Post by Ravager on Oct 14, 2007 1:35:54 GMT -5
Ravager:
The moon rose and fell, day after day, night after night, tirelessly, endlessly - like our sword arms, swinging over and over to fell the bodies of our enemies. The sun rose and fell, day after day, night after night, glaring down upon a field of bodies, which stretched as far as the Sidhe eye could see. I walked along the furrows between great blazing pyres stacked with offerings to the Gods, casting the stench of Orc blood to the wind. 'This is your Fate!' was our message, if the wall we had built from their stacked bodies was not informative enough. There were too many now, so we simply burned them. No need to poison the earth with their flesh.
I loved Fall, it was my favorite season of the year, but the leaves were just beginning to change. How I missed the summer greens flushing scarlet, but Nature mustn't be rushed. The battlefield was my artificial Fall scene. Blood flecked the ground, it collect in pools like red rain water I could occasionally be seen hopping into like some morbid, deranged child. I dared any one to say a single thing - to so much as breathe a single word - about reinventing my moments of stolen youth. The battleground was my playground. My toys were deadly. There was fun to be had even after someone had lost an eye - I don't know who writes these ridiculous sayings, but they are pure nonsense.
My black armor was sticky with several coats of blood, which made removing portions of it difficult, as strings of tendon, chunks of hacked meat, and sometimes intestines dried into veritable jerky. I sat as patiently as I could while an attendant peeled my shoulder and arm pieces off of the wound I had sustained to my left shoulder. If there was one thing to be said about the orcs, it was that they put decent force behind their weapons if they happened to catch you off-guard. I maintained the only reason I'd been clipped, was because I was already fending two off of our flank. I nearly ended the Elven officer's life for letting that bastard get in that close to me. I bore the antiseptic with grit teeth and a grim smile, silently counting the stitches the medic pulled through my flesh.
I was in a piss-poor mood, I needed something...uplifting...before I decided to smash some pretty Elf's face in.
Jausserande:
They were all bloody. Everywhere her eyes roamed there was blood, be it in rivulets that ran around the bonfires like incarnadine moats or the pools that collected under the corpses that awaited their turn at the burning. The bright and dark armor of her Sidhe forces was streaked with it as well, though in her opinion the Sidhe had fared far better in this than the Elven troops that The King of Oreitheldarin had sent along from the Grand Army.
What exactly he was she had never quite been certain of, but she had heard the whispers that the half of him that was Half Elven was not merely a mix of Moon Elf and High Elf, but something called a Paragon. It might have been worth looking into save that they had so much else going on, and it was not as if he had set himself in Her way.
She allowed herself a moment's sigh, shaking a few drops of blood from her metal encased fingers, she had the oddest gloves to go with this armor she bore but who was to tell her what she could or could not wear? They were archer's gloves converted to sterner stuff, and thus there were patches of her skin bared that one could follow the light as it moved under them. A twist of her head shook out her braid, an ankle length heavy rope that she could and had used as a whip in the past, and there were drops of blood there to fly in the breeze as well.
She was a Queene that moved with her army, and now she sought after a very particular Knight, sensing that he would be close.
Ravager:
Once the stitches were in place, the wound was packed with a poultice to stave off infection and bandaged. Even over the foetid stench of bloated, decomposing corpses, bitter medicine, and the perfume of our black earth soaked in blood, I smelled her. Apples, She always smelled like Apples. Like the bud of a flower at sunrise, my head turned toward her to receive the nourishing rays of her light. My own ankle-length hair was braided, but I had tucked it into the back of my armor to keep the soldiers behind me from stepping upon it. We could only expend so many of our own for repeated offenses, so I did the unthinkable and actually catered to someone else's whim for once. Only that once would I allow it, and never again.
The silver was predominant in my gaze as I looked upon my Queene, driving away the slate grey and black ringing the metallic hue. It pained me to do so, but I knelt immediately and bowed, favoring my shoulder when I felt a mild jolt of agony. I would prefer to tear a stitch than pay my Queene proper respect, that much was a given.
"Mo Trocaire of the Infinite Veil," gracefully, I awaited her acknowledgement with my left hand extended to accept hers. I would kiss the blood-swathed object d'art tenderly, not minding the gore smattering it, then finally rise. "I pray this gruesome day finds you in high spirits and indefatigable. To what honor do I owe this visit, My Queene Most Fair, and how may I best serve you?"
Jausserande:
"We remain victorious in each engagement, and thus I am pleased."
She had let her fingers linger in his hand after he kissed the backs, as he rose. He would forever tower over her, as did most Sidhe, though if she ever felt that this was unfair of the magic to have made her petite and thus exotic it was not something she complained over.
"I decided I wanted to gaze upon thee, and thus here I am."
She looked out over the battlefield again, and then released a sigh.
"I do suppose that Macha has told thee of what transpired at the Tournoi after thee left for the ships?"
She did not feel trepidation at this, of what she might fear she did not fear her Ravager or his rage. Rather she welcomed it, for he was the one of all her Court save for Sularan that made her most feel her Sidhe nature. That made him beyond special, and was why she gave him the honor she did, to allow him to choose her name whence the time would come for it ... which time was very soon.
Ravager:
That she kept her hand within my grasp was something to celebrate in itself. Selfishly, I turned heel-to-toe to stand beside her and placed them at my elbow so we might walk together. It was not so very different from our strolls through the garden courtyards in Starhost.
"If I were incompetent in helping to lead our army to victory against these wastrels, I would gladly slit my own throat and bleed out to spare myself the embarrassment," my grin was teasing as the sharp points of my teeth flashed in the dying sunlight. "Look upon me to your heart's contentment, Trua Fair, if it brings you delight."
Her sigh stifled my improved mood and my steps halted abruptly as I replied carefully in so many terse syllables.
"No, she has not."
Anything which caused my Queene to sigh was a foreboding topic, indeed. I searched the pristine pallor of her perfect countenance for the hint of what she may have been about to tell me.
"Did he dishonor you?" was my immediate response as I covered her tiny, delicate hand with my own. If her choice of gloves was unusual, the black satin of my own must have seemed completely malapropos.
Jausserande:
For a moment she allowed a delicate sly smirk to touch her lips, the rose color a lovely compliment to the expression.
"I more dared him, and he declined. He sent a boy over to request 'the honor of my company' in the Royal Box, and he even allowed that I might bring a guard. Yet when I told him to hand over that haggard sword of his to his Queen he declined, even though she sat next to him."
Her smirk faded.
"This made me ponder then, the true nature of that which he wields. It is not that I have not heard of his Morte Nera ... the memories of the Other are rife with terrible reference as to what it can do. Yet now I wonder, does he think that sword such an advantage that he would not allow it out of his hands, even to rest upon his Red Headed Queen's lap?"
She sighed again.
"He declined, which I suppose were for the best since thee were not there to choke the breath from him for daring to ask."
Ravager:
I listened to my Sidhe Queene speak with much interest, thingying my head to one side as we surveyed the grounds together. As she mentioned her request, I laughed dryly and scoffed, "Woe be the messenger who brings me such a declination. I suppose we must conduct ourselves ...civilly...in these public matters."
Flippantly, I waved my free hand as if to swat away an annoying gnat. When her mirth faded, replaced by a serious pursuit of abstraction, I, too, pondered the importance of that bastard's sword.
"Morte Nera," I repeated quietly, "I fear I know nothing of the sword, but if you say the Other thing recalls such things, then I would heed them until the truth was known. If the Other remembers, do you think she has gone to him to tell Cicero of its capabilities?"
At her second sigh, my mouth curved into a frown. I lifted her hand to lay it over my chest, cupping it between gloved fists. Gentle kisses were laid to the very tips of her fingers as I attempted to cheer her.
"I would have done far worse than choke him," the thin black brow over my eye twitched as I recalled the evening, "I would have skewered one of the pages if I'd had my druthers. But no, no, it would not do to shed a single droplet of blood before the sheep who insist upon attending those honor-deficient events. Gods forbid I actually kill someone."
Jausserande:
He had succeeded in making her laugh with his words and the concern laced behind them. Not at the concern by any means, but she knew that he might crave the brightness of the sound, a toned bell to pierce the warmed honey of her voice. She gave good thought though to what he said and the possible trepidation behind it, a considering glance as they walked along a route that many others would have considered too sanguine to inspire much in the way of conversation. But in the way of Sidhe, as the deaths were a celebration of victory as the bonfires burned, they pleased her instead of put her off the track.
"Nae ... I do not believe that the Other ever had much discourse with Cicero Von Myst to begin with. Whilst her army often went to the field of battle in the beforetime, I do not recall and the records do not show that they ever faced His Unforgiven troops. If anything they were indifferent to the other's existence."
A ripple of her fingers in his cupped hands but by no means was she attempting to move that hand from where it was as her confidant and Right Hand moved with her. It was more an expression of restless thoughts.
"Though I would place great wager that She does know just why Morte Nera is feared. Personally I feel that any object that he would set such a great store on were best far away from Me and Mine."
She said that last word Mine with a very certain ferocity that had her lip curled just so to show the tips of her cleanly sharp teeth. She had a very highly overdeveloped sense of what was hers after all, a wide flung net that encompassed a great number of beings and things which might make absolutely no sense to someone not a Sidhe. She literally cared not for you or cared far too much, as was her nature.
Ravager:
I considered that Cicero and the Other thing had never once met. I considered that Cicero must have known that his sword was something special, and did not simply fancy it for the sake of egotistical, masculine phallus worship or quaint favoritism. I set my Queene's hand back upon my arm and we continued to walk among the delightful bonfires, admiring the tributes casually. I have to admit, it did burn a fire under my Noble ass that the sniveling dog named Cicero wouldn't part with his sword to speak with my Queene. There was simply nought to be done.
"You say the Thing knows the answers," because I put absolute trust into Jausserande's judgment, my intonation was one of confidence and surety. The darkness in my eyes flicked downward to meet my Trua's as I raised a brow. "Then let me fetch her and we shall see what she knows. If she knows something, I will make her speak."
It was always inspiring to see my Lady of Compassion riled, even if it was just a touch. Just a hair of the true Sidhe blood which coursed through her body and belied her gamine exterior. In times of war, like these, it was so refreshing to see my Warrior Queene returned -- painted in the blood of our enemies, donning their trophy skins with pride, though these orcs were worth little less than boot leather at best.
Jausserande:
She turned just a bit more towards him as they walked and he spoke, taking in his words once more as if they were indeed the most precious thing to be found on the field, pearls of wisdom as the saying went.
The fondness was not contained when he made his offer, a certain glow came up in her golden and amber eyes in fact when he said it. She bore scars now because of the powers she had tried to channel that had belonged solely to the Other and part of her wanted revenge for that if nothing else that she had been put through while under the delusion that She was the Other in fact.
"I have no doubt that thee could make a stone speak if that was what I asked of thee to do."
High confidence in his skills was never in short supply with her.
"Perhaps I may ask this of thee, though I am sure she will be wary if one so High in my Esteem were to come calling upon her. She is not much like other Elves, much in the same way her ... my ... sister Zayre is not much like other Elves. As I recall, much of what is laid at Zayre's doorstep was actually done on the orders of the Other. Yet she appears so Light that it was never warranted outside of War to believe so."
A soft tap of sharp nails on his armor where her fingers were free of her archer's armor gloves, and he might note that there were in fact some streaks of blood on some of those nails, blood he might have tasted when he kissed her fingertips.
"Perhaps we may both call upon her and see what words spill forth."
A pensive look came cross her features and she lowered her voice to a whisper.
"It was today, my Ravager. It was today, this morn when I put upon my armor that I felt it, the final unraveling. It hurt as much as I believed it might, but I have put that pain aside for later."
Suddenly gamine eyes turned to him, the wide bands of gold and amber glimmering with a sheen which on another might have been a precursor to tears.
"Did thee then do as I asked? Are thee prepared with what I need, with ... "
A tiny almost imperceptible hitch of breath, to any watching this scene she would appear fine, only to him would he note the sudden vulnerability.
"Did thee find in thy heart a Name?"
Ravager:
With much attention, I absorbed all of what my Queene Most Fair offered for ponderance. My gaze was as stony as my heart to witness the turmoil seething behind Jausserande's eyes. I could almost touch her wicked desire for vengeance with my gloved hands, I could nearly caress it with my breath. My lips pulled away from the sharp tips of pearly teeth in a dauntless smile, which oozed a sort of audacious assuredness. None could accuse my Queene of dogma, for many had experienced for themselves the nature of my Beast.
"I, as ever, lovingly await the chance to fulfill and satisfy your desires, mo Trocaire," touching the tips of my fingers to her knuckles, I bowed low as best I could as we walked. The smile lingered as I murmured, "I would not proceed without your divine presence, either. Light, Dark, it hardly matters when they enter my lovely little parlor. They all scream, they all bleed and suffer -- I'd hate to disappoint any of my subjects being a prejudiced or biased Host."
I flicked my wrist and tipped my chin up as I spoke, speaking quite impudently, but what did it matter? It was true enough. I hated everyone equally.
"Today, you say? This is such wondrous news. We should celebrate -- with coffee and cakes, a small private party," the news of that Thing had gone from her finally slashed my face into another fierce smile. In my excitement, I turned to look about for an appropriate spot and narrowed my eyes when I remembered where, precisely, we were. Silly me. "d**ned field of battle! Where are proper tables and chairs when we need them?"
It was a testament to my generally ill-timed sense of humor, but I could afford to make fun of myself comfortably within the company I currently shared. My Queene's glimmering eyes caught my attention and for a moment I thought she might cry. I turned back to her and was about to speak before she asked of my progress. The Sadist in me whispered terrible things. It often inspires me to act with sheer wickedness before I can fully think things out.
"Mmm, yes, about that," I wanted to see her hanging by her fingertips upon the edge of anticipation while I dangled my hand just out of reach. I touched the fingers of my free hand to my chin and furrowed my brows as I waxed contemplative, searching for an answer already set in stone in my mind. She did not know that, of course, but I liked to see her quivering. I liked watching my Queene's weakness. I wanted so badly to exploit her further, but my little game ended with a smile imbued with genuine love and appropriated delight.
"Yes, I did. The Lorekeepers of the library were all too glad to see me gone when I was finished researching," my footsteps ceased as I pulled both her hands to my lips and kissed them. There was blood there, yes, but I only tasted apples.
Jausserande:
She had known that in fact he would be vastly pleased by her telling him first that what she had known and intimated would happen had indeed done so. It was letting go, it was sudden freedom, it was the taste of RoseHaven's perennial sparkling apple wine on the tongue as the Sidhe that she was ejected what should never have been a part of her in the very first place. Yet it had been bound within her, that shred of soul, by incomprehensibly powerful magic so of course it had been painful to remove it but it was necessary and in the end she knew it was for the best. There had been pain, and panic, which she had set aside because neither would do her in good stead, and now there was this feeling she had of being cast adrift, for just a few moments as she waited to hear what her Ravager would say.
He must have known she was indeed hanging on his every word however, she could see that glimmer in his eyes that the humor often hid. He was the consummate Sadist even with her whom she knew he harbored more ... tender? Was that the word? Feelings for, but perhaps it was only for her that he might relent and give her mercy, at least in this. For equal within him was the need to please her and be near her and this she knew.
"I do hope the Lorekeepers knew better than to attempt to thwart thee in even a small way."
A smile touched rose lips once more when he kissed both her hands, and impulsively she would go up on the tips of her toes and inhale of his scent before taking up a more customary stance. Beneath the gore of battle which clung to the field his masculine Sidhe scent was just the thing to soothe her away from trepidation. He knew what he was going to say to her and she felt her heart rate increase in her chest. Somehow she knew then that she was going to be vastly pleased by what he would give her, and while it would irk Sularan to no end when he would know that it was Ravager's gift to her, so be it.
Ravager:
Impulsively, I dropped down to one knee and kept her hands against my lips. The creak of leather sounded louder than the trepid beat of my heart as I gathered the Name in my mind. I had rehearsed the Naming in front of my mirror several times, yet not one prepared speech or approach sufficed. In a fit of frustration, I simply practiced my calligraphy in the flesh of one of my subject's backs until I was happy with my letters.
"She is my Lady of Peace. She is the sound of trickling raindrops, of water -- the essence of all Life within our Court of Blood and Thorns. She, to whom I have vowed my services, as She has given her pledge to Us, her humble servants. She is the gentle stream of patience and understanding, merciful and pure, fed from the unsympathetic, wanton river of existence," this, I whispered against the palms of her hands as my gloved thumbs stroked over the bracelets of her slender wrists. My eyes remained cast down with utmost reverence as I breathed deep and exhaled softly. "She is The Golden-haired Fairy Queen who unites Us all beneath the generous sprawl of her dominion. She is the Sleeper who has Woken, and has cast away the last of her fetters to be embraced and greeted with respect, awe, and delight anew."
I pressed my lips to her palm as the silvery light played beneath my skin, mouthing her Name silently once. I could smell her anxiousness. I felt the primal drumming of her heart beating like caged butterflies in my grasp. Daring steal a glimpse of her features, I wondered what she must be thinking in that moment. I suffered a split second of self-doubt, but it abated in remembering who I was, and that it was my Queene whom had placed such unconditional faith and trust to me for the task.
"Mo álainn banríon de Trocaire is Trua, mé áirigh Síleaúniamh Niashay Narathameralsia," I pronounced each syllable as if it were sacred writ, as if it were forbidden to speak aloud. Releasing her hands gently, I lowered my forehead to touch the ground at her feet. I did not care that the earth was rotten with spoiled blood, or that her boots were splattered with gore. My lips touched the tops of her feet regardless, and I remained there until addressed. For some inexplicable reason, I was vaguely terrified that she would hate it. I swallowed my heart and my ears strained to hear what she had to say.
Síleaúniamh:
"Oh."
It was a tiny, delicate sound to hold so very much weight but it was her initial exhale of absolute delight. That her Sidhe Knight knelt in the gore to kiss the tops of her feet via her armored boots had not escaped her either, but the sudden vicious soaring of glee that came with hearing what was absolutely and unequivocally hers and had never, ever been someone else's had taken her voice away for a mere moment.
Such was her delight that she actually clapped her hands like a small child would and she fought the urge to suddenly dance as if she were dressed not in the armor of war but the most gossamer of dresses. Was this what she had been so long denied, mired within the trappings of what belonged to another? It was. The simple delight of having something that belonged to no one else overtook her again and she laughed with delight and joy as she bade him to rise, ending her whisper with his own name, spoken soft for just his ears and with a gentle fierceness that was solely the province of his Queene.
"Rise then and let me reward thee, as thee deserve for this gift thee have given me."
The moon rose and fell, day after day, night after night, tirelessly, endlessly - like our sword arms, swinging over and over to fell the bodies of our enemies. The sun rose and fell, day after day, night after night, glaring down upon a field of bodies, which stretched as far as the Sidhe eye could see. I walked along the furrows between great blazing pyres stacked with offerings to the Gods, casting the stench of Orc blood to the wind. 'This is your Fate!' was our message, if the wall we had built from their stacked bodies was not informative enough. There were too many now, so we simply burned them. No need to poison the earth with their flesh.
I loved Fall, it was my favorite season of the year, but the leaves were just beginning to change. How I missed the summer greens flushing scarlet, but Nature mustn't be rushed. The battlefield was my artificial Fall scene. Blood flecked the ground, it collect in pools like red rain water I could occasionally be seen hopping into like some morbid, deranged child. I dared any one to say a single thing - to so much as breathe a single word - about reinventing my moments of stolen youth. The battleground was my playground. My toys were deadly. There was fun to be had even after someone had lost an eye - I don't know who writes these ridiculous sayings, but they are pure nonsense.
My black armor was sticky with several coats of blood, which made removing portions of it difficult, as strings of tendon, chunks of hacked meat, and sometimes intestines dried into veritable jerky. I sat as patiently as I could while an attendant peeled my shoulder and arm pieces off of the wound I had sustained to my left shoulder. If there was one thing to be said about the orcs, it was that they put decent force behind their weapons if they happened to catch you off-guard. I maintained the only reason I'd been clipped, was because I was already fending two off of our flank. I nearly ended the Elven officer's life for letting that bastard get in that close to me. I bore the antiseptic with grit teeth and a grim smile, silently counting the stitches the medic pulled through my flesh.
I was in a piss-poor mood, I needed something...uplifting...before I decided to smash some pretty Elf's face in.
Jausserande:
They were all bloody. Everywhere her eyes roamed there was blood, be it in rivulets that ran around the bonfires like incarnadine moats or the pools that collected under the corpses that awaited their turn at the burning. The bright and dark armor of her Sidhe forces was streaked with it as well, though in her opinion the Sidhe had fared far better in this than the Elven troops that The King of Oreitheldarin had sent along from the Grand Army.
What exactly he was she had never quite been certain of, but she had heard the whispers that the half of him that was Half Elven was not merely a mix of Moon Elf and High Elf, but something called a Paragon. It might have been worth looking into save that they had so much else going on, and it was not as if he had set himself in Her way.
She allowed herself a moment's sigh, shaking a few drops of blood from her metal encased fingers, she had the oddest gloves to go with this armor she bore but who was to tell her what she could or could not wear? They were archer's gloves converted to sterner stuff, and thus there were patches of her skin bared that one could follow the light as it moved under them. A twist of her head shook out her braid, an ankle length heavy rope that she could and had used as a whip in the past, and there were drops of blood there to fly in the breeze as well.
She was a Queene that moved with her army, and now she sought after a very particular Knight, sensing that he would be close.
Ravager:
Once the stitches were in place, the wound was packed with a poultice to stave off infection and bandaged. Even over the foetid stench of bloated, decomposing corpses, bitter medicine, and the perfume of our black earth soaked in blood, I smelled her. Apples, She always smelled like Apples. Like the bud of a flower at sunrise, my head turned toward her to receive the nourishing rays of her light. My own ankle-length hair was braided, but I had tucked it into the back of my armor to keep the soldiers behind me from stepping upon it. We could only expend so many of our own for repeated offenses, so I did the unthinkable and actually catered to someone else's whim for once. Only that once would I allow it, and never again.
The silver was predominant in my gaze as I looked upon my Queene, driving away the slate grey and black ringing the metallic hue. It pained me to do so, but I knelt immediately and bowed, favoring my shoulder when I felt a mild jolt of agony. I would prefer to tear a stitch than pay my Queene proper respect, that much was a given.
"Mo Trocaire of the Infinite Veil," gracefully, I awaited her acknowledgement with my left hand extended to accept hers. I would kiss the blood-swathed object d'art tenderly, not minding the gore smattering it, then finally rise. "I pray this gruesome day finds you in high spirits and indefatigable. To what honor do I owe this visit, My Queene Most Fair, and how may I best serve you?"
Jausserande:
"We remain victorious in each engagement, and thus I am pleased."
She had let her fingers linger in his hand after he kissed the backs, as he rose. He would forever tower over her, as did most Sidhe, though if she ever felt that this was unfair of the magic to have made her petite and thus exotic it was not something she complained over.
"I decided I wanted to gaze upon thee, and thus here I am."
She looked out over the battlefield again, and then released a sigh.
"I do suppose that Macha has told thee of what transpired at the Tournoi after thee left for the ships?"
She did not feel trepidation at this, of what she might fear she did not fear her Ravager or his rage. Rather she welcomed it, for he was the one of all her Court save for Sularan that made her most feel her Sidhe nature. That made him beyond special, and was why she gave him the honor she did, to allow him to choose her name whence the time would come for it ... which time was very soon.
Ravager:
That she kept her hand within my grasp was something to celebrate in itself. Selfishly, I turned heel-to-toe to stand beside her and placed them at my elbow so we might walk together. It was not so very different from our strolls through the garden courtyards in Starhost.
"If I were incompetent in helping to lead our army to victory against these wastrels, I would gladly slit my own throat and bleed out to spare myself the embarrassment," my grin was teasing as the sharp points of my teeth flashed in the dying sunlight. "Look upon me to your heart's contentment, Trua Fair, if it brings you delight."
Her sigh stifled my improved mood and my steps halted abruptly as I replied carefully in so many terse syllables.
"No, she has not."
Anything which caused my Queene to sigh was a foreboding topic, indeed. I searched the pristine pallor of her perfect countenance for the hint of what she may have been about to tell me.
"Did he dishonor you?" was my immediate response as I covered her tiny, delicate hand with my own. If her choice of gloves was unusual, the black satin of my own must have seemed completely malapropos.
Jausserande:
For a moment she allowed a delicate sly smirk to touch her lips, the rose color a lovely compliment to the expression.
"I more dared him, and he declined. He sent a boy over to request 'the honor of my company' in the Royal Box, and he even allowed that I might bring a guard. Yet when I told him to hand over that haggard sword of his to his Queen he declined, even though she sat next to him."
Her smirk faded.
"This made me ponder then, the true nature of that which he wields. It is not that I have not heard of his Morte Nera ... the memories of the Other are rife with terrible reference as to what it can do. Yet now I wonder, does he think that sword such an advantage that he would not allow it out of his hands, even to rest upon his Red Headed Queen's lap?"
She sighed again.
"He declined, which I suppose were for the best since thee were not there to choke the breath from him for daring to ask."
Ravager:
I listened to my Sidhe Queene speak with much interest, thingying my head to one side as we surveyed the grounds together. As she mentioned her request, I laughed dryly and scoffed, "Woe be the messenger who brings me such a declination. I suppose we must conduct ourselves ...civilly...in these public matters."
Flippantly, I waved my free hand as if to swat away an annoying gnat. When her mirth faded, replaced by a serious pursuit of abstraction, I, too, pondered the importance of that bastard's sword.
"Morte Nera," I repeated quietly, "I fear I know nothing of the sword, but if you say the Other thing recalls such things, then I would heed them until the truth was known. If the Other remembers, do you think she has gone to him to tell Cicero of its capabilities?"
At her second sigh, my mouth curved into a frown. I lifted her hand to lay it over my chest, cupping it between gloved fists. Gentle kisses were laid to the very tips of her fingers as I attempted to cheer her.
"I would have done far worse than choke him," the thin black brow over my eye twitched as I recalled the evening, "I would have skewered one of the pages if I'd had my druthers. But no, no, it would not do to shed a single droplet of blood before the sheep who insist upon attending those honor-deficient events. Gods forbid I actually kill someone."
Jausserande:
He had succeeded in making her laugh with his words and the concern laced behind them. Not at the concern by any means, but she knew that he might crave the brightness of the sound, a toned bell to pierce the warmed honey of her voice. She gave good thought though to what he said and the possible trepidation behind it, a considering glance as they walked along a route that many others would have considered too sanguine to inspire much in the way of conversation. But in the way of Sidhe, as the deaths were a celebration of victory as the bonfires burned, they pleased her instead of put her off the track.
"Nae ... I do not believe that the Other ever had much discourse with Cicero Von Myst to begin with. Whilst her army often went to the field of battle in the beforetime, I do not recall and the records do not show that they ever faced His Unforgiven troops. If anything they were indifferent to the other's existence."
A ripple of her fingers in his cupped hands but by no means was she attempting to move that hand from where it was as her confidant and Right Hand moved with her. It was more an expression of restless thoughts.
"Though I would place great wager that She does know just why Morte Nera is feared. Personally I feel that any object that he would set such a great store on were best far away from Me and Mine."
She said that last word Mine with a very certain ferocity that had her lip curled just so to show the tips of her cleanly sharp teeth. She had a very highly overdeveloped sense of what was hers after all, a wide flung net that encompassed a great number of beings and things which might make absolutely no sense to someone not a Sidhe. She literally cared not for you or cared far too much, as was her nature.
Ravager:
I considered that Cicero and the Other thing had never once met. I considered that Cicero must have known that his sword was something special, and did not simply fancy it for the sake of egotistical, masculine phallus worship or quaint favoritism. I set my Queene's hand back upon my arm and we continued to walk among the delightful bonfires, admiring the tributes casually. I have to admit, it did burn a fire under my Noble ass that the sniveling dog named Cicero wouldn't part with his sword to speak with my Queene. There was simply nought to be done.
"You say the Thing knows the answers," because I put absolute trust into Jausserande's judgment, my intonation was one of confidence and surety. The darkness in my eyes flicked downward to meet my Trua's as I raised a brow. "Then let me fetch her and we shall see what she knows. If she knows something, I will make her speak."
It was always inspiring to see my Lady of Compassion riled, even if it was just a touch. Just a hair of the true Sidhe blood which coursed through her body and belied her gamine exterior. In times of war, like these, it was so refreshing to see my Warrior Queene returned -- painted in the blood of our enemies, donning their trophy skins with pride, though these orcs were worth little less than boot leather at best.
Jausserande:
She turned just a bit more towards him as they walked and he spoke, taking in his words once more as if they were indeed the most precious thing to be found on the field, pearls of wisdom as the saying went.
The fondness was not contained when he made his offer, a certain glow came up in her golden and amber eyes in fact when he said it. She bore scars now because of the powers she had tried to channel that had belonged solely to the Other and part of her wanted revenge for that if nothing else that she had been put through while under the delusion that She was the Other in fact.
"I have no doubt that thee could make a stone speak if that was what I asked of thee to do."
High confidence in his skills was never in short supply with her.
"Perhaps I may ask this of thee, though I am sure she will be wary if one so High in my Esteem were to come calling upon her. She is not much like other Elves, much in the same way her ... my ... sister Zayre is not much like other Elves. As I recall, much of what is laid at Zayre's doorstep was actually done on the orders of the Other. Yet she appears so Light that it was never warranted outside of War to believe so."
A soft tap of sharp nails on his armor where her fingers were free of her archer's armor gloves, and he might note that there were in fact some streaks of blood on some of those nails, blood he might have tasted when he kissed her fingertips.
"Perhaps we may both call upon her and see what words spill forth."
A pensive look came cross her features and she lowered her voice to a whisper.
"It was today, my Ravager. It was today, this morn when I put upon my armor that I felt it, the final unraveling. It hurt as much as I believed it might, but I have put that pain aside for later."
Suddenly gamine eyes turned to him, the wide bands of gold and amber glimmering with a sheen which on another might have been a precursor to tears.
"Did thee then do as I asked? Are thee prepared with what I need, with ... "
A tiny almost imperceptible hitch of breath, to any watching this scene she would appear fine, only to him would he note the sudden vulnerability.
"Did thee find in thy heart a Name?"
Ravager:
With much attention, I absorbed all of what my Queene Most Fair offered for ponderance. My gaze was as stony as my heart to witness the turmoil seething behind Jausserande's eyes. I could almost touch her wicked desire for vengeance with my gloved hands, I could nearly caress it with my breath. My lips pulled away from the sharp tips of pearly teeth in a dauntless smile, which oozed a sort of audacious assuredness. None could accuse my Queene of dogma, for many had experienced for themselves the nature of my Beast.
"I, as ever, lovingly await the chance to fulfill and satisfy your desires, mo Trocaire," touching the tips of my fingers to her knuckles, I bowed low as best I could as we walked. The smile lingered as I murmured, "I would not proceed without your divine presence, either. Light, Dark, it hardly matters when they enter my lovely little parlor. They all scream, they all bleed and suffer -- I'd hate to disappoint any of my subjects being a prejudiced or biased Host."
I flicked my wrist and tipped my chin up as I spoke, speaking quite impudently, but what did it matter? It was true enough. I hated everyone equally.
"Today, you say? This is such wondrous news. We should celebrate -- with coffee and cakes, a small private party," the news of that Thing had gone from her finally slashed my face into another fierce smile. In my excitement, I turned to look about for an appropriate spot and narrowed my eyes when I remembered where, precisely, we were. Silly me. "d**ned field of battle! Where are proper tables and chairs when we need them?"
It was a testament to my generally ill-timed sense of humor, but I could afford to make fun of myself comfortably within the company I currently shared. My Queene's glimmering eyes caught my attention and for a moment I thought she might cry. I turned back to her and was about to speak before she asked of my progress. The Sadist in me whispered terrible things. It often inspires me to act with sheer wickedness before I can fully think things out.
"Mmm, yes, about that," I wanted to see her hanging by her fingertips upon the edge of anticipation while I dangled my hand just out of reach. I touched the fingers of my free hand to my chin and furrowed my brows as I waxed contemplative, searching for an answer already set in stone in my mind. She did not know that, of course, but I liked to see her quivering. I liked watching my Queene's weakness. I wanted so badly to exploit her further, but my little game ended with a smile imbued with genuine love and appropriated delight.
"Yes, I did. The Lorekeepers of the library were all too glad to see me gone when I was finished researching," my footsteps ceased as I pulled both her hands to my lips and kissed them. There was blood there, yes, but I only tasted apples.
Jausserande:
She had known that in fact he would be vastly pleased by her telling him first that what she had known and intimated would happen had indeed done so. It was letting go, it was sudden freedom, it was the taste of RoseHaven's perennial sparkling apple wine on the tongue as the Sidhe that she was ejected what should never have been a part of her in the very first place. Yet it had been bound within her, that shred of soul, by incomprehensibly powerful magic so of course it had been painful to remove it but it was necessary and in the end she knew it was for the best. There had been pain, and panic, which she had set aside because neither would do her in good stead, and now there was this feeling she had of being cast adrift, for just a few moments as she waited to hear what her Ravager would say.
He must have known she was indeed hanging on his every word however, she could see that glimmer in his eyes that the humor often hid. He was the consummate Sadist even with her whom she knew he harbored more ... tender? Was that the word? Feelings for, but perhaps it was only for her that he might relent and give her mercy, at least in this. For equal within him was the need to please her and be near her and this she knew.
"I do hope the Lorekeepers knew better than to attempt to thwart thee in even a small way."
A smile touched rose lips once more when he kissed both her hands, and impulsively she would go up on the tips of her toes and inhale of his scent before taking up a more customary stance. Beneath the gore of battle which clung to the field his masculine Sidhe scent was just the thing to soothe her away from trepidation. He knew what he was going to say to her and she felt her heart rate increase in her chest. Somehow she knew then that she was going to be vastly pleased by what he would give her, and while it would irk Sularan to no end when he would know that it was Ravager's gift to her, so be it.
Ravager:
Impulsively, I dropped down to one knee and kept her hands against my lips. The creak of leather sounded louder than the trepid beat of my heart as I gathered the Name in my mind. I had rehearsed the Naming in front of my mirror several times, yet not one prepared speech or approach sufficed. In a fit of frustration, I simply practiced my calligraphy in the flesh of one of my subject's backs until I was happy with my letters.
"She is my Lady of Peace. She is the sound of trickling raindrops, of water -- the essence of all Life within our Court of Blood and Thorns. She, to whom I have vowed my services, as She has given her pledge to Us, her humble servants. She is the gentle stream of patience and understanding, merciful and pure, fed from the unsympathetic, wanton river of existence," this, I whispered against the palms of her hands as my gloved thumbs stroked over the bracelets of her slender wrists. My eyes remained cast down with utmost reverence as I breathed deep and exhaled softly. "She is The Golden-haired Fairy Queen who unites Us all beneath the generous sprawl of her dominion. She is the Sleeper who has Woken, and has cast away the last of her fetters to be embraced and greeted with respect, awe, and delight anew."
I pressed my lips to her palm as the silvery light played beneath my skin, mouthing her Name silently once. I could smell her anxiousness. I felt the primal drumming of her heart beating like caged butterflies in my grasp. Daring steal a glimpse of her features, I wondered what she must be thinking in that moment. I suffered a split second of self-doubt, but it abated in remembering who I was, and that it was my Queene whom had placed such unconditional faith and trust to me for the task.
"Mo álainn banríon de Trocaire is Trua, mé áirigh Síleaúniamh Niashay Narathameralsia," I pronounced each syllable as if it were sacred writ, as if it were forbidden to speak aloud. Releasing her hands gently, I lowered my forehead to touch the ground at her feet. I did not care that the earth was rotten with spoiled blood, or that her boots were splattered with gore. My lips touched the tops of her feet regardless, and I remained there until addressed. For some inexplicable reason, I was vaguely terrified that she would hate it. I swallowed my heart and my ears strained to hear what she had to say.
Síleaúniamh:
"Oh."
It was a tiny, delicate sound to hold so very much weight but it was her initial exhale of absolute delight. That her Sidhe Knight knelt in the gore to kiss the tops of her feet via her armored boots had not escaped her either, but the sudden vicious soaring of glee that came with hearing what was absolutely and unequivocally hers and had never, ever been someone else's had taken her voice away for a mere moment.
Such was her delight that she actually clapped her hands like a small child would and she fought the urge to suddenly dance as if she were dressed not in the armor of war but the most gossamer of dresses. Was this what she had been so long denied, mired within the trappings of what belonged to another? It was. The simple delight of having something that belonged to no one else overtook her again and she laughed with delight and joy as she bade him to rise, ending her whisper with his own name, spoken soft for just his ears and with a gentle fierceness that was solely the province of his Queene.
"Rise then and let me reward thee, as thee deserve for this gift thee have given me."