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Post by Queen Merla, the Sun-Blessed on May 3, 2021 22:59:32 GMT
Care to listen to this thread as a podcast? Part 1 is here & Part 2 is here.
Follow Tome of Tales on Spotify to listen to this and other write-ups written and read by me.
Merla’s laugh caresses Kruxeral as Astra does a playful dip to catch an updraft of wind. The satyr was not prepared for the sudden shift and wraps his arms around her small form a little tighter. Merla leans into him before realising she’s doing so. Still giggling, the giddy sensation of weightlessness thrumming through to her fingers with the familiar warmth that came from being in Kruxeral’s arms again, Merla laid a small hand over his tight grip across her middle. “We are almost there!” she says, the wind carrying her words easily as it rushes by them. “Could we not have walked?” Kruxeral asks, a little breathless. Merla hears the grin in his words. She turns her head and is mildly surprised by how close his face is to hers, barely a breath between their lips. Kruxeral’s eyes drop down at the same time hers does, but neither move to close the gap. Merla thinks she feels him pull her a little closer. “Now where’s the fun in that?” she says coyly. Astra banks to the left, the sun catching her iridescent wings as they begin to slowly spiral down to the ground. Merla keeps an eye out below and sees the first eager child rush out to the back garden, little voice shouting in excitement. She beams and waves, as a few more come out, followed by Allenby, gruff grandfatherly smile on his face. “Aun’ie She’yl and As’ra! Look look! I’ve los’ my fron’ sheef!” “Auntie Sheryl, who’s that with you?” “Yeah, why does he have cow’s feet?” “Are you half cow?” “Is he your boyfriend Auntie?” “Alright.” Allenby hardly needs to raise his voice and the kids quiet down. Some strain to get a look at Kruxeral, others start to giggle, whilst some come up to Astra with ease, petting her soft sides and offering up cubes of sugar. “You all know that’s not how you’re supposed to behave.” The fae-bard deftly leaps down from Astra’s back. “I know you are all excited, it’s been too long since my last visit. But Mr. Allenby is right and I know you all can behave much better when first meeting someone.” The children look a little more chastened, some mumbling apologies. Kruxeral dismounts from Astra, though a little more cautiously, still getting used to being on his cloven more and more. “It’s alright, I have been called worse things before,” Kruxeral says with a grin. “A child’s curiosity helps them discover many of life’s wonders.” He gives Merla a look before turning to face the children properly, then he does a flourish and bows. “My name is Kruxeral, satyr, bard, a lover of Beauty, Arts, and Music, and Master of Revelries in the Summer Court. Mer- Sheryl has told me so much about you. It is a pleasure to meet you all.” “Did you teach Auntie Sheryl music?” a young half orc girl asks him. Merla sees a flash of uncertainty in Kruxeral’s green eyes before he covers it with a smile that only she can tell is slightly strained. “That I did.” “You know, she’s very good at teaching music too,” a young human boy says. “Did she learn that from you?” This time there’s no uncertainty, just Kruxeral’s smile. “I’m sure she did. Though experience tends to be our greatest teacher.” “Does this mean we’re going to be doing another concert?” asks a lithe, half-elven child eagerly as they step up to Merla. The last time she had seen them, they were shorter than her. But in the blink of just a few moons, they were looking at her eye to eye. Merla glances at Allenby who is half shrugging apologetically. “Would you children like to do that?” Merla asks, looking around at them all. They all shout their assent. Some jump up and down in excitement whilst others turn to Kruxeral, asking what he knows how to play and if he could teach them. The youngest among them look a little confused but the infectious enthusiasm of their elders gets them just as excited, and they start running around. “Okay everyone, your lunch break is almost over,” Allenby says, and the kids instantly quiet down again. “I need to speak to Auntie Sheryl and Kruxeral about the concert and you all have lessons you must return to shortly. Best get back to Red’s now. Come on!” He claps his mighty hands together. Vaalea appears by the garden gate and one by one the children begin to head over to her. Merla waves to the goliath and she receives a warm nod back. As the last stragglers make their way to join their friends, Merla steals a glance at Kruxeral and is relieved to see his smile has eased into something more genuine, the light of happiness making his eyes look like the leaves from their grove in the Summer Court. The last three children, all talking to the satyr, eventually leave too and then it’s just Merla, Kruxeral, Astra and Allenby in the garden of Thia’s Refuge. “Would you like some tea? I was just preparing a pot as you arrived,” Allenby offers. “Some tea would be divine, yes. Allenby was it?” Kruxeral asks, making his way over to the man to shake his hand. “Apologies for the surprise my appearance might have given to the children. Merla has explained that satyr’s are not common in Daring and-” “You have nothing to apologise for,” Allenby says, waving a hand. “They are a curious bunch. You’d think after seeing a winged unicorn they wouldn’t be phased by a man with goat legs.” They enter into the large kitchen of the orphanage, Astra settling herself outside in the sun. Kruxeral laughs as he gratefully sits down in a solid wooden chair. “I am practically ordinary next to Astra, you are quite right. I must say, this establishment you have here is quite charming. A lot of students and most of them are eager to learn and play music! It’s marvellous.” “It’s thanks to Merla that we were able to get the instruments and a teacher in the first place,” Allenby says with a nod and a smile. He hands her a cup of steaming hot tea. “Really?” Kruxeral looks at her. She smiles softly at him as she begins to add sugar and milk to her tea. He leans forward, resting his arms on the table, a curious intensity to him. “I would like to hear more about this – and this first concert my dear Merla put on.” She feels a small flush rise to her cheeks. Allenby proceeds to tell the simple tale of how Merla would donate gold, and how eventually it was eventually used to purchase the first sets of instruments and the services of an instructor. Kruxeral listens with rapt attention, not looking at her, focusing solely on Allenby’s words, asking questions every now and then but mostly letting the man tell him how he sees her. Merla sits back and enjoys her tea, grateful for the sweet biscuits arrayed out on a simple plate in the centre of the table. It allows her to focus on calming her heart as it repeats three words over and over again in a hypnotic rhythm. My dear Merla.
The evening is quiet in the Four Fair Winds, no bardic performances tonight as Merla and Kruxeral dine together in the lounge. They have been discussing the set they would prepare for the children’s concert during the meal, which turned into reminiscing over their best and worst performances. One story from Merla leads to another from Kruxeral. Some are very familiar to her, but Kruxeral surprises her with a few she has never heard of before, ones from his early days in the Summer Court. “It took me a while to get my rhythm, I’m ashamed to say,” he half chuckles, embarrassed. “I had put so much pressure on myself to be the best, to outshine all who had come before me. I was finally the Master of Revelries at the Summer Court! It’s one of the most sought after places to be, next only to being the First Coloratura, which I had no interest in. I remember the Green Knight being there – a rare occurrence – and I nearly messed it all up!” Kruxeral’s eyes go distant with the memory. “But I trusted in who I was, what I do and what I know I am good at. Once I did that, it was like every worry, every doubt just fell away. Meeting those children today, talking with Allenby about the concert, reminded me so much of that time…” He comes back to the present and sees Merla watching him, a warm smile lifting her lips. “I’m sorry, you must know that story already,” Kruxeral says, his delightful smile turning a little sour. “I did not, actually,” Merla tells him. “But even if I did, the way you tell it is half the enjoyment.” He raises an eyebrow. “And what is the other half?” “Discovering something new about you.” Kruxeral blinks, the tips of his ears turning pink. He picks up his glass and goes to take a sip but sees it is already empty. He reaches for the bottle of feywine and pours himself another. “Well, you’re the only one from the Summer Court I speak to these days. Perhaps, if I had other company, other fey to talk to, then maybe it wouldn’t be just you listening to my stories.” His words come out a little sharper than he intended them to but it’s too late now. Kruxeral sees Merla pull back a little, the warmth leaving her eyes to be replaced with a kind of sadness. For some reason this, this makes Kruxeral more frustrated. He takes a deep drink from his glass. “Have you thought about my question?” Merla’s voice is soft but it makes him freeze. Kruxeral knows exactly what she is referring to. The offer to return to the Summer Court, to be with her and create music and revelries for those new far reaching places Queen Titania has acquired. He wants to say yes, not just for the chance to return to what he loves doing but to be back in the Feywild. Merla has been showing him many things in Daring Heights – the various people, places, the beauty in the mundane – and it’s been charming. Nice. Enjoyable, even. But he longs to be in the wild lands, where feelings are felt a hundred times stronger, where a single song can last from dawn until dusk, three days from whence it started. He longs for the heady smells, the dizzying clouds, the alluring woods. He longs for the touch of a small, warm hand at his neck and soft lips on his cheek, for blue eyes that reflect the stars and shine with a ring of gold around their pupil, just like his favourite flower. For a smile that sets his heart on fire and makes him want to move heaven and earth to have it come again and again just for him. And yet. “I have,” is his short reply. There’s a beat. “And…?” Merla asks cautiously. “And I am undecided.” “Is there anything I can do or say that might help-” “You’ve told me plenty already,” he says, his tone cutting. Kruxeral’s head spins as he takes another deep drink from his glass. “Then-” “Don’t get me wrong, Merla, you’ve been very helpful,” Kruxeral starts. He feels a damn within him has broken, his words the rushing water that becomes an unstoppable wave. “Caring for me, watching over me. Telling me who I was. It’s all been really helpful. But how can I know what you’ve said is true? Hmm? How can you think that I could just trust you when all I have is your word to go on.” There is silence in the wake of the flood, the joyful contentment they had been sharing destroyed by his cutting words. But they had been truthful. Even she must see that, surely. “You’re right.” Kruxeral looks at her and he’s not sure if his head is swimming from the feywine or from the release he feels at finally giving voice to the doubts that have been plaguing him. “Of course, you are right. I am a stranger to you, someone you do not know or remember,” Merla says, shaking her head but not looking at him. “How could I have expected you to trust me on my word alone? Foolish, that’s what I have been. Unfair and unkind even whilst I have been offering my hand to help you.” Merla stands up, a coiled grace that makes Kruxeral see the shadow of Queen Titania in her small form. Then her eyes lock onto his and there’s a look of distant resignation to her expression he has not seen before and Kruxeral’s heart twists at how far away the light is in her eyes. “I have to depart in the morning but I will send word to someone in the Summer Court to visit you whilst I am away. Ask them all you want to know – about me, about the Court, anything. They will answer you honestly and you won’t have to worry about me knowing any of what you ask if you do not want me to.” Then Merla turns and leaves. He watches her ascend the stairs to their shared rooms before his gaze drifts down to his hands. Kruxeral studies them seeing where his calluses have grown soft. Doubt similar to the one from the tale he told Merla before he let the floodgates loose and ruined their evening, creeps into his mind. He closes his eyes, wishing to banish it. But guilt, shame, humiliation – he knows not what – keep him from being able to. Kruxeral’s head falls into his hands, fingers sinking deep into his hair. He did not mean to be so cruel, not to Merla, not after everything she has done to help him. But if what she has told him is true, that in the past he had made a series of choices that saw him sink to the depths of the Unseelie Fey because he was not honest with her about his feelings then perhaps this truth, though harsh right now, will help him choose a different path for his life. An honest one. It may well be that path isn’t with the Summer Court anymore. He would not know, not unless he could ask questions that Merla could not answer about him, and about her. |
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Post by Queen Merla, the Sun-Blessed on May 7, 2021 20:30:09 GMT
Tall, narrow trees loom overhead and a humid mist clings to Merla’s golden skin as Astra strides through the brush, her hooves hardly making any sound on the soft, damp ground. It was not the usual path the two would have taken, certainly not the preferred one for either of them. But the canopy was hard to see past, even for Astra’s starlight eyes. Merla guessed it had something to do with the mist. Now the two were wondering if it was the wiser choice to be on the ground to reach the Summer forward camp.
From the moment she had received her Mother’s message, it was a war of two emotions. The dominant one was excitement for finally being able to contribute to what she believed would help restore Balance and Harmony to the chaos that was tearing through the Feywild in the best way she could. The second which followed on the heels of the first was a nervousness for what she would need to do. Her Queen Mother said it herself, Merla’s use of words was second to none and she was an unparalleled singer, performer, and orator. But what she needed to do was more than that. If only Kruxeral had chosen to come with her. Merla knew that together they would be able to figure it out very easily. She had no doubt she could do this on her own, she just needed to do it right.
No pressure.
Kruxeral had not come back to their room until much later – choosing, Merla guessed, to stay in the lounge and enjoy more of the feywine or talk to the other residents of the Fair Winds. She had fallen asleep on the chaise lounge which had served as her bed these past few weeks – pillows all around, soft blankets wrapping her into a fae-burrito. Some time between falling into a deep sleep and waking up Kruxeral must have carried her to the large four-poster bed. It was hard to tell if she had slept in it alone and Astra had been sleeping outside that night, enjoying one of the first warmer spring evenings. What Merla did notice upon waking was the breakfast already in the room, along with a note from Kruxeral, sitting next to a steaming pot of tea.
Merla didn’t know what to think when it came to Kruxeral’s attitude towards her. Thinking about it made her heart ache as if a great thorn were stuck between her ribs. Perhaps, she had not been as careful about her feelings when it came to the Master of Revelries as she thought. Merla made a point of keeping herself available and open to him but she had also been doing her damnedest to keep her heart’s yearning locked up behind thick walls. Yet last night, when he had voiced his doubts about her, it brought back the memories of the last time he had spoken to her in anger.
But it was not the same. Kruxeral’s wood-brown features had not twisted into something frightening or fuelled by jealousy, eyes going so dark the green practically disappeared. Instead the anger was more of a front for the fear she had sensed directed at himself. Merla felt responsible for that fear and anger. It was because of her that Kruxeral was missing half a lifetime’s worth of memories after all. She was beginning to wonder if she really could help him.
That was why, as soon as Merla arrived at Perihelion Palace that morning – it was actually midday, but the days are so long in the Summer Court it was hard not to think of it as still morning – she went straight to Thino and asked if she would visit Kruxeral as soon as possible. Merla would not say why, but her once nursemaid now turned court lady and retainer had looked her up and down with her shrewd gruagach eyes and, with a sigh that somehow managed to convey exasperation and endearment in one breath, said she would.
“Do ya wan’ ter know wha’ we be talk abou’?” Thino asked.
Merla shook her head. “I would have you promise me two things though, if you can.”
Thino narrowed her eyes. “Hmm?”
“Be honest with Kruxeral, and I mean truly honest. Whatever he asks you, tell him. Not a fey truth, the real truth.”
Thino cocked her head to the side and her bark-skin snapped a little at the gesture. “And the other?”
Here Merla paused. “Do not tell anyone else what you two talk about. Please.”
The gruagach’s expression was hard to read, always had been, but Merla could see she was considering the requests carefully. Weighing their merrit against her. Whether that was a good or a bad sign, it was hard to say.
The small fey stepped up to Merla and looked her dead in the eye.
“I, Thino, vow ter be honest wit’ Kruxeral fer the duration o’ my time on the Material Plane, and then to not tell anyone of wha’ we speak of.”
Merla had hugged her and Thino, a little embarrassed, had returned it.
A light breeze ruffles Merla’s hair and she resists the urge to check it was just the wind. Instead, she pushes her worries about Kruxeral and what may be to the side and looks around. She knew the sun was blazing high and hot overhead. Yet despite the heat she was used to feeling in the Summer Lands, there was a cool, humid dampness that permitted the air and clung to her clothes and skin. She suppressed a shiver.
“We are nearly there. I hear the legion’s camp ahead,” Astra tells her.
“Good,” Merla says, shuddering in earnest this time as another breeze tickles the back of her neck. It felt like fingers brushing her skin and she didn’t like it. “Maybe the commander can enlighten us as to why the woods are still so damp and dark. I thought they would have completed the Compact by now.”
“Indeed, it still reeks of the Court of Fountains.”
The breeze picks up into a sudden wind that blows through the tall, narrow trees, making them creak and groan, the mist swirling. Merla brings up a hand to hold back her hair – and thinks she hears something that sounds like moaning. Just as suddenly as it came, the woods go very still and the mist slowly begins to retreat.
“Let’s not linger,” Merla says quietly across their bond.
The winged unicorn continues on, picking up her pace a little, following the small, narrow track they were on. As with anything in the Feywild, the path they were on could really be leading anywhere. But Merla knew her home, knew what the ’Wilds were like, and so she concentrated on arriving at their destination – the Fort at the centre of the Giselle Bough Woods.
Not too long after the trees began to thin, the damp ground gave way to hard stone as Astra’s brilliant and majestic form carried Merla out of the woods.
“You’re here!”
Merla smiles. “Greetings May. Glad to see you’re already here. Where’s Cay?”
“Oh, he is over there,” the little pixie says, waving her hand vaguely behind her. “Cay’s already started on decorating the stage for you!”
Merla looks over and sees a natural amphitheatre is being decked out in Summer Court colours. She tilts her head a little, mind already planning what sort of performance she could do to kick off the revelry that is due to start the next day. The small sprite is zooming back and forth, his voice calling out to the se’akhrua that have been tasked with helping to set everything up.
“Hello Astra. Your coat is as beautiful as a fresh canvas today,” May says to the winged unicorn.
The winged unicorn shifts just slightly under Merla. “If she comes near me with a paint brush Merla…”
The Daughter of Summer chuckles and pets her friend’s neck. “I think she meant it as a compliment, Astra.”
“I’m just saying.”
“She is grateful for the compliment May. But tell me, before we begin, where the Commander Darunia? I would speak with her.”
“I’ll take you, Princess Merla! She’s this way. Come!”
Merla goes to correct the little pixie but she’s already flying away. Dismounting from Astra, her friend chucking across their bond, she follows May leading the way to the Fort proper. The sound of rushing water grew louder as they came closer to the forward curtain wall that ran around the inner keep. Merla was just wondering what could be on the other side, that it sounded like a waterfall or a rushing river, when the wall fell away as they rounded the corner and a sight unlike any other took her breath away.
The most extravagant, enormous and elaborate granite and cast stone fountain she had ever seen occupied the centre of the courtyard in the Fort. The only way into the keep itself was through the arching sprays of water, and each was a different colour. A soft, rainbow colour mist cast the whole area in a multicoloured, discotheque vibe that set Merla’s heart racing with delight.
“Quite the centrepiece, isn’t it.”
Merla turned to her left and there stood Commander Darunia Daruth, her high elven cheekbones and quick mouth lifted in a small smile. It was her eyes that drew people in, speaking of intelligence that was swift as the fine sword she rested her hand on.
“Alluring to mortals and delightfully playful for any fey,” Darunia continued with a nod to the fountain. It took her a moment to see what the commander was indicating but when she did Merla’s eyebrows raised.
“Those are portals, are they not?” Merla asked, though she could sense the conjuration magic well enough that she did not really need to ask.
Darunia nodded. “Some lead to rooms in the central keep. Others, to different places in the surrounding woods.”
“Interesting. But can you not enter through the main door?” Merla asked. She tried to see past the shifting mist and cascading waters but even from where she stood she could see the large double stone doors were firmly shut.
Stepping closer to the huge fountain, Merla tries to peer past the water and mist, holding a hand up to cover her eyes so she could see. There is a faint ripple over the door, and fine lines that seem to be either a message or a shape but she can’t quite read it.
“We have tried,” the commander says. Her tone makes Merla stop and look at her. Darunia’s high brow is creased with frustration and concern as she looks to the closed entrance. “There are wards blocking any kind of teleportation up to the door. Even when we try to dispel them, another spell is triggered that causes confusion and hysteria in the one who tries to remove it. Each time we think we have gotten to the last enchantment, another one takes its place. It’s almost like this Fort doesn’t want anyone to be here.” Darunia gives a humourless laugh. “Perhaps it is why Lord Trevillian has not been here in nearly one hundred years. King Ulorian’s defeat in the Public Duel made his vassals rethink their positions – in more ways than one.”
“This Lord Trevillian, what is he like?” Merla asks.
“The worst kind of seelie fey – if you can even call ones like him as such,” Darunia sniffs, throwing a dark look at the fountain. “As ruler to a vassal court with alliances to the Wandering King, my Lady can probably guess the type. Arrogant, entitled, bigheaded, and cruel in his carelessness. He had a thing for mortal lovers…” She looks at Merla, pausing briefly as she remembers that despite her grace and power, Merla is not in fact a true and full fey. “There is no danger to you here Lady Merla, I can assure you of that.”
“I trust you and your legion have done your task thoroughly in making the region safe for all who are allies of the Summer Court,” Merla says.
She looks up to the pinnacle of the fountain and notices the carved statue of who she assumes to be Lord Trevillian. The water seems to embrace his stone likeness as it runs in glistening rivulets down the folds of the stone cloth that drapes in an alluring way over his rather large water sprite body, barely hiding the assets the sculptor carved. Pouting lips are lifted in a cocksure smile that makes Merla’s stomach twist.
“What happened to the mortals?” she asks, voice dipping lower.
Commander Darunia does not answer right away, debating whether she should tell the truth. It is as Darunia hesitates that Merla looks at her, blue eyes with their ring of gold unexpectedly stunning the elven commander. Darunia has heard stories of the Queen’s Daughter and is quite familiar with the story of her banishment and subsequent pardon. Distancing herself from the Inner Court politics as much as she could has always been Darunia’s preference, but she was curious to find out more about the young halfling – to know if the whispers about her were true.
Yet there was something in Lady Merla’s gaze as she looked at her that reminded Darunia of the Summer Queen. Such an uncanny similarity could not just be happenstance, even if she were mortal…
“It was never proven what became of the mortals, my Lady, but the stories say all of them perished from a broken heart.”
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Post by Queen Merla, the Sun-Blessed on May 8, 2021 14:54:09 GMT
The concert was coming together nicely and Kruxeral was starting to feel confident in himself again. There was no pressure to impress anyone – certainly no one of Queen Titania’s standing – but he was taking particular care with the children anyways. It was easy for him to pick out those which had a spark of a gift to them, an ear for what he liked to think of the Great Song. They were the same ones who had quizzed him when he went to the orphanage with Merla. The human boy in particular, Ethane, was proving to be a bit of a troublemaker in that he kept pushing to learn more about magic than music. If there was a way Kruxeral could justify having him be on any instrument other than the violin he would but the kid’s hands danced when he played, and Kruxeral needed that.
Arkadius had been assisting him these last two days, too. He could tell why Merla liked him, Akradius’ dry humour had him laughing at himself and for Kruxeral that’s what he needed to push through. The dark cloud of doubt was still there, hanging over his shoulder but at least he wasn’t alone. Merla had made sure of that. Even if she was not there beside him, he still felt a connection to her. It was more of a comfort than anything and in his heart he felt steadier.
He was returning to the Four Fair Winds after another afternoon of concert practice with the children when Merla’s melodious voice spoke to him across the planes, bringing with it the scent of a summer meadow.
“I have a fey you can speak with. She'll be arriving at the Fair Winds in two hours.”
There was a pause, an uncertainty and Kruxeral’s heart raced.
“Hope the concert prep is going well.”
For some reason he was disappointed. Part of him hoped Merla would say something else.
He pushed that thought from his mind.
“It is, yes. The children chose great songs and rehearsing is going splendidly. And, right, two hours. I’ll be ready.” Kruxeral pauses, suddenly unsure what to say next. In a panic he says, “Hope you’re well.”
The spell ends and he winces at his pathetic choice of words.
Hope you’re well.
He rolls his eyes and groans at his own foolishness.
They are crossing Silver Street when Kruxeral’s fey hearing picks up the distinct sound of military drills. He makes note of some kind of barracks nearby but Lumina interrupts his thoughts with quick, rapid fire questions, barely a breath between each one as she flits around his head.
“Was that Merla? How’s she doing? When is she coming back? Will she bring me apple pie like you said she would?”
“She was just telling me a fey from the Summer Court would be arriving in two hours, though she neglected to mention who it was,” Kruxeral grumbles. He takes a deep breath. “Guess I could look at having dinner with this person, though I will probably stick to our rooms instead of going down to the lounge.”
“‘Our rooms,’ hmmm~?” trills the faerie dragon, landing on Kruxeral’s shoulder.
“What?”
“Just that’s the first time you’ve called them that instead of ‘Merla’s rooms’.” She tilts her small dragon head. “Is that why you brought her to bed the other night? And why you slept on top of the blankets and not underneath, curled up next to her?”
Kruxeral’s ears turn bright red. “You little, nosy- How did you-” He composed himself. “I was tired of being the only one in that massive bed and there is more than enough room for both of us. Merla shouldn’t have to sleep in the front room of her own suite.”
“Sure that’s the only reason?”
He glares at Lumina but doesn’t answer her, just picks up the pace, his cloven feet make short pright taps against the stones.
It is a pleasantly warm evening, the sun still hanging above the horizon. It makes Kruxeral’s shadow in front of him spindly and long as he makes his way eastward on Tallow Street towards Castle Road. It wasn’t a long walk between Red’s School and the Fair Winds but he now understood why Merla enjoyed flying. As great as it was to get a feel for Daring Heights, not only was it quicker it was certainly more fun. At least those along his route were familiar enough with him that his satyr appearance didn’t garner the gawking stares anymore.
He was just reaching for the oak gate when he heard what sounded like the snapping of branches behind him.
“Well, I ne’er though’ I’d see the dey when the Master ’o Revelries would allow tha’ mischievous lil’ pest on his shoulder.”
Lumina’s long neck snakes around one of Kruxeral’s horns as she peers over it’s three-pronged split. “And who do- Oh!”
Kruxeral has to close his eyes as the faerie dragon suddenly takes off in a flurry of flapping wings and glittering scales. Shaking his head to clear his vision, he turns and sees a small gruagach’s woman, bark skin covered from head to toe in a thick layer of clothes, cloak and hood. Her deep brown eyes glitter with laughter as Lumina flits around her making something of a noise between a purr and a growl.
“Looks like de whisper’s I’ve ’eard are true then.” Her words are directed at Kruxeral as she offers an arm for the dragon to purchase. Lumina very delicately lands on her arm, head snaking out a little before a small tongue flicks out to lightly touch the fey’s forehead.
“So you’re the one Merla thought to send,” Kruxeral says, shaking his head with a sideways grin. “Certainly not who I was expecting.”
“Would yeh rather nah talk to me? Guess I’ll go then.” Thino begins to turn away.
“No, please-” Kruxeral begins, reaching out to stop her.
Thino stops and gives him a curious look. The satyr clears his throat and composes himself.
“I thought I had a little more time before your arrival,” he explains. “But it seems Time played its trick on me.”
“Yeh knows how it is between the planes, especially fer the Feywild. Time is no’ measured the same as it is ’ere.”
“Yes…” Kruxeral opens the oak gate door, the private entrance to the suite, and Thino follows him inside, still carrying Lumina. “Would you like something to eat? Drink? I will call for something, anything you’d like.”
She gives him a searching look, really looking him over as he opens the double stained glass doors and gestures for her to go inside before him.
“Some tea would be nice.”
Kruxeral rings for some afternoon tea with all the trimmings. Then he lights the fireplace and throws open the double doors so they can enjoy the warmth of the afternoon. Lumina flies around, asking Thino about her and generally keeping up the small talk for them until the tea arrives. Kruxeral feels his legs starting to tire but is happy to have made it this long in the day without needing a rest. The children have been a test of his endurance but in a good way, that he hardly noticed how tired he was until he sat down, fine china cup in hand.
“Ahh, they do know how to make a good pot here. Merla chose well when she decided on this place,” Kruxeral says.
The small gruagach takes off the last layer of her cloak and finally settles down in the chair opposite the satyr, pouring herself a cup of the hot brew.
“Speakin’ o’ our dear Lady, I promised ’er two things as part of my visit to yeh.” Kruxeral hides his surprise by lifting an eyebrow. “To be ’onest with yeh ’n to not tell anyone what we talk about. So, Kruxeral, speak and I will tell yeh what yeh’d like ter kno’ about ’er.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Am I really that transparent?”
“Yeh’ve always had a soft spo’ for Merla.”
“I must establish your relationship with her first before I can continue,” Kruxeral says, holding up a hand. “If Merla sent someone who’d talk favourably about her, despite her coercion of a promise from you then this won’t work – even if that would tell me about her character. I have lost my memories, most of them around her. These past weeks I have seen what she is like here, but I need to know who she really is.”
Thino sets her cup down with a snap.
“The child has been in mah care since she arriv’d in the Summer Court when she was but a wee sprout. Dere were omens ’round ’er arrival, poignant ones tha’ said she’d be our Queen’s destruction. Some were wonderin’ why Queen Titania, after she had sent her Sworn Sword to find and rescue her, decided ter keep the child in ’er Court, I among them. Merla was… differen’. Undeniably mortal, but she had the spirit o’ the fey in ’er.”
Thino takes a cake from the stand and starts breaking off pieces to give to Lumina.
“Our Queen was too busy rulin’ the Summer Court ter actually raise the child ’erself so the task fell ter meh. It wasn’ til it became mah purpose ter see the child learn ’n grow that I ever thought o’ having children o’ my own. Curious, willful, full o’ passion – ’n an uncanny ear fer song.”
She smirks and her bark-like skin creeks as she does.
“I always wondered how she found ’er way to yeh. In those days, yeh were more… frivolous in your attentions.”
“Yes I remember,” Kruxeral says, his expression not giving away the conflicting thoughts he has at the memories. “The revelries were wild in my early years of being Master.”
“Merla ’ad left ’er Sylvan lessons that day – Lord Emmantiensien dozed off more th’n likely – and was later seen sneakin’ back into the Palace. That eve she said in the most sure voice I had ’eard from ’er yet, ‘I want ter learn music from the fey with the split horns.’”
“This is all well and good but it’s not telling me anything about your relationship with her.”
Thino tilted her head and the smirk grew into a full on grin. “Fer a fey who likes ter tell stories, yeh sure are impatient to get to the end o’ this one.”
Kruxeral opened his mouth to object, paused, then nodded for Thino to continue.
“I had a lot o’ sey in those days what the child, Merla, could or couldn’t do ’n so when I spoke ter the Queen ’bout ’er desire my advice was to refuse ’er request.”
“Why?” Kruxeral asks, genuinely curious.
“Least o’ all fer what you were like then, I dunnah want ter see a young mortal gel get caugh’ up in yer games but because of wha’ was whispered ’bout ’er when she arrived. Those who start ter learn music also learn magic.”
The satyr nods his head a little. “It’s hard to not learn one without the other in the Feywild, yes…”
“And I thought if she started ter learn both she would one day try ter act upon those omens. But all she wanted to do was sing. ’Er voice-” Thino slowly shakes her head, not in refusal but in awe, much to Kruxeral’s surprise, “To hear ’er was to fall in love with ’er. Even Lady Alanaya did not have such a voice at such a young age.”
“And how was I when I heard her sing, when I was teaching her music?”
Her warm brown eyes glitter as Kruxeral sees the promise Thino made activate. “At first yer took to ’er like any other teacher would ter a student, albeit one that wasn’t fey. But amongst them all, it was Merla yer spent more time with. I began to worreh,” her eyes flash at the memory, “tha’ yer would become like those Wanderin’ Court Lords who take a fancy to a mortal but then discard ’em as soon as yer got bored, like brok’n toy. I dinnae trust yah then, not as far as I could throw yeh. But… it became clear she was more th’n jus’ a student to yer. I’m no expert, but anyone can see when an artist has found ’is muse.”
Kruxeral’s heart is pounding. He takes a deep breath to try and slow it.
“Merla mentioned there was an incident that saw her banished from the Summer Court.”
“Ah, yes. Morningdew. Never liked him. Another one too full of himself.”
“Are there any fey males you like Thino?”
She raises a barked eyebrow. “I like my husband.”
“...And?” Kruxeral tries to prompt.
“And he is enough.”
“Right…”
She gives him a look that says, we are getting off topic and you know it.
“Yes,” Kruxeral begins, shifting in his seat, “Commander Morningdew. I remember him and know what you mean about him being-”
“An arsehole?”
“I was going to say ‘a prick’ but arsehole works too.”
“He was both. His ‘murder’ as some would call it, was Merla finally showing ’er true colours. I dinnae believe it then and I dinnae believe it now. Tha’ gel, even wit all o’ ’er considerable powers, is no murderer.”
Kruxeral looks away. “Sometimes we don’t realise we are falling into Darkness until we look around and cannot see the Light.”
“Not our gel. There are some who still think there is more ter come, tha’ Merla somehow managed ter trick the Queen into bringing her back into the Court – though how one could trick the Great Seelie Queen Titania, I have no idea. But the Queen wouldn’ta given ’er a pardon ’n then the role she has in ’er campaign if she dinnae trust ’er own daughter.”
Kruxeral has gone quiet, mind racing as he absorbs all of this new perspective. Some part of him is still unsure but it is not clear if that stems from himself or if there is truly any reason to doubt Merla.
“Yeh want ter know if yeh can trust ’er, is that it?”
He looks at the small fey woman as if she’s read his mind.
“I cannae make tha’ choice for yeh Kruxeral. But I can say this: Merla, Mirfae, Lady Merla, Daughter o’ Summer, Princess – whatever title she has these days dunnae matter. She has loved yeh for years, just as much as she loves ’er Mother, our Queen. She fought tooth an’ nail ter prove ’er innocence and now she sings ter spread the love o’ our home as our Revelry Envoy.” Thino raises a wooden finger and points it at the satyr. “You should be the one doing that job but she has taken up the mantle. One, because she is feckin’ good at it, and two, because she wants to give yeh time ter heal from whatever ordeal yeh went through.”
As Thino unleashes these harsh truths, she leans forward and Kruxeral knows now exactly why Merla chose her to speak to him. She loves Merla, yes, but Thino has not put her on a pedestal. She has seen her grow, seen her highest and low points as only those who have raised children can know. Her ability to be honest and speak truly comes from someone who has forged her own way in court through years of intrigue and word games. It’s liberating for Thino to finally speak the truth, and thrilling to finally tell the one fey that has been just as much an influence in Merla’s life, what she thinks.
For his part, Kruxeral is as still as a quiet wood, expression unreadable.
“If yeh think yeh could be deserving of her love then step up. Meet her halfway.” Thino’s expression suddenly turns hard. “Otherwise, be part o’ ’er life no more. End this charade,” she gestures to the room, glancing at the chaise with it’s pillows and blankets, clearly a place where someone smaller than he sleeps, “and dunnae come back ter the Court. Merla’s place is Apparent. Only one worthy should stand beside ’er.”
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Post by Queen Merla, the Sun-Blessed on May 12, 2021 8:48:35 GMT
It had been a long day even by Feywildian standards. Merla had May and Cay zipping all over the Fort, getting this piece here or gathering those bits there. She had not worked with so many different people before to plan a revelry and at times she would have felt out of her depth – but her drive to reach the folk who lived in the woods kept her going.
But there was something in the air, an atmosphere of sadness, abandonment and betrayal, that kept pulling at her. Merla’s normally sunny disposition and hopeful outlook kept slipping. She noticed even the se’akhruah grew more listless and when Commander Darunia retired to her tent much earlier than expected, there was a shadow hanging over eyes.
Merla wondered if maybe the Condition had not been met. Conquer the fort in the centre of the woods, is what she had heard it was, but what if that was a misinterpretation, a twisting of the meaning of the original words? It certainly wouldn’t be the first time the Fey have played word games. Who knows how long the Fort had been left in the state it was before the Summer Court came? One thing she did know for certain: There was something not quite right and Merla felt it, she just couldn’t determine what it was or what was missing or hadn’t been done without knowing the original words that had been spoken.
The few times the Daughter of Summer allowed herself a break, her feet would always bring her back to the fountain. It fascinated her, this water feature that was a collection of portals and doorways to different places. Really quite exquisite magic. It excited and frightened her a little too, if she were being honest. It almost felt alive, something with nerve endings that went beyond the water spouts and the sculptures. It didn’t get quiet enough for her to know for certain but once she thought she heard a half spoken word behind her as she stood in front of one of the portals that led to the woods.
Astra had come over that time, actually nipping her on the arm. Merla had been about to walk through the portal to stars knew where in the woods.
She took no more breaks after that.
The sun eventually started to dip to the horizon. The amphitheatre was looking like the meadow she wanted it to be for the play she wished to put on. Her vision for the revel was quite the spectacle – interactive and making use of every part of the fort, with its heart being the amphitheatre. May and Cay would be beside her at all times, helping her direct the flow of events. Some extra performers had arrived just before twilight, and she blocked out the final number with them, which would be the climax of the event.
At last, all the preparations were done and Merla could relax.
Feeling the exhaustion of the day, Merla and Astra are shown to a sizable pavilion where she could sleep. The evening was hot and damp. A slow creeping mist was settling around the Fort and the Summer Court’s camp. A bit unusual, Merla thought, but perhaps it was the region still adjusting to being in the Summer Court’s domain. She didn’t dwell on it though. Merla felt a tiredness that went down to her bones, yet her mind felt lighter than air as she drifted off to sleep.
A soft wind caresses Merla’s face, the feeling of cold but gentle fingers pulling at her clothes, urging her to stand up, to move, to dance. There was something on her head though, a hot weight that rooted her to the spot. It prevented her from moving, from being free. She tries lifting her hands, to touch what is weighing her down and she feels the wind pick up around her, starting to whip at her face, lifting her hair, brushing through it only to get tangled in something encircling her head. That wind offered freedom, to be her own thing, a creature of air, mist and flight! Oh how she longed to fly of her own volition. To dip and glide on the eddies of wind, to dance across treetops and soar over oceans. No cursed cloaks, no need to rely on another. Just her and the wind and stars – if she could just lift this burden from her head!
The wind whips around her faster, almost cutting. It is getting impatient, desperate, clawing at her head. Something doesn’t feel right. This weight has a warmth to it and carries a familiar melody. It’s a Song she knows well, one she loves with all her heart. It makes her think of music, of a satyr, with dancing feet and eyes of shifting green, his calloused hands holding her close as together they make their own kind of music together…
With a sudden gasp Merla wakes up.
It is dark under the canopy of the tall, tapering trees. Mist is swirling all around her making it hard to see no more than twenty feet around her. Merla looks down and sees she is wearing the simple, light soft nightgown she went to bed in and nothing more. No dancing sword and no harp.
“Astra?”
She lifts the sheer skirt to see dried mud and leaves covering her feet. Her usual soft golden glow is barely a flicker of light on her skin. Not seeing that telltale radiance makes Merla start to worry she may be dead. Pushing up the big belled sleeve of her nightgown, she pinches herself, hard.
“Ow!”
Relief floods through her. There’s no way she could be dead if pinching herself hurt so much. It doesn’t last though, as Merla realises if she is not dead then why is she out in the middle of the woods?
She realises Astra has not answered her and a new panic starts to worm its way through her gut.
“Astra, if you’re playing some sort of game, I want you to stop. This is not funny.”
There is no reply. Merla doesn’t even feel her friend’s presence.
“Shit.”
It’s at that moment that she feels something brush her back, lifting her hair a little, and she yelps.
“Who’s there?” she demands, spinning around. There is nothing behind her, just a swirling tendril of mist.
Branches creak overhead as a light breeze blows through them.
Merla goes to rub her thumb across the ring of dark smoke she always wears on her right hand but finds it is missing. Looking at her hands she realises none of her rings are there. She quietly curses again and feels a cold sweat break out across her brow as her heart begins to pound loudly in her ears. She is completely and utterly without anything but the clothes on her back and-
The circlet.
Merla reaches up to touch the crown of gold and flowers on her head and is grateful for the comforting warmth against her forehead from the imperial topaz. She closes her eyes, centering herself. After a moment, she opens them again, their bright blue with a ring of gold looking out into the mist shrouded woods.
“If there is someone there, show yourself.”
The mist goes still and the woods hold its breath. Then a gale force wind comes out of nowhere. Merla has to plant her feet into the soft ground, digging in her heels as her hair and nightdress whip around her. Twigs and leaves hit her but they are soft compared to what she feels in the air. Fingers, hands, nails, touching, reaching, grabbing at her, trying to carry her away.
She does not let them.
“My name is Merla, Daughter of Titania, Great Seelie Fae and Queen of Summer!” she shouts into the wind. “Be ye wind or spirit, reveal yourself!”
The wind suddenly stops.
From behind her, through the mist shrouded trees Merla hears the soft echoes of voices singing and music playing. Slowly, she turns around.
Emerging from the mist are the silhouettes and half-remembered shapes of what once were mortal women. Their heads are covered by ghostly shrouds of water droplets, their faces distorted and warped. One by one they float towards her, coming closer and closer, until Merla is surrounded, with no way out.
There is a tense moment as she looks around, not sure what to do next. Then one of the figures floats forward, the shroud of mist falling away to reveal a hauntingly beautiful face framed by dark hair and hollow, vacant eyes.
“You speak like them yet you are mortal…” Her lips do not move, yet Merla is able to hear her voice all around her. It sounds like dried leaves brushing over grass. “You are… between. A part with them, the other not…” Empty eyes settle on Merla’s circlet.
A slight frown creases Merla’s brow. “Who are you?”
The figure tilts her head, but doesn’t answer Merla’s question.
“We seek to free you…”
Merla glances at the other spectres. Some of them appear more solid than others, but none so much as the one in front of her.
“Free me… from what?”
“Them,” they all say in unison. It is the cacophony of dried leaves, scraping over one another as they are brushed across the ground. Images of countless fey bombard her mind, and she winces. Each face is more achingly beautiful than the last. They are all dancing, twirling, tumbling, but they never stop. They cannot stop. Not until they die.
“They believe themselves to be beautiful. But it is a beauty like a golden stag’s carcass, crawling with maggots beneath its hide, ready to burst.”
A final image of pouting lips upturned in an arrogant smile in a face Merla recognises. Then the visions stop.
“…he said he would love me…”
Merla shakes her head, trying to piece together what she just saw. “I don’t understand,” she says, breathless. “You… sensed I am mortal and you thought to rescue me… from the fey?”
“Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeessssssssssssss.”
Wind swirls, the sound of all of their voices buffeting against her. Each one is a hand, a caress, a plea to save her. There is concern, worry, even fear – not of her but for her. But behind that is a poignant tang of despair and longing, masking an even darker emotion.
Resentment.
“You long for them… This we know.” The pale apparition of the dark-haired woman reaches out. Though there is no moonlight her ghostly hand glows white as if she were reflecting it’s silvery light. “The problem with wanting… is it makes us weak.”
She begins to stretch out, elongating to better loom over Merla, her hand coming closer and closer to the small woman’s upturned face. The other figures swirl around them, wind coming from their dancing forms as they weave around the trees and through the mist. As they pass close to Merla, they touch her arm, her cheek, her back, her hand. Each time she is beset with visions. At first it seems like each woman is showing her a different fey, like before. But after the fourth or fifth one she realises it’s the same water sprite. He looks like a lover stepped out of a ballad, the kind where no good comes to the girl who runs away with him. And each of them did. They left their mortal lives to live with him, in his castle – in the Fort at the heart of the woods. They all believed he loved them, that his changing heart was just a story, that they were The One for him and they would live happily ever after.
“That’s what comes from being mortal… for hungering for something… you forget to check if it is rotten…”
“No…”
Merla’s mind whirls. She closes her eyes and sees pouting lips lift in a cocksure smile over and over, each time making them/her fall harder, faster in love. Those lips kiss down her neck to her collarbone, swearing to be hers and only hers, if she would give him her heart.
“No matter how careful you are… eventually you will misstep… You are weak, fragile…mortal…”
She clutches at her head as the ground tilts beneath her feet. But Merla doesn’t fall. Arms of wind and mist catch her, their embrace a comfort and final. The wind starts to push her hands up, guiding her fingers to slip underneath her circlet.
“…I can’t…” Merla pleads.
In the whirling memories, the water sprite whispers across her skin and Merla shivers in wanting. He tells her, all she has to do is let him hold her heart in his hands. There is no other like her in all the realms. Only he could love her as she was meant to be loved, utterly and completely. But he cannot do so…
“Fight them as long as you can…”
…unless she gave him her heart.
“…they have far more practice with eternity…”
The wind lifts her hands and the circlet begins to come off.
“I… won’t!”
Merla’s strong voice booms out and a wave of pure, thunderous command pushes everything – wind, mist, memories, spectres – away from her.
There is silence in the wake of her declaration.
Slowly the mist rolls back in and the dark-haired woman coalesces up from it. Behind her, her sisters array themselves around, huddled close, unsure. Merla makes sure her circlet is resting securely on her head, before standing up straight.
“Why?” they ask her. The wind carries more than their voices to her. It also conveys their longing and despair.
Merla looks at them, finally seeing their faces unshrouded. All of them are young, barely more than girls. And all of them were naïve. Just wanting, wishing to be loved.
Her eyes lock onto the pale, dark-haired spectral woman in front and Merla’s expression softens into empathy. She floats back a little, uncertainty making her frown.
“I saw,” Merla says to her, her voice raw and shaky with emotion. “I saw everything. All of your pain, longing, desires. What was done to you, what he did to you, was wrong.”
The wisps of mist shift, and the other ghostly women tentatively start to dance a waltz. They move slowly, cautiously, all the while speaking to her in their airy, soft voices.
“We were empty…”
“We were alone…”
“We were abandoned…”
“…left hollow…”
“…broken hearted…”
They swirl and twist and the air begins to get colder. Merla clenches her fists and watches them bend and reach, telling their stories with their bodies through their dance. Looking back to the very still and hollow eyed woman, the fae-bard chooses her next words carefully.
“What you are doing here, what you tried to do to me, does not make you any better than him, Ghislane.”
The figure waves her hand and the other silhouettes suddenly freeze mid-motion.
“I did not want to be afraid so I became something to fear.”
Merla gestures to the other women. “And them? Why have you made them suffer like you still do?”
Ghislane wrinkles her nose and the wind whips around Merla as all of them answer together. “We do not suffer.”
“Yes you do,” the fae-bard says softly, tears in her eyes. The wind hears her and ebs away slowly. She looks from one face to the next, haunting longing and endless sadness behind stone still faces.
“Look around you. Look at what you have become. You think yourselves stronger for what you are, but you are barely a wisp on the wind.”
“I have seen as well. I know what you long for, what you dream to be,” Ghislane says, floating forward into Merla’s space. The fae-bard does not balk. Ghislane tilts her head, confusion peaking through the cracks of her stony, hollow-eyed mask. “How can you still love him after everything he has done to you?”
“Because I forgive him,” Merla says without hesitation.
The very air holds its breath in surprise at her words.
“The choices I have made – and the choices he has made – led us to where we are. We have both suffered for those decisions in our past, each in our own way. But I do not regret them. I have found my way to who I am through the sorrow I have endured. I am stronger for it, not weaker.”
Merla’s face softens into an expression of compassion and a small, soft smile lights her face. The wind sighs around them and Ghislane’s stoney visage finally breaks.
“You can become whole again, Ghislane,” the fae-bard says kindly, offering her hand to the misty woman. “Forgive yourself for the decisions you made in the past, and let go so your heart can heal.”
The woman made of air and mist looked at her for a long time. Then, slowly, she raises her hand, but pauses before placing it in Merla’s.
“We have been here for so long… What will become of us?”
Merla looks around at the women, changed through the magic of the Feywild, no longer mortal but not quite fey either. So much like her.
“You will change, but you will not be alone. Your sisters are here beside you, as they always have been.” Her smile becomes even warmer. “A new Light blooms in these woods and you shall become the Heart of it.”
“A new Heart…”
“A new Light…”
“I should like that very much…”
With a small, hopeful smile, Ghislane places her hand in Merla’s. There is a blissful sigh carried on the wind and then the woods go still. One by one the silhouettes of the half-remembered women fade away – some sinking into the earth, others fading into mist once more – all of them becoming one with the woods.
The last to let go is Ghislane. Her hollow eyes come alive with colour as the small smile grows into something more profound. She gives one last, thankful look to Merla then closes her eyes and floats back into the trunk of a tall birch tree, arms reaching up to fit the shape of it’s long branches.
Merla stands there in wonder, feeling the shift in the woods echo out farther and beyond, realising the Condition had finally been fulfilled. A light breeze zips by her, lifting her nightdress playfully as it does, before flying up to the treetops where it ruffles the leaves. Then the woods shift around her, opening up a pathway that leads back to the Fort, with a canopy of stars overhead.
“Thank you, Ghislane,” she says to the woods.
The trees sway their gratitude back.
The next day the revelry happens for the fey of the region but instead of a play, the Daughter of Summer puts on a ballet.
“Take my hand one more time, and I shall guide you through this final night. We present a story about love, betrayal, and redemption. Many of you will be familiar with this tale. It is woven into the very woods that surround us. Even those youngest among you must have sensed it last night. The change. For with Summer comes a new Light! Now, let our song heal your heart and save your life…”
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