressive, strands of bright purple streaked her tresses, giving the impression of wild blossoms blooming in the darkness of tropical forests.
She couldn't believe her eyes. The face... No, her face was exotic and beautiful, something out of the most amazing stories. Almost like the faces she imagined the angels wore. Looking at her own reflection, she could understand how it was that humans found themselves enthralled by the ethereal beauty of the Fae.
Something drew her attention from her reflection, some kind of internal warning. She thought maybe she'd heard someone call her name, but she didn't see anyone looking at her when she lifted her head. Instead, she found herself staring straight at the exhibition match being fought before the entire court. Mistral had chosen Raevynne, one of Prince Cel's former guards, to spar with in the hopes that their prowess with a sword would help alleviate some of the sorrow and shadows that remained in the wake of Meredith's murder. And Raevynne wore such an expression of confusion, if only for a moment, that she knew what had happened.
The brief distraction proved disastrous for the woman. Mistral's blade bit into her skin, spilling droplets of crimson liquid over pale skin. The wound didn't deter Raevynne, served only to see her fighting back with more vigor and power. She swung her sword, parried and thrust, and slowly, but surely, drove Mistral back. She didn't quit until he yielded the fight to her.
His words brought applause forth from the gathered crowd. Even the queen stood and greeted the two guards. There was a brief exchange, during which time the queen sampled Raevynne's blood, then the two of them were dismissed to seek out the aide of a healer for the woman's wound. Even before they were on their way to the exit, she was gaining her feet. She had to speak with the other woman.
"Viola? Where are you going? You're going to miss the rest of the meal," her mother asked, one white hand curling around her arm to halt her steps.
"Raevynne is injured. Perhaps my abilities can be of some use." She gave her mother a look that suggested this was important. The other woman gave it consideration, watching her daughter carefully. Viola swore she could feel the minutes ticking by with agonizing slowness.
"No doubt the healer can manage on her own. Sit and eat." There was a hint of command in the woman's voice. Viola offered a smile to her mother while casually lifting the woman's hand from her arm.
"No doubt. But should she have need of assistance, it would be better if she didn't need to await my arrival." She turned and hurried toward the doors before her mother could say anything else. Raevynne and Mistral had already gone through the doors and were far ahead of her by the time she gained the hallway.
Once clear of the constant noise of the hall, she allowed herself to consider what she knew even as her feet followed the corridor and its twists and turns by memory. She was more than certain it had happened again. That moment in the hall, when she'd seen the confusion on Raevynne's face, had told her all she'd really needed to know. The strange new face she wore had told her all she'd really needed to know. The setting, the sea of shining faces... Everything had told her all she'd really needed to know. And so now, there was only one thing left to do. Find the others. Because she knew she wasn't the only one in this place.
Her gaze took in the plain earthen walls, the smooth floor made of stone. She could feel a deep, resonating magic that seemed to be alive. The magic of the sithen. It soaked into the soles of her feet, climbed up her legs so that it could spread out into her belly, her arms and hands. Her head and brain. It welcomed her to this place that was old as time itself and older. And it whispered to her, things she heard but didn't quite understand. She saw the patches where the walls were turning from earth to marble, the glossy black stone run through with veins of white and grey, saw the bits of ivy that hung from the ceiling overhead, that grew out of the walls to trail up and down and give the hallway a splash of color.
She knew it wasn't supposed to be like this, that it should have been plain and drab in response to Meredith's death. But it was alive with hope and love and life, as if it knew secrets that no one else was privy to. Something had changed, had given the sithen a reason to grow again. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew what that something was.
Her pace quickened and she soon found herself before the healer's door. She knocked before letting herself in, surprised to find that the room was crowded. Names rose to her tongue as she looked from one face to another. Raevynne sat in a chair while the healer fussed over her arm. Mistral stood over Rae, looking down at the woman's head as if he planned on boring holes through it. Perhaps he did. No doubt he was angered with himself for putting her in danger. How was he to know that strange things would be afoot at the Circle K?
Sitting in a second chair was one of the women who served the court. She was willowy and pale, the only color to her beyond her clothing found in the grey of her eyes. A livid bruise discolored her chin and met with the corner of her mouth. Another bruise ringed a bloody wound near her right eye. She held herself very straight, breathing carefully. As if it hurt to do so. Someone had used her as a punching bag. This wasn't an uncommon occurrence. Mairwen had made plenty of enemies with her public support of Meredith.
The last one she looked at stood by the wall, leaning against it so that it didn't look as if she was leaning against Frost. He regarded the room silently, his arm around Astarte absently. She was dirty and nearly naked. And she looked as dazed as the rest of them no doubt felt. Fflur looked up at her. "Viola. What brings you to my chambers?"
"I thought perhaps that I would help you with the wounded." She motioned toward Raevynne.
Fflur nodded her head before indicating Mairwen. "Perhaps you can attend to our fair lady. It seems one of the lords was in a foul mood this night." Viola nodded her head, rolled up her sleeves, and headed over to where Mairwen sat.
Together, Viola and Fflur made certain that their three patients were well tended to. Raevynne's wound was less serious than had first been thought. It had bled heavily, but hadn't been too deep. Still, Fflur had cleaned it and then covered it with salve and bandages before instructing Raevynne on the proper care of the wound. Viola had cleaned the jagged gash on Mairwen's face, deciding against a bandage. The salve went on after she'd ensured that the wound would close on its own and not scar. She'd also bound Mairwen's ribs after discovering that one was broken. Starr had appeared dazed and slightly confused, but otherwise seemed healthy enough. When they'd finished, they'd shooed the men out with a word about resting. The three of them had left reluctantly. And then Fflur had simply vanished, leaving the four of them alone.
For several long minutes, the four of them sat in silence, simply staring at one another. Finally, it was Rae who spoke up. "Its happened again, hasn't it?"
"By it, do you mean the virus?" Starr asked softly, gaze darting around to ensure they were truly alone. Rae nodded her head. The action brought a sigh from the other woman. "It seems it has. And Merry Gentry, no less."
"Hey, I like it here," Viola remarked, offering a smile.
"Hi, Daz," Starr replied.
"How'd you know?" Viola questioned.
"I'm the vampire one. You're the Faerie one."
"Lady?" Raevynne stared at Starr hard, as if she was trying to see the face under the face. Starr nodded, her blue hair sliding around her face. The light glinted off the silver in her hair, flashing like stars winking in the night sky.
"Well, now we know where you got your nickname," Viola smiled. She watched as Starr brought a handful of hair forward and tried to spot the sparkling bits of silver. "That leaves you two. Who's going to cough up a name first?"
"I'm confused. Why am I the warrior in this one? I'm usually the earthy one." Raevynne shook her head, her braid flopping over her shoulder.
"Nan gets to be the badass this time. That's kind of cool." Starr remarked.
"All I want to know is where Kitto is at." Mairwen made sure that she didn't talk when anyone else did. No doubt she couldn't draw a full breath.
"Hi, Gin." Viola said, acknowledging the fourth member of the group. "Do you suppose there's anymore of us?"
"No. I suspect that they'd have ended up here with us." Mairwen almost shook her head, then thought better of it. "Speaking of, why are we here?"
"Didn't you hear? Merry's dead. That means that the universe needs a new queen." Viola looked from one face to the other, giving them a moment to fully grasp what she was saying.
"Oh shit." The comment came from all three of them.
"Yeah. Oh shit is right. Because that means one of us is going to have to become the next queen." Viola sighed and shook her head. Yeah. That'd be easy.
Chapter One: Mirror Mirror
Fandom: Merry Gentry Universe
Rating: 18 and up
Warnings: graphic sex and violence, language, anything else i can toss in.
Disclaimer: the recognizable characters and places contained herein are the property of LKH. i'm merely borrowing for the sake of entertainment. no money is being made from this venture. the Sues are the sole property of their originators, Ginevra, Dazzledfirestar, Nanaea, and ladydeathfaerie. the concept and title of The Mary Sue Virus are used with permission from Dazzledfirestar. Daz had been a big help on the plotting front. thanks, hon!
The Mary Sue Virus: A Faerie Tale Index
She was dreaming. Dreaming of vaulted ceilings that rose so high they couldn't be seen and of long tables that held people who were clad in brilliantly colored clothes and brilliantly colored skins. Winking gems in all the colors of the rainbow and gleaming crystal filled with richly heady wines. The loud sound of hushed speaking and sudden bursts of laughter. The clink of delicate glass and fine china and gleaming silverware gently rapping against each other. The soft chamber music that seemed somehow obscenely out of place in all of that opulence.
And she was dreaming of the clash of swords, of sweat and burning muscles and gasping breaths. Of grunts and groans of exertion and pain. Of the determination to win. Of cheers and badgering calls meant to distract.
She was dreaming of green eyes the color of the sky before a storm and of hair the grey of rain clouds. She was dreaming of it all and it was so real, from the slightly tangy odor of sweat on the air to the melodic laughter to the feel of the sword in her hand and the way her arms and muscles shook with each hit she took. She was dreaming of it all and so that was why it took her some time to realize that she wasn't actually dreaming and that she was, in fact, seeing all of those things with her own eyes.
For just a moment, confusion settled in and took place of lessons learned through repetition. For just a moment, she let her gaze skim the gathered crowd. Faces that were as distinct as they were unreal jumped out at her. Here one that was the color of the waves when they crashed angrily upon the shore. There one who was such a lovely shade of green that she thought immediately of the forest and all its living things. Another that was black as pitch, that was almost completely monochrome but for the flash of silver on the side of his head. A face that was pale as the freshly driven snow, with a singular blue eye and a white patch where the other should have been.
It was only a moment, only a small distraction. But it was enough. That second of hesitation cost her. She turned back toward the man before her, saw his blade coming at her. It was going to strike and she would have no way to block it. She brought her own sword up anyway. Too little too late.
Metal clashed and sang, a high-pitched, discordant sound that grated upon the nerves. His blade bounced off of hers and dropped sharply. The sharpened edge bit painfully into her arm, forcing her to jerk back from him with a barely stifled gasp. Not that it mattered. An echoing gasp rose from the crowd and she watched as her opponent stepped back. His blade lowered as he stared at her in surprise. She blinked, her brain not quite grasping just what had happened. Until the feel of something warm and thick running down her arm caught her attention.
As if in slow motion, she shifted her gaze from his shocked face to the pale flesh of her own right forearm. The skin had parted under the sharpened edge of his sword, allowing crimson blood to leak out and stain her flesh. It wasn't a particularly deep wound, but she could see that it was going to be a bleeder. A voice like thunder rumbling through the cotton of thick clouds brought her eyes back to his. "Raevynne. You are bleeding."
"It is nothing," she replied absently.
"You were distracted," he accused softly. She had been, but she didn't need him to point it out to her. She turned her fiercest frown on him.
"It. Is. Nothing." She stepped back from him, took a second to wipe at the blood with the edge of her tunic, When she was finished, she raised her blade and met his gaze head on. "Merely a flesh wound. And it shall not stop me from finishing this. I will hear you yield before I lower my sword."
It was the only warning he got. She pressed forward, blade swinging at him. He jumped back, brought his weapon up to block her blow. The sound of metal clashing rang loudly throughout the silent hall, everyone's attention now caught up in the battle that was taking place between the two warriors.
The only sounds that her ears caught were the sounds of their blades singing to one another, a moaning dirge of sorrow and pain and the harsh panting of their breath from between their lips. She could see determination in his eyes. The determination to put and end to their fight without bringing any further harm to her. She knew that he felt some sense of guilt about the wound in her arm. And she planned on using that to her advantage.
The two of them pressed forward and fell back, caught up in a deadly dance that could mean death if they weren't careful. It seemed as if the hall held its breath in anticipation of the outcome. She was sure that there were wagers being made between some of the gamblers present, those who couldn't stop themselves from trying to make a profit of some kind off of the winner of the exhibition fight.
He fought like the devil, the light flashing wildly off the steel of his blade as he swung it at her or used it to block her own sword. There were occasions when she thought he would beat her back, force her to drop her sword and thus give the battle to him. But she persevered. She ignored the fact that he was stronger than she was, ignored that her arm burned with pain, ignored that she was tiring. She dredged up every last ounce of her strength and reserves, forced herself through the fight until she'd driven him back into a table. Until one of her blows had hit hard enough that he'd been forced to drop his sword. She fought on until he bowed his head to her. "I yield the fight to you, Raevynne. You have won the day."
It was only after those words rumbled up his throat that she lowered her guard. The tip of her sword pointed at the floor as she stepped back and allowed him to retrieve his fallen weapon from the floor. He lifted it and, smiling, he brought it up before him as a salute. She did the same.
The polished steel of the blade was highly reflective and, as she returned the salute, she caught sight of herself in the surface of her weapon. What she saw was a pale face with eyes ringed in copper and red and brown. Her cheeks were high and angular, her lips lush and full. Her hair, pulled back into a tight braid that lay heavily against her spine, was an auburn color that reminded her of bloody copper. The image was both startling and beautiful.
Loud clapping pulled her away from her reflection. Turning to look to her left, she found a woman of immense beauty standing from a throne located at the far end of the hall. Hair as black as a raven's wing flowed around a face and shoulders that were the white of marble. Blood red lips were the only splash of color in a face that was done in shades of white and black and grey. The clothing she wore was all black, a mixture of leather and lace and velvet. Raevynne turned her salute toward the queen, then dipped into a bow.
"My queen," he said from beside her.
"Bravo, my brave warriors. An excellent diversion from the sorrows of late." Her voice rang clear as a bell throughout the large hall. She stepped down from the dais and glided toward them. One hand motioned them to straighten. "Your assessment was correct, Mistral. Raevynne is a worthy opponent. She fought you to a stand still despite her wound."
"She is well trained as a warrior," Mistral replied. Pride colored his every word.
The queen moved closer to her, her grey eyes looking Raevynne up and down. She wasn't surprised when one of the other woman's hands reached out, her fingers gently touching the sliced flesh on her arm. When the tips of them were painted crimson with her blood, the queen lifted them and daintily licked them clean. "You have pleased the court, Raevynne."
"Thank you, my queen," Rae dipped her head in acknowledgement.
"Now that you have proved yourself against Mistral, perhaps it is time you seek out the aide of a healer. It would not do for you to bleed to death from such a minor wound."
"Of course, my queen." Rae bowed her head once more. The queen touched it before turning to look at the man standing beside her.
"Escort her to the healer, Mistral."
"Yes, my queen." He bowed his head in the same manner that Raevynne had, then lifted it and turned to take hold of her arm. One of the Ravens hurried toward them to collect their swords and hand over a length of cloth to be used as a bandage. When their hands were emptied of their weapons, she allowed Mistral to help her tie the cloth around her arm. Then he motioned to the door on the other end of the hall. Together, the two of them left the great hall behind, stepping silently into one of the many corridors that had made the sithen a confusing and sometimes dangerous place.
Raevynne held her tongue, sensing the anger that vibrated around him. It hung on the air like the heavy thickness of an approaching thunderstorm. Instead, she gave her concentration to the never changing walls around them. For this day, the sithen had chosen to create walls from plain earth, the rich and loamy smell a comfort amidst the confusion that surrounded her.
How had this happened again? She was more than well aware what was going on. She'd been through it too many times not to recognize the signs. But never before had she become someone who was so unlike her real self. For a moment, seeing her reflection in the blade of her sword had left her disoriented. And what the hell was she doing in this world? Was she here alone or had anyone else joined her? Those questions, and so many more, rolled through her head. But she had no time to devote time to them, to finding answers for them, because Mistral's grip on her arm tightened enough to send a sharp shaft of pain up to her shoulder.
"Either loosen your grip or release me. I do not wish a broken arm because you are in a snit." Rae kept her voice level and cool. Provoking any more of his temper would not be wise. She'd known Mistral long enough to know what would and wouldn't work with him. Almost immediately, his fingers unclenched and she felt blood flowing back into her arm once more. "Now tell me what has you so angered."
"You were distracted." His voice held accusation in it. There was also concern and the smallest amount of fear. "I could have killed you. What happened to you out there? You know to never give your opponent such an opening."
"It was nothing. And you did not kill me. You are better trained than that. Did you forget that it was an exhibition match?" she asked, injecting her tone with a small amount of curiosity. They both knew he hadn't. Which was precisely the reason why she still had her arm and her life. Her question served to quell his anger for a few moments. Before it could come roaring back to life with the rampaging of his thoughts, she turned his attention from her flesh wound. "It gave the court something to think upon beyond the Princess' assassination."
"Raevynne," he sighed, then brought her to a halt. His face was etched with concern and something far gentler. She gave him a fond smile and laid a hand against his chest.
"My lord Mistral, you did me no harm. Do not worry so. All will be well. The healers will see the wound properly cared for." She saw that the fear still hovered in his eyes, letting her know that he still cared after all the years between this day and their wild youth so long ago. She lifted up on tip toes to press a gentle kiss to his cheek. "You flatter me with your concern, Mistral."
"So many strange things have happened recently. It was difficult to lose Merry and the babies. I do not wish to know what would happen if I were to lose you so soon after her."
"You will not lose me," she promised softly.
"I have already lost you." His eyes clouded over before he turned and once more started up the hall. She stared after him, taking note of the tense line of his shoulders and spine. His feelings were deeper than he was willing to let on. And he knew of her growing emotions for another. Yes. He'd already lost her. Somehow, that made her sad. With a sigh, she started after him. A flash of green caught her attention, stopping her in her tracks. A small section of the wall had slid from the dark, loamy brown of earth into a deep, glossy black marble veined with forks of grey and white. Short lengths of ivy hung from the ceiling near the patch. She was sure it hadn't been there before.
Curious.
~*~*~*~*~
The smell of dirt invaded her nose, bringing her out of the darkness. It was a fresh, earthy smell, as if the ground where she lay had just been turned over. Her head felt like soup, as if she'd had too much to drink or been given too many drugs. Either one would explain why she found herself face down in the dirt with no memory of how she'd gotten there.
Her limbs felt weak and limp, as if she'd run for a very long time, when she tried to push herself up off of her face. It took three tries before she was sitting up, wondering just where in the world she was. The room around her was heavily laden with all manner of plant life. Flowers bloomed and filled the air with heady fragrances, their colors bright and flashy against the abundance of greens. Ivies grew, long fingers decorated with leaves reaching and crawling up the walls and along the floor. Large leafed plants and ferns gave a slightly tropical appearance to the space around her while a tranquil pool of water was only an arm's length from where she say. Trees of varied heights lined the walls, giving the appearance that she was in some sedate forest clearing. If not for the earthen dome over her head, she could believe she was lost in the woods.
She sat still, waiting for the spin of dizziness to leave her, before moving toward the pool. She was so thirsty, it felt as if she hadn't had a drink in a week. Three attempts at standing told her that she would do better simply crawling to the edge of the pool. Grit and small bits of stone dug into her knees and her palms, each small pain helping to clear some of the fog from her head.
Dirt crumbled away from her skin as she moved, exposing skin that was pure and white. Like freshly fallen snow. She found herself staring and marveling at the lack of color, at the fine and seemingly delicate form of her hand and arm. The unnatural beauty of her arm made her move just a little faster until she could stare at the surface of the pool, the water smooth and peaceful and casting back a perfect reflection of a stunning, ethereal face.
A face that she didn't know as her own.
Like her arms and her hands, her face was that milky smooth paleness of marble. A perfectly shaped mouth pouted in confusion, the lips tinted a pale blue. Eyes of blue stared back at her, eyes that were three shades of blue. A ring of icy blue lined the darkness of her pupils, followed by a ring of cobalt that was startling while midnight blue mimicked the darkness of the pupil, leaving the two other hues swimming in the darkness. What was most amazing was the mass of blue hair that fell down around her shoulders to frame her face and trail in the water at the edge of the pool. It was a deep, velvety blue color, speckled with spots of silver that glinted like stars in the night sky.
She reached out to touch her face, to be sure that she wasn't simply seeing things. A reflection of her hand came into view and grazed the edges of her cheek, traced the curve of her chin and the shape of her lips. She left behind a small smear of dirt and blood, the colors so stark against her flesh. She blinked.
Where had the blood come from? She glanced down at her hands and saw that one had smears of crimson on it, but that there was no wound. So she sat back and began inspecting herself. She could see well formed legs that were spotted with earth, but nothing that suggested any kind of wound. The front of her chemise was stained dark with dirt, masking the front of her body. She reached for the neckline, ready to pull it back and inspect her torso, when a whisper of sound caught her attention.
It sounded like a voice, though she couldn't be certain. Things were still fuzzy and she was fairly sure she was alone. But she thought she heard a woman's voice speak a warning to her. Then it was gone and she was aware of a presence behind her. "Astarte? What are you doing here alone?"
Astarte. Starr. Her name. She turned to look over her shoulder and found a face that she knew but couldn't put a name to. Snow pale skin, eyes the grey of a winter storm and hair that looked to be spun of the finest wrought silver. She opened her mouth, but no sound issued forth. She couldn't even be sure what she wanted to say.
She watched his eyes look her over, saw the frown form when he took in the smudges of dirt. Before she could think, he removed the white coat he wore and knelt down to wrap it around her shoulders. "Astarte? Are you ill? Has someone attempted to harm you?"
"I... I don't think so," She shook her head, which only made the muzziness seem more intense. "I don't remember." Even the words felt thick and clumsy.
"Where are your clothes?" he questioned, his hands helping bring her to her feet. When she stumbled, he tightened his grip on her. "Astarte, what's happened?"
"I..." she paused and frowned. She couldn't quite recall. She had no clue how she'd gotten where she was and she had no idea how she came to be there in little more than a nightgown. "I do not know."
"Come. You should see a healer." He slipped an arm around her so that he could put his hand on her elbow. His other hand took hold of her other elbow to ensure that he had a good hold of her. Then he urged her forward. Her stomach cramped and burned so badly that she knew she'd have fallen if not for his hold. Trying to keep the fact that she seemed to be injured from him, she turned and offered him a smile.
"Thank you..." Her voice trailed off as she searched for his name. She knew it, just as she knew his face. But she simply couldn't bring it to the front of her mind. He frowned at her all the harder.
"Frost," he supplied.
"Thank you, Frost. I apologize for being so troublesome."
"There is no trouble, Astarte." Though his tone sounded formal, there was no way he could hide his concern. She offered him a second smile.
"How many times must I tell you? Call me Starr."
"Are you sure you haven't struck your head? You do not seem yourself." His eyes went to her head, as if he could see any kind of wound through her hair.
"I honestly cannot say, Frost. I don't know what happened or how I got here." Okay. That was a lie. Kind of. Things were beginning to fall into place for her and she wasn't liking the way it all added up.
"Or what happened to your clothes, apparently. You were supposed to be in the hall for the exhibition fight. When I didn't see you, I took it upon myself to search for you. These are not times when one should wander the sithen alone."
"What danger do I present to anyone, Frost? You know they all see me as nothing more than a mere annoyance, something to put up with. I belong here as much as I belonged at the Golden court." She would have loved to pull away from him and hand back his coat, tell him to keep his concern to himself. But she would have dropped to her knees again. This time, she would have been unable to get up. And she knew that he suffered, that treating him so callously would wound far deeper than words. So she held her tongue and allowed him to help her from the garden room.
"The queen has ordered that no one should be caught off guard."
"And yet you come find me on your own." Wasn't that typical of a man?
"It is my job as a Raven to protect those residing within the sithen." It would have been terrible of her to point out that he was no longer a Raven, that he no longer held such a position. So she said nothing. The queen had yet to make any decisions in regards to the men who had been part of Princess Meredith's personal guard. But he'd spent a long portion of his life serving as a member of the Queen's Ravens. Perhaps clinging to that identity gave him purpose.
They left the garden behind, Frost helping her out into the hallway just outside the door. The change was drastic and immediate. Walls of plain earth met her sight and she found she missed the lack of riotous colors. Torches set into wall sconces lit their way, the flickering of the flames sending their shadows dancing across the walls. All in all, she thought that the corridor was lifeless and dull.
Frost didn't seem to be eager to talk, which she felt was fine. It gave her a chance to allow thoughts and ideas to tumble through her mind. The disorientation she'd woken with was slowly fading as more images and names and places and improbabilities poured into her brain. The fuzziness was still there, left her feeling slightly sick. For the life of her, she couldn't figure out what she'd been doing that would leave her hung over and nearly naked in the dirt. If it had been that, she thought she'd have felt something.
She cast a sidelong glance at Frost and marveled at the icy beauty of his face. He wasn't simply handsome. He was beautiful. And she couldn't forgive herself for not knowing who he was the moment she'd laid eyes on him. Maybe that was because part of her still didn't want to acknowledge that she was somewhere new. Somewhere strange and alien. She'd known almost since the moment she'd spied her reflection in the pool.
It had happened again. This time, though, it had happened almost without warning. She didn't think she'd been doing anything shortly before waking up with her face in the dirt that would have landed her lying on the ground with her face in the dirt. Not that she could really recall what she'd been doing before then. Everything was a blur. But still, she knew the signs when she saw them. And she was presently walking with a living, breathing sign. She sighed.
"Something tells me we're not in Kansas anymore, Toto," she muttered to herself. Frost cast her a questioning look, but she merely shook her head and continued on in silence. It was getting to be habit. A really bad, really freaky habit. She didn't know if she should laugh or cry or get pissed off. None of them would change the reality of her situation.
The first thing to do, before she lost all memory of this, was to find the others. There had to be others here. Surely she wasn't here on her own. Hadn't they shown up all together before? Why was this time so different? And why were they needed? What strange things were going on that...
Almost as soon as she thought the question, the answer rose to the surface of her mind, swimming up through the murk and haze. Meredith was dead. And so were her children. She knew that the knowledge had been there, but it hadn't really clicked into place until she'd started questioning what she knew. She stumbled with the weight of that knowledge, forcing Frost to tighten his hold on her. He cast her another of those concerned looks. "Do you wish me to carry you?" he asked her.
"No, Frost. I can manage," she replied. Stupid of her. Moves like that would alert people to the fact that something was off. "I'm sorry."
"Sorry? For what?" He seemed genuinely confused. And it came to her that she would perhaps be wise if she didn't start offering sympathy for something that she was sure had happened some time ago. She gave him a look, then waved a hand in a gesture that was meant to encompass the entire corridor.
"For reducing you to little more than nursemaid. I know your time is far more valuable than that."
"There is obviously something amiss, though you refuse to tell me of it. I would be remiss if I didn't ensure that you were well."
"I would tell you if I knew what it was that was amiss," she replied quietly. He shot her a look that clearly suggested he didn't believe her. She tried again. "You shouldn't trouble yourself with me. You can leave me with the healer. I will find my way to my rooms after that."
"I would be lax in my duties if I didn't see you back to the safety of your rooms, Astarte." He said it in a voice that suggested she should know this already. She laughed softly, a sound that seemed to tinkle and hang in the air. She half expected to see a physical embodiment of her laughter. He shot her a look that was almost a glare. "You find something amusing?"
"Just you, my dear Frost," she told him. "We all know just how seriously you take your duties. You would never be remiss in them."
He stopped them before a door framed with curling vines of ivy, one hand reaching out to knock at the wooden panel. "And how would you know such things, Starr?"
"I have my ways, Frost. I have my ways."
~*~*~*~*~
The hall was a dull cacophony of noise, voices rising and falling in rhythm as people spoke to one another. Keeping an odd beat to the chorus of sound was the metallic clang of swords striking against one another. It wasn't an unusual evening within the sithen and so she tuned the noise out and allowed her thoughts to meander through her own mind. And there was so much to consider.
Nothing had been the same since the assassination. At first, both the queen and Merry's consorts had been too shocked to do anything. Grief had come next, hard and fast in the face of the loss of the babies. But then had come the anger and it was a miracle that no one had gone hunting for the culprit or culprits, though it had been a close thing with Doyle and Frost. Of all of Princess Meredith's men, they had been the ones intent on seeing harm brought down upon the heads of those responsible. It had taken orders from the queen herself to keep them within the walls of the Unseelie mound.
She cast a quick glance around the hall, marking each of the men who had been forced to return with the death of their princess. Only one face was nowhere to be seen among the gathered crowd. Frost had spent much of his time alone with his own thoughts. As with other meetings and meals, he had declined to join them. The queen had tried ordering him into attendance, but Doyle had intervened on the man's behalf and won him his solitude. She had her doubts that it would be allowed to continue for much longer.
Part of her was surprised by the display currently taking place. It seemed to her somehow wrong that Mistral should be caught in the middle of an exhibition with a woman he was known to have had an relationship with before becoming a Raven. There should have been dark colors in the hall. The court should have been mourning the loss of a royal heir and her unborn children. There shouldn't have been such carrying on. The death of a royal deserved more respect than the queen had given it. And because the queen had treated Meredith's death with so little care, other members of the court were doing the same.
She found herself disgusted by the things she heard and saw. No one at court paid attention to someone such as herself, someone they considered to be unworthy of their time. But that never stopped them from saying things before her that she knew they would never dare give voice to before their queen for fear of how she would react. The general consensus amongst the court was that Andais was losing her mind. Perhaps this was so, but the woman had lost her son and her niece, as well as her grandnieces. She'd lost the future of her people. Such things were bound to make a person mad with grief and impotent rage.
The queen should have been wrapped up in her mourning. Meredith's men should have been cloaked in sorrow and loss. And perhaps they were. But none of them gave their emotions a public face, as if they were following the example set by their ruler. She was beginning to think that the queen had a heart that had been chiseled from a block of ice.
One of the serving staff shot her a dirty look and made a shooing motion with one hand. She'd apparently been lost in thought for too long. Carefully hefting the tray, she began the trek toward the tables.
It happened so quickly that she had no warning at all. She was approaching one of the tables, ready to dole out the dishes to one of the highly placed families, when she felt the change. She saw it in the way Raevynne simply came to a stand still in the middle of a sword fight. It was barely a tick of time, but it was enough to put the warrior woman in danger. And it was enough of a shock that she lost the hold she had on her tray.
The plates and their steaming contents slipped from her hands and clattered to the floor before she could recover herself. Even though she knew it was too late, she made a grab for the tray, her hands closing over empty air. She saw it all happening in slow motion, saw the plates slide from the tray to cascade in an arc toward the floor. Several of the dishes dumped their contents into the lap of a high ranking lady and her consort. Gasps of surprise and pain rose from the woman while her husband took to his feet and glared at her.
"You clumsy bitch! Look what you've done!" he snarled at her.
"I'm so sorry, my lord. It was an accident. I meant no offense," she told him, already kneeling down to begin the clean up. His hand curled tightly around her arm and jerked her to her feet. She had a moment to see the danger in her situation.
She'd long given public her support of Princess Meredith, believing that she would be a far better ruler than Prince Cel. And the angry man before her was one of those who had claimed that Meredith would kill off Faerie with her weak human blood. And while Meredith had lived, she and people like her had been safe from retaliation for their opinions. With the princess dead and buried, no one would stand against those who had put their support behind Cel. And she knew then that spilling the tray was just the excuse her attacker had been looking for to justify his actions.
"You have ruined my lady's gown! How will you make this right? Have you the money to pay for it?" he demanded, even though he knew full and well she did not. She felt a flutter of fear low in the pit of her belly, sending her eyes seeking out would be rescuers. Everyone seemed enrapt with the exhibition before them. Raevynne was injured, bleeding freely, and yet she had the advantage over Mistral.
"I.. It was an accident," she repeated weakly. Accident or not, she would be lucky if she came away from this encounter with nothing more than a single bruise.
"Insolent half breed," he snarled. His hand connected with her cheek, striking a painful blow that sent her spinning to the floor. She struggled to gain her feet, knowing that her position left her weak and vulnerable. His hand curled around her arm again, jerking her up until she stood before him. His palm slapped painfully against her cheek a second time. He didn't let her go, instead delivered a third blow.
Pain exploded up the side of her face, blood filling her mouth from a cut on the inside of her cheek gained when the flesh had smashed up against her teeth. His arm drew back one more time. Her eyes roamed across the crowd, but no one was even looking their way. And she knew better than to expect help from the other servants. To come to her aide would only earn them the same treatment to which she was being subjected.
The back of his hand caught her in the side of the head. He wore a large signet ring that tore her skin open, leaving her with a numbing pain beside her eye. She was dimly aware that it was bleeding. She was also only dimly aware of her hands fisting, of one of them shooting up to catch him under the chin and force him back. She barely felt the pain in her knuckles. She didn't see that the skin split and bled. All she saw was his hand lifting again.
She fell back, landing roughly on the floor on her backside, her hands braced to keep her head from hitting the ground. He was enraged with her actions and advanced. Panic rolled over her, saw her turning so that she was on her hands and knees, so that she could try and crawl away from her attacker. She didn't get very far before his foot connected with her rib cage. She went sprawling to the floor, winded and unable to get up or away. She was already hearing the crack of her ribs the next time his foot struck.
The blow never came. Instead, she sensed another presence between herself and the infuriated lord. "You have no business here, Shadowspawn. Return to the queen's side and continue playing her pet."
"Perhaps you forget who you speak to," a second voice said, a hint of coldness and arrogance coloring his words. "I am King of the Sluagh. I am ruler of my own kingdom. I am no one's plaything." There was both warning and challenge in his words.
"This graceless cow ruined my wife's gown. It is my right to take payment from her hide if I so choose."
"I see no reason to abuse her so harshly. She's apologized and claimed it for the accident it so obviously was. Enough, or it will be you and I fighting next."
She expected the angered lord to complain more but something stopped him. Perhaps he gave consideration to what would happen should he meet the Lord of Shadows in a duel. Perhaps he didn't think it was worth his time to finish meeting out punishment for her imagined trespasses. Whatever reason, her attacker returned to the table where his wife sat and the King of the Sluagh turned to face her.
She wasn't sure what she should expect. Whatever her expectations were, none of them included having the ruler of the Dark Host turned and offer her his hand. She hesitated a moment before placing her hand in his. Gently, he helped her to her feet, then reach out to give her his support when she wanted to crumple to the floor in pain. Her ribs burned with fire, making breathing difficult. And she could feel the dull ache that meant she'd have bruises on her face before the dawning.
Eyes of gold regarded her with a solemn expression, one hand reaching out to tenderly prod at those spots where the other man's hand had struck her. She couldn't stop herself from flinching and hissing. Finally, he shook his head and slipped an arm around her waist before propelling her forward. "You are in need of a healer. Come. I will escort you."
"Thank you, my lord." She kept deference in her tone. He offered her a smile and stared for the door out of the hall. She was vaguely aware of the sounds of clapping, then the queen's voice as it filled the hall. Nearly all of her attention was given over to concentrating on remaining on her feet and the man at her side.
"There is no need for formality." He was giving her permission to use his name. Something very few of the Sidhe had ever done before. Not with a servant. There were a few exceptions, people like Meredith, who had never stood on ceremony. But those few were truly a few.
"Forgive me, my lord Sholto. Habit leads me to using a title."
"I insist."
"Very well. Thank you, Sholto." They stepped through the doors and left the hall behind. The corridor stretched out before them, silent but for the sound of their feet upon the floor. She was unsure how to deal with this situation and it didn't help that his nearness seemed to leave her flustered. The arm that lay against her back was filled with strength, a warm and welcome comfort that only added to the confusion that clouded her mind.
In her experience, those of royal lineage rarely cared about their servants. None would have stepped in to stop a peer from doing as he or she pleased. Because of this, his actions confused her. Why had he come to her side? Why was he helping her to the healer's chambers? Did he not have something else to do? And why did his nearness leave her so baffled? His touch brought about sensations and thoughts she had no right giving life to.
Added to that was the puzzling knowledge that things were all terribly off balance and out of place. She was sure she knew the explanation as to the why, but she wanted someone else to consult with on that. Assuming she could find someone else. She had at least one idea, but how to go about finding out for sure was a hurdle she didn't quite know how to get across. At least, not now. Not when she couldn't really think past the pounding ache that had crept up her face to make itself home in her skull. Not with the fire that burned in her chest with every breath.
It took all of her concentration to remain on her feet. She did not wish to appear weak before him, an odd thought considering she was sure that he'd seen everything that had happened to her.
When one of her feet stumbled, his free hand reached out to take hold of her elbow, offering her that extra measure of security. His touch was warm and soothing, helping pull her slightly from the aches that pounded through her. She wasn't sure if he sensed that she wasn't up to speaking or if he simply felt there was no need to break the silence with useless chatter. Whichever it was, she was grateful to him for it.
But she found herself missing the warmth of his nearness when he finally left her with the healer, prompting her to wonder just what had passed silently between them.
~*~*~*~*~
The talk was all the same. People around her whispered of the murders. Whispered of conspiracies and culprits. Any other day, she'd have tuned it out. But not this day. This day, things had changed considerably. Moments ago, she'd been bored to tears and ready to beg she be allowed to retire for the evening. Court gave her such headaches. And then it had all changed.
In the blink of an eye, she found that she was no longer quite so bored. And her gaze roved the hall, seeking out familiar faces that she hadn't ever really seen before. She found them, each of them, naming them even as she told herself it simply couldn't be. That this couldn't be happening. Not to her. Not again.
Yet... Here she was, sitting amidst a race of people long held to be little more than myth and fantasy. They were beautiful and regal and shone with a radiance that marked them as magic made flesh. They were color and emotion given life, flashes of brilliant glory that few would ever see. That few had truly ever seen. What had gone so wrong with the world that she was allowed such a questionable privilege?
"There was another assassination attempt." The voice brought her out of her thoughts and sent her hand reaching for her goblet. A drink. She needed a drink. It didn't matter what it was. She just had to have something to fortify her. A glance from the corner of her eye told her that someone she had a name for was speaking. "Just a few hours ago. Someone is trying to murder people in our very own sithen. What magic could be strong enough to allow such things? The sithen should have stopped the attacks already."
"Perhaps the magic being used to perpetrate these attacks is stronger than the sithen's magic, Mother," she said before sipping at the wine in her goblet. It was tart and fruity and rich, sliding down her throat with ease.
"Is there a magic that strong?" Her mother sounded as if she didn't believe it. Perhaps she didn't. It wasn't any of her concern. She offered the woman a shrug and returned the goblet to the table. "Can you believe someone would dare try to assassinate Abeloec? And after everything that he's suffered."
The name caught her attention. How odd that someone would attack him. She pondered it a minute. Hadn't there been an attack on Nicca not that long ago? Both men had been lovers of the princess. Which seemed to her an odd coincidence. Especially when one combined their attacks with the fact that several members of court who had openly supported Meredith had gone missing. The attacks and the kidnappings had been the talk of the court for days. With exception of the attack on Abeloec, she knew each story by rote. There were terribly strange things happening within the sithen. Things that left her wondering if perhaps her offhand comment to her mother was correct.
Was a magic stronger than the sithen's behind the attacks? If so, who wielded such power? She didn't think any one person within either the Seelie or Unseelie court could hold such magic. The only being she knew of that was that strong was Goddess.
Why would Goddess try and destroy her own people?
Suddenly realizing what it was she was thinking, what names were running through her head, she sought out some kind of reflective surface. She had to see for herself if what she was thinking was true. She tried the goblet, but the surface wasn't large enough, the image distorted. There was little else at the table in which she could see herself, merely a shining silver plate before her. After glancing around casually to be sure no one was paying any attention to her, she leaned over the table and glanced at herself in the shining surface of the plate. She was immediately caught.
The face that she was looking at was one she'd never worn before. Her skin was the color of moonlight in the night sky, though there was a slightly greenish undertone to it that made her think that the light was being filtered through the leaves on the trees of old growth forests, where she knew her people had once roamed freely. Her eyes were three rings of shining color. The inner most ring was silver, like the plate she used as her mirror. Next to the silver was violet, dark as the small flowers that her name had come from. The last ring was a lush lavender, a startling contrast to the other two colors. Her hair hung in wild waves about her face. It was a green so dark that all she could think of was the pine needles that clung to fir trees all year round. As if someone had thought the green was too dark and oppressive, strands of bright purple streaked her tresses, giving the impression of wild blossoms blooming in the darkness of tropical forests.
She couldn't believe her eyes. The face... No, her face was exotic and beautiful, something out of the most amazing stories. Almost like the faces she imagined the angels wore. Looking at her own reflection, she could understand how it was that humans found themselves enthralled by the ethereal beauty of the Fae.
Something drew her attention from her reflection, some kind of internal warning. She thought maybe she'd heard someone call her name, but she didn't see anyone looking at her when she lifted her head. Instead, she found herself staring straight at the exhibition match being fought before the entire court. Mistral had chosen Raevynne, one of Prince Cel's former guards, to spar with in the hopes that their prowess with a sword would help alleviate some of the sorrow and shadows that remained in the wake of Meredith's murder. And Raevynne wore such an expression of confusion, if only for a moment, that she knew what had happened.
The brief distraction proved disastrous for the woman. Mistral's blade bit into her skin, spilling droplets of crimson liquid over pale skin. The wound didn't deter Raevynne, served only to see her fighting back with more vigor and power. She swung her sword, parried and thrust, and slowly, but surely, drove Mistral back. She didn't quit until he yielded the fight to her.
His words brought applause forth from the gathered crowd. Even the queen stood and greeted the two guards. There was a brief exchange, during which time the queen sampled Raevynne's blood, then the two of them were dismissed to seek out the aide of a healer for the woman's wound. Even before they were on their way to the exit, she was gaining her feet. She had to speak with the other woman.
"Viola? Where are you going? You're going to miss the rest of the meal," her mother asked, one white hand curling around her arm to halt her steps.
"Raevynne is injured. Perhaps my abilities can be of some use." She gave her mother a look that suggested this was important. The other woman gave it consideration, watching her daughter carefully. Viola swore she could feel the minutes ticking by with agonizing slowness.
"No doubt the healer can manage on her own. Sit and eat." There was a hint of command in the woman's voice. Viola offered a smile to her mother while casually lifting the woman's hand from her arm.
"No doubt. But should she have need of assistance, it would be better if she didn't need to await my arrival." She turned and hurried toward the doors before her mother could say anything else. Raevynne and Mistral had already gone through the doors and were far ahead of her by the time she gained the hallway.
Once clear of the constant noise of the hall, she allowed herself to consider what she knew even as her feet followed the corridor and its twists and turns by memory. She was more than certain it had happened again. That moment in the hall, when she'd seen the confusion on Raevynne's face, had told her all she'd really needed to know. The strange new face she wore had told her all she'd really needed to know. The setting, the sea of shining faces... Everything had told her all she'd really needed to know. And so now, there was only one thing left to do. Find the others. Because she knew she wasn't the only one in this place.
Her gaze took in the plain earthen walls, the smooth floor made of stone. She could feel a deep, resonating magic that seemed to be alive. The magic of the sithen. It soaked into the soles of her feet, climbed up her legs so that it could spread out into her belly, her arms and hands. Her head and brain. It welcomed her to this place that was old as time itself and older. And it whispered to her, things she heard but didn't quite understand. She saw the patches where the walls were turning from earth to marble, the glossy black stone run through with veins of white and grey, saw the bits of ivy that hung from the ceiling overhead, that grew out of the walls to trail up and down and give the hallway a splash of color.
She knew it wasn't supposed to be like this, that it should have been plain and drab in response to Meredith's death. But it was alive with hope and love and life, as if it knew secrets that no one else was privy to. Something had changed, had given the sithen a reason to grow again. She had a sneaking suspicion she knew what that something was.
Her pace quickened and she soon found herself before the healer's door. She knocked before letting herself in, surprised to find that the room was crowded. Names rose to her tongue as she looked from one face to another. Raevynne sat in a chair while the healer fussed over her arm. Mistral stood over Rae, looking down at the woman's head as if he planned on boring holes through it. Perhaps he did. No doubt he was angered with himself for putting her in danger. How was he to know that strange things would be afoot at the Circle K?
Sitting in a second chair was one of the women who served the court. She was willowy and pale, the only color to her beyond her clothing found in the grey of her eyes. A livid bruise discolored her chin and met with the corner of her mouth. Another bruise ringed a bloody wound near her right eye. She held herself very straight, breathing carefully. As if it hurt to do so. Someone had used her as a punching bag. This wasn't an uncommon occurrence. Mairwen had made plenty of enemies with her public support of Meredith.
The last one she looked at stood by the wall, leaning against it so that it didn't look as if she was leaning against Frost. He regarded the room silently, his arm around Astarte absently. She was dirty and nearly naked. And she looked as dazed as the rest of them no doubt felt. Fflur looked up at her. "Viola. What brings you to my chambers?"
"I thought perhaps that I would help you with the wounded." She motioned toward Raevynne.
Fflur nodded her head before indicating Mairwen. "Perhaps you can attend to our fair lady. It seems one of the lords was in a foul mood this night." Viola nodded her head, rolled up her sleeves, and headed over to where Mairwen sat.
Together, Viola and Fflur made certain that their three patients were well tended to. Raevynne's wound was less serious than had first been thought. It had bled heavily, but hadn't been too deep. Still, Fflur had cleaned it and then covered it with salve and bandages before instructing Raevynne on the proper care of the wound. Viola had cleaned the jagged gash on Mairwen's face, deciding against a bandage. The salve went on after she'd ensured that the wound would close on its own and not scar. She'd also bound Mairwen's ribs after discovering that one was broken. Starr had appeared dazed and slightly confused, but otherwise seemed healthy enough. When they'd finished, they'd shooed the men out with a word about resting. The three of them had left reluctantly. And then Fflur had simply vanished, leaving the four of them alone.
For several long minutes, the four of them sat in silence, simply staring at one another. Finally, it was Rae who spoke up. "Its happened again, hasn't it?"
"By it, do you mean the virus?" Starr asked softly, gaze darting around to ensure they were truly alone. Rae nodded her head. The action brought a sigh from the other woman. "It seems it has. And Merry Gentry, no less."
"Hey, I like it here," Viola remarked, offering a smile.
"Hi, Daz," Starr replied.
"How'd you know?" Viola questioned.
"I'm the vampire one. You're the Faerie one."
"Lady?" Raevynne stared at Starr hard, as if she was trying to see the face under the face. Starr nodded, her blue hair sliding around her face. The light glinted off the silver in her hair, flashing like stars winking in the night sky.
"Well, now we know where you got your nickname," Viola smiled. She watched as Starr brought a handful of hair forward and tried to spot the sparkling bits of silver. "That leaves you two. Who's going to cough up a name first?"
"I'm confused. Why am I the warrior in this one? I'm usually the earthy one." Raevynne shook her head, her braid flopping over her shoulder.
"Nan gets to be the badass this time. That's kind of cool." Starr remarked.
"All I want to know is where Kitto is at." Mairwen made sure that she didn't talk when anyone else did. No doubt she couldn't draw a full breath.
"Hi, Gin." Viola said, acknowledging the fourth member of the group. "Do you suppose there's anymore of us?"
"No. I suspect that they'd have ended up here with us." Mairwen almost shook her head, then thought better of it. "Speaking of, why are we here?"
"Didn't you hear? Merry's dead. That means that the universe needs a new queen." Viola looked from one face to the other, giving them a moment to fully grasp what she was saying.
"Oh shit." The comment came from all three of them.
"Yeah. Oh shit is right. Because that means one of us is going to have to become the next queen." Viola sighed and shook her head. Yeah. That'd be easy.
(no subject)
Date: 2010-10-22 04:08 am (UTC)maybe something will fall out of my head. we'll see.
glad you enjoyed.