In The Fairy Circle
The forest is thick here, and the thickness of the boughs makes the day cooler and darker than it might be elsewhere. Still, the sunlight manages to make its way in that secret method that sunlight has. Leaving speckles of light on the ground and reminds one that it could be much darker than it is now.
The place of meeting is a clearing in the forest. Difficult to locate due to the fact that there are few points of reference in the forest, but eventually it can be found. Luckily there is no _exact_ time set for the meeting. Only that it should happen today.
The clearing is marked on the outskirts by trees that grow tall and strong in a circle along its edge. Even a mundane person would be able to feel the shiver that climbs up and down the spine stepping within it. Those more attuned to magic know it for what it is; a weakness in the planes. A place where this world is closer to another.
Cor'lana is here. Her best foot forward, wearing a new dress made for this occasion, a lavender-colored garment that bares enough of her chest to show the proof of descent from her fey ancestor, to declare loudly and boldly that she is the Feathered One's child and comes openly as such. There is a somber sort of expression on her face that she tries to lift into a smile as she looks at Telamon.
"Alright, my love," she says. "Shall we call to her? I am ready when you are."
If there wasn't such a need, Telamon would've put this off. He knows what's haunting his wife's heart. But... the world won't stop just for her, or him. Clad in the shimmering blue-violet tunic Lana gave him, with dark trousers tucked into silver-buckled boots, the circlet on his brow and his hand in hers. He squares his shoulders, looking at her in turn. "I'm ready. Let's do this."
There's no need to 'call' her. Telamon and Cor'lana are in the circle nor more than a heartbeat of moments before a bird flies through the trees and hovers in front of them. The bird is a bright red cardinal, and bears a tiny woman on its back. Rather than the bird stopping, she simply alights off of it mid-flight, her little dragonfly-like wings bearing her aloft into the air at head-height. Behind her, lost in the flap of bird wings comes a group of five on their own wings. Four female pixies in dresses either of red blooms, or made to look like the flowers.
Red poppies and spider lilies make for lovely dresses for the four ladies in waiting whilst the fifth figure is dressed in simple black and wearing a tiny sword at his hip. Cor'lana will recognize this slender, tiny figure.
The five come to a rest just behind the lead woman, her black dress seemingly made of little more than a few strands of black thread wrapped around her body. The male on her right, the four ladies to her left, all of them perfectly in line a step behind the black-clad and becrowned woman. The male bows to the pair made up of Cor'lana and Telamon. "Her Majesty, Queen Niceven greets you."
Cor'lana curtsies before the Queen and her entourage, the flurry of feathers and wings putting a sorely-needed smile on her face. For here, in the face of her Grandfather's 'kin' (by manner of speaking), she feels a sort of anticipation and anxiety, but also a distinctive joy.
(For there is wonder in the world, and it flies on dragonfly wings.)
"Greetings, Your Majesty," Cor'lana says. "I am called Cor'lana Lupecyll-Atlon, and this is my consort, known as Telamon Lupecyll-Atlon. It is a joyous occasion to meet you again."
Telamon lets Lana take point on this, as she had been the one to reach out in the first place. At the introduction, he takes a deep breath, before bowing low, and smiling. "It's been a while, Your Majesty." His dark, starry eyes are outwardly calm, without any sign of worry or disturbance. His gaze flicks over the members of her court briefly, before returning to the Queen once again.
The queen seems to be waiting for this greeting and she smiles pleasantly at it. "Greetings to Cor'lana and Telamon Lupecyll-Atlon, from Our court. We were told that you wished more than mere pleasantries from Us however, and it is... cold here." She says 'cold' like it is something particularly distasteful.
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Sense Motive: (6)+20: 26 GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Knowledge/Nature: (2)+17: 19 GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Knowledge/Nature: (20)+17: 37
"It is only the cusp of spring here in this world, Your Majesty," Cor'lana says with great deference to the Queen. "I wish it was as warm as the summer equinox that last brought us together, but I cannot change the seasons."
She bows her head and places a solemn hand to her chest. "I could not help but notice your livery of your attendants and your beautiful crimson-plumed steed," she says. "My sorrows are shared in kind with yours."
Telamon bows his head in unison with Cor'lana, his expression becoming sympathetic. "In mourning, even the brightest day can seem dull and dreary. All one can hope for is the promise of time to mend such an ache." His hands are placed together before him, as he studies the fey queen. Then he offers a charming smile,
"Do you like it?!" The tiny queen seems pleased indeed, motioning to her ladies in waiting and they twirl prettily on silent command. In unison. As if they practiced. "They are dressed in deference to the sorrow that you must feel Lost One. We come honoring it." She looks at Cor'lana keenly.
Cor'lana looks to the Queen who has given her a gesture that seems in such good-natured enthusiasm. There's sort of a quiet sense of surprise and perhaps even confusion, but she smiles lightly. "I have had reason to feel sorrow as of late, it is true, and the gesture is joyful to me," she says. "Although I am curious to this moniker that is given to me. Is this how I am known to the Courts? The Lost One?"
Telamon furrows his brow at the Queen's explanation, and his eyes flick reflexively to Lana. Standing shoulder to shoulder (both literally and figuratively), they're at least together, but it's clear he's as puzzled as she is. At Lana's interpretation, he lifts an eyebrow curiously, and offers another winning smile to the Queen and her court. A silent invitation for more information.
"That is Our name for all your kind." The queen explains in short, looking between the two. "Those who have Our blood in their veins and yet are not of Us." She seems vaguely disappointed, but not for long. "Tell Us Lost Ones, did you come all this way after all for polite talk? We are curious, and that alone brings Us all this way so close to winter."
That explains why Grandfather had never told her of this moniker--perhaps he never considered her 'Lost', and thus another difference between him and the rest of feykind. "Not merely for polite talk, Your Majesty," Cor'lana replies. "I come seeking information. As you know, the Ever-Child is in my care, and I am dealing with the matter that has been placed onto him. I seek information regarding Folendel."
She places her hand on Telamon. "But of course, we would never expect you to come all this way here without offering. The wine, my love?"
Telamon bows deeply. "I would never think to try and compete with the vintages of the Courts, Your Majesty," he begins smoothly. "But at the same time it is untoward to approach your court without bearing a gift. I have sought to recreate certain wines from the past of sil and fey, using a tome I was gifted." Deftly, he opens his haversack, and draws forth a bottle filled with deep violet wine, the liquid shot with tiny stars. "Your Majesty, I beg leave to present to your Court a bottle of Night's Kiss wine."
GAME: Telamon rolls talky: aliased to diplomacy+8: (18)+24+8: 50
The little woman looks at Telamon fully for the first time. She peers at him and the bottle in his hands and seems to consider it for a moment. "Well spoken Telamon Lupecyll-Atlon. Once these wines frequented Our court, but it has been some time. Still, a single bottle of wine for information on what We can only assume to be an enemy is a small gift."
GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Perform/Oratory: (20)+23: 43
Cor'lana nods, a little thing. "It is not the only gift we bring, Your Majesty," she says. "I bring words to exalt you."
Her poem is not long. It is, in fact, only three lines, delivered fully in the Sylvan tongue:
"The breeze of summer Magnifies Her Majesty And brings Her glory."
Telamon looks at Lana warmly, his eyes sparkling at her instinctive command of metier and rhyme, before moving his gaze back to the Queen. "We would rather have no enemies among the Courts, Your Majesty. But we must also look to the well-being of the Ever-Child, as well. And this Lord Folendel seems... persistent." His face tightens. "And I cannot abide it."
The queen's wings buzz at a slightly higher pitch after the poem is complete, and she lets out a soft sigh. "A lovely bit of word-crafting, one We can not allow to go unpaid, but!" She stomps her little food mid-air. "We would not have you think Us lesser for all that We are small! We are the messengers of the fae courts, the magic of the realm! You ask for information that means the difference between the life and death of the Ever-Child. You ask Us to betray a fae lord with Our information."
She hovers in midair thinking, looking at the pair. “So We will give you a taste of what We know and you decide Lost Ones, if such is worth more than words and wine." She motions to her guard and he steps forward.
"Lord Folendel is a warrior, but his bloodline is potent. His forefathers were known as spell-slayers. He has many special talents which make him potent on the dueling field. Whether one chooses magic _or_ blade."
"We do not think of yourself nor your Court and subjects as lesser, not for one moment, Your Majesty," Cor'lana says in deference, head low in respect for the small but mighty queen. "I opened my home to Silas as I would open my home to a friend, and I would do so openly again."
Silas's explanation regarding Folendel makes Cor'lana pause in thought. Spell-slayers. In which case... It would be folly for her to go up against him. Unless...
"I understand the cost of what I am about to ask. To know Lord Folendel's weakness, what may I offer in exchange?" she asks. "I know of your arrangement with the one called Mikilos, but I do not presume for a moment that Her Majesty would find a prick of my thumb as delectable as his."
Telamon smiles slightly. "I am a fool, Your Majesty, not an idiot. I do not judge by size." The news of Lord Folendel being a warrior skilled in battling spellcasters gives him pause as well. But when Lana suggests something similar to Mikilos's bargain, he stiffens, eyes flashing. Then he says quietly, "Whatever my wife must endure, she will not endure alone. I will take her burden as well."
The small queen actually _falls_ out of the air when Cor'lana makes her offer, and though her subjects all flinch none jump to her rescue which is just as well since she only falls about a foot before she catches herself. Then Telamon sweetens the deal and the queen forgets herself again just long enough to fall a few inches this time. She licks her lips eagerly. "Once a year for three years you will come and make your offering to Us. The _both_ of you. If for some reason you can not arrive, the agreement will turn over to the next year, and the next, and the next. If one dies, the other must make offering _twice_."
She blinks rapidly, her hands clasped in front of her. "The offering will be made here at this time. To Us. If this is acceptable, We will tell you all we know of him."
Cor'lana nods soberly, resolute in her decision and offer. "For the sake of the Ever-Child, I, Cor'lana Lúpecyll-Atlon, child of the Feathered One, will agree to these terms," she says, raising her right hand out as if to offer Her Majesty a place to rest--but it is, well, a little more than that. Her voice is solemn.
Telamon nods firmly as well. "For the sake of the Ever-Child, I, Telamon Lupecyll-Atlon, son of Telperius and Ariana and student of the Watcher In The Stars, will agree to these terms." The elegant half elf mirrors Cor'lana's gesture, raising his hand as she does. As if the two are one.
Before she can stop herself the queen starts forward. Then manages to wrangle her self-control. "Not yet. First your information to make Our agreement binding. And then... We will not take the blood in your year of mourning." She seems to gather herself. "We will come in the next year for Our first offering." At this she motions to her guardsman.
He bows to his queen and begins. "He can heal himself, which is an ability rare to us, but potent in a duel. If you choose blades, it would be uncouth of him to use it, but his skills as a swordsman are deadly. If you have a skilled swordsman you trust, this would still be your best bet, for he like all fae is weak to the iron weapon, and he has challenged to the death. His true danger lies in magic, for he can kill spells that are cast upon him with ease, and those few that can penetrate his ability are often undone in other ways. With his ability to heal himself he has been known to tear the head off of his foes with his bare hands."
The little man shudders. "In truth his greatest weakness is his temper. If you can get him to fly into a rage he can not use his own abilities to best effect, and his wildness then makes him less skilled in combat. He is a fearsome foe to face and I do not envy the Ever-child his wrath." He hesitates here and glances toward his queen who nods. "You should know that your enemy is not in truth the warrior who challenges the Ever-child, but rather the one that moves through our court stirring up old wounds and reminding those that have nearly healed of their losses."
Cor'lana takes in the information given to her--and then it is the last line that visibly troubles her. Violet eyes meet Silas, the guard, and she pauses for a moment to weigh the words out loud.
"Is this one who moves through the Court an accomplice of Legus'elain, the Corpse Eater--or the Rook himself?" she asks at last.
Telamon narrows his eyes, absorbing the information given. It doesn't please him -- he was clearly hoping Lord Folendel was a dimwitted meathead, not an absurdly talented duelist. Still... information is information. "I see. A daunting opponent. And I presume he possesses an array of magical gear to match -- and to give him the upper hand in an arena not to his liking."
At Lana's speculation, though, he turns to stare at her. His mouth opens, then closes, but then the anger is there in his eyes. Not at her, but at their tormentor. "...That -bastard-," he growls.
"Information you have not bargained for." The queen replies to Cor'lana, shaking her finger. "There are conversations that tiny ears can not hear, but tiny eyes are good at seeing those who meet in secret places just the same."
Cor'lana's eyes grow heavy. "Of course," she says. "My mistake, Your Majesty. I... I ought to speak with my ancestor before I make a bargain for information again regarding that matter."
She looks to the Queen and remembers herself. "I am joyed by this meeting, Your Majesty and yours. May I bring a message to Alud'rigan when next he and I speak?" The comment about tiny ears and tiny eyes sits with her, but she chooses not to pry.
Telamon just smiles at Lana, and simply offers a polite bow to the Queen, before straightening up again. "Yes, Cor'lana. We will have much to discuss with him." He reaches out to take Lana's hand in his, lending her support. Sometimes, you have to make deals to set things right, after all.
The wee queen eyes Cor'lana, tilting her head. "It is in the Feathered One's honor that We rode a winged beast today Lost One. Did you not know? He is dying." With that, and without further explanation or even a farewell the fae disappear utterly and without a trace. Vanished into thin air.
GAME: Telamon rolls perception: (3)+23: 26 GAME: Ravenstongue rolls Perception: (13)+17: 30
She has been through so much in the span of so short a time. This feels like the breaking of a heart herself, which, she thinks to herself--maybe she deserves that. Maybe she deserves this. Maybe she deserves to have the patriarch she adores fall away from her grasp and to no longer have him to cherish--
"Foolish girl." The words fall from Cor'lana's lips to admonish herself for even thinking such things. Anger replaces the despair. A burning desire in this world to do what she can to right the wrongs that she has been given, to survive despite the tempest that is churning around her.
"We need to go. We need to meet him. We need to _save him_." Cor'lana's violet eyes turn to Telamon--and then her ears perk. She looks in the direction of a noise only she hears. "Dying?" Telamon repeats, caught flat footed. "But..." And then the Wee Queen is -gone- and the two of them are alone. Tel looks at Lana in confusion, trying to get his thoughts in order. "How-- no. The how's not important. You're right, we need to find him, find out what's wrong and save him..." He catches her expression. "...what?"
Cor'lana turns toward the sound and to her surprise, to the surprise of Telamon who turns with her, there's a _mass_ of men behind them. Snuck up while they were distracted with the little queen. In the way of fae, they'd said nothing. It wasn't their problem. Wasn't part of their deal. So they'd left the pair to deal with the danger themselves. One of the men punches Cor'lana square in the face and then it's ON. Telamon is beset by five men at once, carrying chains and bindings all. He has little chance to react, and likewise stunned by the initial blow, the remainder of the men set upon Cor'lana, trying to bear her to the ground.
The unexpected attack, at such a venerable time leaves the pair entirely flat footed.
Cor'lana isn't going to go down without a fight. She hisses out a series of syllables that turn into a magic spell, to try and grant herself and Telamon speed and time to escape. "Who SENT YOU?" she bellows at the men that set themselves upon her and her husband.
Unfortunately, Tel is caught -completely- off guard. Not expecting this. That first hit rings his bells, and his thoughts become jangled and disoriented. He splutters something, trying to focus together for a spell, but two burly guys are hanging off each arm. Desperately he kicks out, slamming a booted foot into one, but he's not Aryia, as another starts to wind up on him.
There's so many of them. Plenty for one of them to try and stuff a rag into Cor'lana's mouth as she works her spell. Plenty of them for one to aim a punch right to Telamon's temple while the two on his arms work to chain his hands together and prevent him the freedom of movement to cast a spell. "Remember! Don't hurt the woman. Not unless she makes you. The guy you can rough up!" Says one of the men, and the rest laugh or nod. "Take him through the gate! Hurry!"
_Don't hurt the woman. Not unless she makes you._ Those words make the blood in Cor'lana's body goes cold. The plea in her mind from Telamon through the link sends her into terror. It doesn't matter in that moment that she's the Feathered One's child, the scion of two bloodlines of magic. She is just a woman.
A woman on the verge of breaking.
Which means all she can do is run, as Telamon commanded. Try as she might, even though she has a sneaking suspicion someone could be around the corner any minute. She feels she knows who. His face is in her head even still. How could she forget? Tears dart down her face.
(I will come find you. I will _always_ find you. Stand fast and don't let them break you, my love,) she thinks through the mental link, her feet trying to lead her through all of the men.
That punch causes Telamon to sag in the chains, everything going blurry. His limbs don't want to function right, and his thoughts are similarly confused. "...shit..." he mumbles. One last attempt to draw their attention, keep them OFF Lana, he curls his fingers and tries to headbutt one of the men clumsily. He knows he can't fight, not like this. Just need for her to get clear.
Telamon's efforts are entirely effective. They don't want Cor'lana anyways. They chain him hand and foot and gag him, then carry him off through their gate. For a moment, Cor'lana is utterly alone. Running through the forest utterly by herself, the silence in her mind deafening. The loss of her beloved, the worry of her grandfather, the nightmare of the night before chasing her like wolves through the trees.
There is no escape.
-End