Summer Court Rhapsody

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Thunder rolls in, the storm clouds a bustling, angry audience overlooking the throne of Titania, Queen of the Summer Court. The skies had previously been clear, but all fey know that the summer skies are (exactly) as unpredictable as their Queen’s mood, and the revellers quickly seek shelter from the incoming storm, wondering what could have precipitated such… precipitation.

The finely decorated manor of the Casillan family had been immediately vacated with a look from the Queen. The grand Casillan ballroom was renowned for its delicate dark blue marble floors and topographical verdant ceiling – giving the disorienting impression that one is standing amongst the stars looking up at green forests. Now the ballroom also holds the summoned golden throne of Titania, heat rippling off of the metal raising the temperature of the room dramatically. The windows along one wall look out onto the impossible redwood tree, extending for miles in a looping embrace of Mount Karrvarzt, and onto the gathering, burbling black clouds. A moment later, sheets of rain begin to descend, hammering against the glass like a riot.

The Archfey often appear in different forms and sizes, and this moment sees Titania at and enormous height, a 25ft giant Queen seated in her throne which has grown to match, head only not bursting through the ceiling because she leans forward intensely, one mighty hand supporting her chin and the other slowly crushing the golden armrest beside her. Her sword, drawn from its scabbard and glinting in reflection of the lightning outside, waits leaning on the side of the throne.

Her mouth doesn’t move; the thunder itself boils out her words: “Bring. Her. In.”

The double doors on the opposite end of the hall are opened and a hush falls over all in the ballroom. Entering on soft, light feet, Merla is led in by two eladrin guards, their expressions stoney. As she enters the room of stars, she has to keep her face composed for the dizzying effect it would have on her. Taking comfort from the calming sound of the soft brush of the iridescent fabric of her split cape trailing behind her, Merla holds her head up, poised. She is not bound, which causes a murmur to run through the few gathered in the ballroom, however she is unarmed, her dancing rapier and harp taken from her earlier when she put herself into the hands of the Green Knight, who follows in her wake.

Merla has never seen her Queen Mother look so terrifying nor so beautiful. For the first time in all of her years in the Summer Court, she begins to feel how small and insignificant she truly is. A dreadful thought, the memory of the second vision she had in the Temple of the Raven Queen comes to her and she nearly breaks then and there. But the soft touch of a mind of starlight brushes against hers.

“I am with you Merla,” Astra reassures her.

The fae-bard does not look at her friend, but knows she has entered the ballroom behind the grim procession Merla is part of by the sound of her hooves on the dark blue marbled floor. She was about to reply when Merla sees a powerfully strong and majestic, white-haired horned pegasus standing near the gold throne Queen Titania sits imposingly on.

“Lord Eachthighern is here,” Merla relays back. She feels Astra’s apprehension flash like lightning across their bond. “I will understand if you cannot stay-”

“No,” Astra interjects firmly. “I will stay. With you.”

There are no words, only a feeling of intense gratitude from Merla to Astra.

The majestic pegasus steps forth, mighty hooves clattering on the star-studded floor, his wings folded carefully by his side; the murmur from the assembled fey of the court goes silent – when Lord Eachthighern deins to speak, he is heard.

“My honoured Queen and assembled Fey of the Summer Court,” he begins his address, the words carried not through the air, but the sonorous voice materialising directly in the minds of all who listen. “We are assembled here today to discuss a matter most grave. A murder has been committed in our court. An act most vile and despicable. The victim was none other than Arvel Morningdew, commander of the Glorious Company.”

The great lord of unicorns and pegasi allows a moment for the murmur to subside, before continuing.

“In his own abode; On the day of his triumph; Run through by cold steel and left to bleed out.”

The murmur swells once more, a sea of outrage rising.

“But we have apprehended a suspect.”

Lord Eachthighern inclines his noble head.

“Merla Copperkettle, daughter of the Queen herself. You have been found standing over the body of Commander Arvel, the killing blade in your hand. Your companions have left the Summer Court, but you have surrendered yourself to the Green Knight. What do you have to say in your defense?”

Merla feels the eyes of the fey gathered watching her, waiting, their murmurs a low buzzing hum pressing on the back of her mind. The only eyes that matter though, burn into her from on high.

“I sought out Commander Arvel Morningdew at his residence to ask him questions. You may recall since Saliyusuli Veránal I have worn a cloak made of the most beautiful, shimmering feathers that allowed me to fly – a dream of mine for many many years…” She feels a phantom pain from the scars on her back. “This cloak was a gift from the Commander for the campaign he and I fought together in Avernus. A beautiful gift but one with hidden intentions.”

Merla looks from Lord Eachthighern up to Queen Titania and in a singsong voice that is achingly beautiful recites the poem that came to her when she cast her spell in the Four Fair Winds.

        A shiny trinket
        to trap a bird – to teach and
        sing another’s song.

The sound of her melodious voice echoes in the grand hall as her eyes stay locked with the Great Seelie Queen’s intense gaze. The murmuring has stopped, the hall eerily silent as the echoes of Merla’s voice fades away. After a beat her eyes fall to her hands where Arvel’s blood had been not long ago. She still feels the weight of his dying body in her arms.

“We agreed to a duel. For each touch, one would ask a question and the other would answer honestly. My companions were allowed to assist me but it was to be a duel of honour. To ensure we would not hurt each other fatally he brought out two pins for protection.”

From the collar of her shirt Merla takes off the golden pin holding it up for the Queen to see, the sunburst glinting.

“Arvel gave me this one. It is true to what he said, it protected me,” Merla pauses, turning her head to pull back the collar of her shirt where the edge of a bruise can be seen, this one darker than the one blossoming into life on her upper right arm. She winces a little but keeps her voice steady.

“‘For pain is the greatest teacher,’” she quotes the commander, voice tinged with remorse. “As for the pin Arvel wore…” Merla trails off and gestures to the Green Knight.

The Queen’s Chosen Sword steps forward, kneels before the throne and offers up the obsidian token for inspection. The magic that disguised it has been spent, but the lone raven feather dangling from the obsidian shard is unmistakable. Thunder rumbles outside as the Warrior Queen’s expression hardens.

Merla watches her Queen Mother’s reaction, unsure how her words are being received. Is she starting to make her own case? Or is she merely proving her own guilt?

“Keep going Merla,” Astra encourages her, softly stamping her hoof. “Do not give up.”

A determined line creases her brow and the small fae-bard takes a daring step forward towards the towering throne and the mighty Archfey that sits upon it as she continues.

“The protection it was meant to give failed because someone did not want it to work. Because of outside interference, Arvel’s pin was illusioned to look like the one he gave me. I did not know it was false.”

Merla steps closer, looking up at the Great Seelie Queen, her topaz blue eyes echoing the sincerity of her words.

“I told you on my last visit Arvel gave me that cloak and since I put it on I have felt something trying to change me, that the Raven Queen herself marked me in some way.”

Merla spins around and opens her split cape, showing the dark, jagged, talon scars that go down her back. The unsettling murmur of voices at her display sounds like the beating of wings for a split second. But another encouraging brush to her mind from Astra steadies her. Merla looks to those few in the ballroom who seem most concerned, locking eyes with each of them in turn, seeing them, and willing them to see her plight.

“That cloak drew the Raven Queen’s attention to me and before I knew it I started appearing different – looking less like myself and something more dreadful. Like her. But I got free with the help of my companions, some of whom were with me when I went to speak to Commander Arvel.”

Merla slowly pivots around to face Lord Eachthighern and the Green Knight, speaking to them as she continues.

“I managed to touch him twice in our duel. On the first I asked him who gave him the cloak and he said, ‘I got it from a friend who deals in such specialty things.’” She takes another step forward and a mirthless smile touches her lips.

“He knew exactly what he gave me and what it was meant to do.”

Titania’s expression is unmoving, face the size of Merla’s whole body staring at her, but murmurs spread throughout the few assembled fey before being quickly hushed again. The half smile fades from Merla’s face and it’s like she is reliving the moment again. They see the memory of it in her eyes.

“It was on my second touch that the protection from Arvel’s pin failed and the thrust of my sword, which should have been stopped, kept going…”

Merla looks up to the Great Seelie Queen and finally lets go of the emotions that have been roiling within her. A wave of remorse for having killed one of the fey of the Summer Court, at having failed in getting the answers she desperately wanted, but above all, for hurting her Mother in a way she can never take back. Her eyes glisten as the tears gather into crystal clear pools in the corners of her eyes, to fall down her cheeks as she looks up to the face she loves so much. With a grace that only the fey have Merla kneels down and a hush falls over the hall as indiscernible music, so achingly sorrowful and full of melancholy comes from Merla herself.

“I tried to bring him back, Femaer. The Green Knight can attest to it, I tried to bring him back. But Arvel’s soul was unwilling or… unable to return. I did not wish nor intend to kill Arvel. I wanted answers and now… all I have is his blood on my hands. I would never harm you or this Court, my home that I love, intentionally like this.”

The Queen sits back, shoulders hunching against the ceiling forcing her to recline slightly, looking off into the middle distance, considering. After a few moments she leans back down again and her voice booms out, still serious and touched with deep rage, but not as thunderous.

“Can more be said of these events, this crime? A witness, or a suspect, speak your mind.”

“The mortals reported an Unseelie leaving the scene of the crime,” the Green Knight says as he stands, addressing the Queen and the Court at large.

“I did not see them myself, but the Winter Court outcast Faye described seeing a pale figure escaping through a portal; ritual scarring suggests a Cabalite.”

Merla recalls Faye’s words: very pale, with hideous yet beautiful scars that form intricate patterns covering every inch of their bald head. Dark clothing, with many blades and knives of every shape imaginable strapped on everywhere – some of them so exotic and foreign you can only guess at their purpose, yet shiver to even summon the thought…

“These are troubling reports,” Lord Eachthighern said, rearing his magnificent maned head, “but are hearsay, without a witness to question or confirm them. The outcast has conveniently left our Court, along with the mortals. What reason would a mysterious Unseelie assassin have to temper with the Commander’s sparring charms? Risking the ire of the Summer Queen, when the Summer Court is in ascend?”

The murmur from the crowd of assembled Fey grows louder again, as the lord of pegasi continues.

“The Snow Queen has been humbled. The River King still licks his wounds from the Amaranthine Games. The Queen of Night and Magic is a shadow of her former self, and surely should pay tribute to the Summer Court? What madness could possibly have driven the Unseelie to draw our attention?”

The murmur swells once more, a rising tide to float all ambitions and grievances.

“We have no evidence to suggest Arvel’s duplicity, her majesty’s most humble servant. This was either the doing of a madman, or a carefully hedged plot – to what end we do not know; and if it was the latter, the lady Merla still stands in the shadow of suspicion.”

Titania rests her hand on the pommel of the huge blade leaning against her throne, looking between the three speakers thoughtfully. The more was said, the more her face had shifted gradually from tempestuous and furious to suspicious and calculating. Now, her eyes narrow. She lifts the blade (one eladrin in the audience immediately faints from anticipation) but merely examines the gleaming metal, as if habitually checking for imperfections.

“The game is growing very strange indeed,” she said, half to herself, voice quiet, calm and strangely musical. “My pieces move, but not at my command. Are they in thrall of others, or perhaps be players with agendas of their own?”

Her eyes snap back to Merla, the full weight of her focus returning in a flash. “And what say you? A player? Pawn? For who?”

The Daughter of the Summer Queen stands. As she does, a light blooms within the imperial topaz of her circlet and the music that had been coming from her changes, building from the adagio it was into an allegro that’s filled with notes of passion, purpose, and perseverance. The soft golden glow to her sun kissed skin grows brighter as a swell of heat that reflects Queen Titania’s starts to come from Merla herself. She stands taller, head held high with conviction and assertiveness. Without needing to look Merla knows Astra has come forward to be by her side, her own starlight glow to her as she locks eyes with the Lord of Pegasi and Unicorns before looking up to the Summer Queen.

The memory of a vision dashes through her mind and Merla feels something akin to a string pull her for the second time that day. Is this to be the moment her Queen Mother casts her out? Has this always been her fate?

No. It is not in the stars to hold our Destiny, but in ourselves.

“I am a pawn for no one,” Merla says softly, though her voice carries clearly through the hall. “I’m with you, Femaer, ’cause I choose to be – this Court, my home; it’s people, my family.”

Astra stomps her hoof as Merla’s eyes lock with Titania’s, staring into the intense heat of a thousand suns. Merla feels a fear wanting to break her but she won’t let it. She will ride it’s torrent – see it, feel it, and use its course. She is stronger now than she ever has ever been and it’s time for her to accept her place, where she knows she belongs.

“I have wronged you by my unintended actions, but I will prove worthy of you again. If you allow me to stay by your side I will find the truth and intent behind these schemes.”

Her words ring out across the dark marble floors and whether by volume or by the innate magic of her voice the room seems to hum for a few seconds longer, the harmonics hanging in the air.

The Queen of the Summer Court stands up, perspective and her form shifting as she does, so that by the time she is fully risen her head is only just touching the ceiling, relatively smaller but still many times the height of the halfling woman. The uncovered blade still in her hand, she hefts it a few times, testing the weight of it as much as she tested the weight of the evidence before her. Looking down at the small form of Merla before her, Titania lets out a sharp breath, and steps forward, bringing the blade back for a strike.

And time stands still.

The blade unmoving, a deadly blow hanging in the air, Titania’s hair suspended around her head. Merla finds she also could not move, but there was an awareness, a consciousness, her eyes locked on the Queens’. Then the Queen’s voice speaks in her mind, quietly, intently.

“Of music you know much, my child, but what of battle have you gleaned from living here? Imagine, one most trusted champion lies dead, another trusted guilty seems. Some forces unknown yet at Court at work, manipulate events and something’s wrong. You cannot trust them all, dare not, must not. And yet they plead to stay, what would you say?”

There is a breath, the space between notes.

“The line between seeming and being is as fine as spider’s silk,” Merla replies, her voice strong. “Doubt is an opening these forces unknown will exploit – amongst our allies and in ourselves. Caution is never for naught – but have enough courage to trust love one more time and always one more time.”

Though time has stopped, a glistening tear pools in the corner of the child’s eye, waiting on the precipice, ready to fall with her mother’s sword.

“Femaer… have I ever given you reason to doubt me? I am here before you because I love you. I am yours from Your Song’s beginning to its end.”

A sigh. “The answer born of youth, romance and hope. Be asked a question of this magnitude for years or aeons more and perhaps your stance may slowly start to shift. For caution is truly never for naught, you are right.”

A pause, in this suspended moment impossible to tell for how long.

“Either you intend deception – none could better lie to me so sure as you – or you are speaking true and yet you have killed Arvel, a hero of my throne and court.”

“You. Know. My. Song.” Her flowing speech interrupted, the blade slipped forward a few inches before stopping again. “You gave me pause the moment that was known.”

“You love me, child; and yet nothing needs more caution, for tis sweet but not a help. So if to serve me truly is your aim you cannot do it here and from this crime I cannot yet absolve you of all blame.”

Titania’s frozen face shifts, hardening while the hair and body remain perfectly still like the world around them. “Figure it out, Merla.”

The world resumes. The blade falls. Assembled fey gasp (one faints again). The glimmering steel stops an inch from Merla’s neck. Perfectly still, Titania speaks out to the whole crowd now.

“A crime has been committed yet the case is shrouded still. I cannot in good conscience pass a verdict now.”

She looks directly at the halfling at the end of her sword, face reflected in the steel. “Go from this place. Do not return each month as planned before. You will be summoned when a verdict’s reached.” The blade withdraws and Titania sits back upon her throne.

Merla, her radiance undimmed, stares at the Summer Queen for a moment longer, the echoing silence of the Great Seelie Fey’s words reverberating through the hall. The gathered fey look back and forth between their Queen and Lady Merla, a mix of disbelief, apprehension and uncertainty on many a face.

A rustle of whispers go through them as Merla lowers her eyes. But she does not cry. To look at her one would think she is pondering what desert to have with tea. Her lips move, but what she says comes out too quiet for the gathered fey to hear. Queen Titania does though and her eyes flash as she looks at the small woman once more, but Merla has turned away, the light of her circlet marking the path she now walks.

Astra shares a look with Lord Eachthighern, the Horse Lord looking down his nose at his kin, horn glowing as he speaks to her. Her own horn glows in response. Astra raises her head and Lord Eachthighern stomps his front hoof, exhaling, but she turns away, following her mistress, the sharp sound of her hooves a delicate bell ringing in the Daughter of Summer’s wake.

Merla finds him in the crowd, horned head, woodbrown features and verdant green eyes a beacon that calls to her. For the first time in months Kruxeral does not hide. His expression is unreadable but for his eyes. There is no mistaking the surprise and relief she sees in them as for a moment the two look at each other across the distance. She can almost hear his music – and Merla sees the ghost of his wicked grin in his eyes, the one that is just for her.

Then she blinks and he is melting into the crowd, and she loses sight of him once more. It was but a moment, but somehow it was worth an eternity.

“Figure it out, Merla.”

Her Queen Mother’s words echo in her mind. Merla’s eyes take on a hard edge of determination as she steps through the double doors of night to leave the only home she has ever known and loved. The rain has stopped but the dark clouds remain. She looks to Astra, who kneels down, allowing her mistress to climb up to her back.

“I will find the answers, Femaer, and come back to you. I promise.”

With a call that reverberates through the air, Merla and Astra take off at a run that soon sees the two soaring up into the sky. The echo of Merla’s voice lingers long after she has gone – a promise not to be forgotten.