Post by Rae Moonsilver on Oct 24, 2008 21:20:45 GMT -5
She wondered afterwards if they had sensed her there, watching. They being the Sidhe that wove their patterns and paths around the one called Sileauniamh as if she were the flower and they were the bees that depended on her nectar to live and thrive. It was possible, she supposed, that one of them had and if it were so she would be ready for some sort of visit or warning soon. They had not as yet dared to touch her, to confront her with what she was sure they harbored, the multitudinous questions breached time and again by that insipid Sidhe that was doing her best to “befriend” Jausserande Moonsilver. Rae allowed herself an indulgent eye-roll at the thought and brought her leather clad knees up to her chest to rest her chin there as she thought about what she had seen.
It had been the Annual Market, and she had so wished to attend but had not. It was not one of her preternatural insights that held her back this time, not one of those often hated precognitive flashes that made more of a hell of her life than ever offered her a chance to save someone. No, it was merely the instinct of a woman who had seen her share of battles and knew d**n well when to pick one. As much as she wanted to be down among the people, to sample the sharp sweetness of hot apple cider over her lips to caress the tongue, to indulge in the festivities leading up to the Night of Parted Veils, she knew that alone she would be wise not to incite the attention of Sileauniamh's Court. It was not that she was afraid of what they might say to her, not that. But she did have secrets that she would rather remain so, and the more those uncanny tri-colored eyes spent gazing at her the more likely it would be that they would find out.
If they knew, they might be able to block her in some fashion, and that Rae could not have. So she watched from her perch above the market on one of the rooftops, watching Ysabeau's husband escort their children Kassandra and Kheven, aching to hold them and swallowing down anger to watch the Sidhe do it instead, that dark Sidhe Knight of hers watching over it all. It was simply galling that Sil had kept her life after pretending to be her and then revealing the truth. Sometimes she wished to weep when she thought about what had been stolen from her, at how easily those that were her friends had accepted the falsity, and that there were even now those that felt that she, the original, had no place in this world.
There were of course the few that had not believed it, that had at some level known that the Sidhe was a Pretender, never an Ithil'Quessir no matter how prettily she played the role. Those blessed few she cherished even more than before, knowing deep within that at least they believed her. Deft archer's hands caressed the leather that encased her legs before she stretched and then sinuously rose to her feet, graceful as she had always been though far less naive. The cool and crisp Autumn air blew from inland towards RoseHaven Bay and swept through her long golden locks, and she narrowed her gaze to protect warm golden eyes from the sting. Autumn would not last long this year, it never lasted long enough for Rae to begin with but this year promised an early winter.
She dropped down from the roof top with the ease of long practice, and set her steps this night towards the Claw and Cross. She had not been there in a long time, simply because she knew that Sileauniamh had favored it as well, but she still had her rooms there, held forever for her and gratefully they had seemed uncomfortable for the Other, since they were for the most part untouched. She had kept things there that she wanted to take with her to the place in the Ivory Ward that she was staying at now, little mementos and keepsakes that might have seemed but trash to someone else, but for her would evoke more vivid recollection than any reverie.
She had the key so there was no need to stop at the bar and disturb Jareth for it, but of course he knew when she was there. He was aging albeit slowly, a bit of silver now showing at his temples where there never was before, his eyes though held more joy than sadness and that was due to his wife Idriess, the woman that Jausserande had called Mother. Idriess was far more a mother to Rae than Dolcenaya had ever been, and those also were memories yet not the ones she wished to experience again. She saw Jareth look up from polishing one of his endless parade of crystal glasses, those hawk sharp blue eyes narrowing until he realized who he was looking at. He gave her the slightest upnod, and she acknowledged that with one of her own. Perhaps if she had decided that she should be drinking she would go to him to speak, but sober she was not yet ready for the questions she knew he had.
At least Jareth had respected her enough to let her bide her own time to tell the story of what had happened to her, unlike others who had nearly attacked her thinking her to be some sort of threat to their beloved “Rae”. She had wanted to bare her teeth at them and hiss like a cat, they sickened her with their grasping greediness, their desire to crush her and bewail that she even existed. She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all, because she was the real one! They worshiped the false and denied the true, and no matter how tough she was on the outside sometimes inside her was the tiny elfess who was born the middle child of triplets and had always striven for her own voice, to be her own person. How ironic was it then that the rival for her very life was not one of her sisters but a magically induced copy!
She paused on the stairs, closed her eyes and viciously forced all those thoughts away. She had done nothing to warrant their treatment of her, so thus she owed them nothing in return, not her anger nor tears. Onward then to her rooms that had in the past been shared with only one other, and to the loose slat in the hardwood floor where she had hidden some special things. The wooden box had seen better days, and she blew the dust off the top of it before gingerly opening the lid. The scent hit her first, cloves and cinnamon that always and forever reminded her of Mintiper, and this time when she closed her eyes it was not the oppression of the present that made her do so, but the peace and lure of the past. The fine linen was soft under her questing fingertips, and she drew the shirt up to her face and rubbed her cheek against it.
She could remember how it felt to do that whilst he wore it, clear as if it were happening now, and she sighed gently as she set the shirt aside for now. Other trinkets she looked over, things that held meaning for her if no one else. A velvet bag held her rank pins from all the guilds she had belonged to in the Rhydin War Council, so long ago but she could vividly recall the standards and colors of each, and how she had earned her place first in the guild that she had met Mintiper in. So young then, and already she had been through things that had changed her for all time. She carefully put them aside, closing the box as she decided that the shirt was really all she needed. Rae left quickly then, even though part of her longed to stay, to let the past truly wash over her once more. But she knew that good intentions aside it was not as safe for her in the Claw and Cross as it had been, and that saddened her.
It had been the Annual Market, and she had so wished to attend but had not. It was not one of her preternatural insights that held her back this time, not one of those often hated precognitive flashes that made more of a hell of her life than ever offered her a chance to save someone. No, it was merely the instinct of a woman who had seen her share of battles and knew d**n well when to pick one. As much as she wanted to be down among the people, to sample the sharp sweetness of hot apple cider over her lips to caress the tongue, to indulge in the festivities leading up to the Night of Parted Veils, she knew that alone she would be wise not to incite the attention of Sileauniamh's Court. It was not that she was afraid of what they might say to her, not that. But she did have secrets that she would rather remain so, and the more those uncanny tri-colored eyes spent gazing at her the more likely it would be that they would find out.
If they knew, they might be able to block her in some fashion, and that Rae could not have. So she watched from her perch above the market on one of the rooftops, watching Ysabeau's husband escort their children Kassandra and Kheven, aching to hold them and swallowing down anger to watch the Sidhe do it instead, that dark Sidhe Knight of hers watching over it all. It was simply galling that Sil had kept her life after pretending to be her and then revealing the truth. Sometimes she wished to weep when she thought about what had been stolen from her, at how easily those that were her friends had accepted the falsity, and that there were even now those that felt that she, the original, had no place in this world.
There were of course the few that had not believed it, that had at some level known that the Sidhe was a Pretender, never an Ithil'Quessir no matter how prettily she played the role. Those blessed few she cherished even more than before, knowing deep within that at least they believed her. Deft archer's hands caressed the leather that encased her legs before she stretched and then sinuously rose to her feet, graceful as she had always been though far less naive. The cool and crisp Autumn air blew from inland towards RoseHaven Bay and swept through her long golden locks, and she narrowed her gaze to protect warm golden eyes from the sting. Autumn would not last long this year, it never lasted long enough for Rae to begin with but this year promised an early winter.
She dropped down from the roof top with the ease of long practice, and set her steps this night towards the Claw and Cross. She had not been there in a long time, simply because she knew that Sileauniamh had favored it as well, but she still had her rooms there, held forever for her and gratefully they had seemed uncomfortable for the Other, since they were for the most part untouched. She had kept things there that she wanted to take with her to the place in the Ivory Ward that she was staying at now, little mementos and keepsakes that might have seemed but trash to someone else, but for her would evoke more vivid recollection than any reverie.
She had the key so there was no need to stop at the bar and disturb Jareth for it, but of course he knew when she was there. He was aging albeit slowly, a bit of silver now showing at his temples where there never was before, his eyes though held more joy than sadness and that was due to his wife Idriess, the woman that Jausserande had called Mother. Idriess was far more a mother to Rae than Dolcenaya had ever been, and those also were memories yet not the ones she wished to experience again. She saw Jareth look up from polishing one of his endless parade of crystal glasses, those hawk sharp blue eyes narrowing until he realized who he was looking at. He gave her the slightest upnod, and she acknowledged that with one of her own. Perhaps if she had decided that she should be drinking she would go to him to speak, but sober she was not yet ready for the questions she knew he had.
At least Jareth had respected her enough to let her bide her own time to tell the story of what had happened to her, unlike others who had nearly attacked her thinking her to be some sort of threat to their beloved “Rae”. She had wanted to bare her teeth at them and hiss like a cat, they sickened her with their grasping greediness, their desire to crush her and bewail that she even existed. She wanted to scream at the unfairness of it all, because she was the real one! They worshiped the false and denied the true, and no matter how tough she was on the outside sometimes inside her was the tiny elfess who was born the middle child of triplets and had always striven for her own voice, to be her own person. How ironic was it then that the rival for her very life was not one of her sisters but a magically induced copy!
She paused on the stairs, closed her eyes and viciously forced all those thoughts away. She had done nothing to warrant their treatment of her, so thus she owed them nothing in return, not her anger nor tears. Onward then to her rooms that had in the past been shared with only one other, and to the loose slat in the hardwood floor where she had hidden some special things. The wooden box had seen better days, and she blew the dust off the top of it before gingerly opening the lid. The scent hit her first, cloves and cinnamon that always and forever reminded her of Mintiper, and this time when she closed her eyes it was not the oppression of the present that made her do so, but the peace and lure of the past. The fine linen was soft under her questing fingertips, and she drew the shirt up to her face and rubbed her cheek against it.
She could remember how it felt to do that whilst he wore it, clear as if it were happening now, and she sighed gently as she set the shirt aside for now. Other trinkets she looked over, things that held meaning for her if no one else. A velvet bag held her rank pins from all the guilds she had belonged to in the Rhydin War Council, so long ago but she could vividly recall the standards and colors of each, and how she had earned her place first in the guild that she had met Mintiper in. So young then, and already she had been through things that had changed her for all time. She carefully put them aside, closing the box as she decided that the shirt was really all she needed. Rae left quickly then, even though part of her longed to stay, to let the past truly wash over her once more. But she knew that good intentions aside it was not as safe for her in the Claw and Cross as it had been, and that saddened her.